i’m a S’Ain’t

Trash Champagne

i’m not perfect.

i just wanted to throw that up there for anyone who wondered. Meaning, i’m sure no one wondered if i was perfect or not, but one or two of you may have wondered if i thought i was. Which i don’t. Yes, i enjoy writing about my breakthroughs and my progress on these pages, but that doesn’t mean i consider i’ve left all my defaults behind.

Case in point, i took the above picture yesterday afternoon at work. It’s a rubber trash can filled with ice and loaded up with champagne for the annual Office Christmas Party (not to be confused with the weekly Office Cocktail Party which is a whole ‘nother can of rums better left unopened).

i blew off the party and visited an AA friend who’d landed in the hospital after a horse landed on him and broke his pelvis (that’d be my friend’s pelvis, the horse’s pelvis is doing just fine, thank you very much). When i came into work this morning, i remembered the times when i struggled into the office the morning after, desperate for a coke and a nap, ashamed to look my coworkers in the eyes, the whole time swallowing the chunky burps that kept popping up in the middle of my meetings. i felt doubly good this morning because i was mentally happy and looked good enough to draw 2 smiles from women in my commute.

So, i’m perfect, right? Nah, my arch nemesis missed a meeting this morning and when the boss called to find out where he was, he was still in bed. Yeah, i guess i felt triply good today.


About Al K Hall

Like a battered drinker or a punch drunk boxer, i am here for another round. For those of you who don’t know me, i’m a semi-professional writer on the rocks and a non-practicing alcoholic (if after 30 years of practicing, you still can't do something well, it's best to just give it up). For those of you who do know me, thanks for stopping by anyway and where’s the ten bucks you owe me? Welcome to my Bar None. A hole in the wall where we can hang out and trade the kind of stories you swap only when you’ve had one too many and either can’t find your way home or are afraid to. Hell, it’s cheaper than therapy and plus the pictures are prettier. Here we’ll crack open bottles and jokes and ‘last call’ are the only dirty words you’ll never hear. Pull up a stool and make yourselves at home.

Posted on December 16, 2011, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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