Wondering How To Apply This To A Bad Hair Day

Ok, so you know that term "beer goggles"? I have this theory that this phenomenon doesn't just cause members of the opposite sex to appear increasingly sponge-worthy in direct proportion to the amount of malt liquor you've consumed over the course of an evening. Self-esteem seems to be affected by booze, as do sounds (hip hop is no longer obnoxious, it's the best dance song EVAH)((that guy's super high pitched voice isn't faggy, it's Robin Thicke-y)). You see what I mean.

Case in point: Friday in Wisconsin, I was one bloody mary and two grapefruit-vodka's into my evening when I stopped into the bathroom (again) and realized that DAMN I LOOKED HOT TONIGHT! And then I wondered maybe if it was the lighting in the room, kind of dim and forgiving, making the camel nose appear softer, more streamlined and gave the dark circles under my eyes a sexy glow.

Each subsequent trip the pisser left me more convinced that not only was I having an extremely good hair day, but I'll be a monkey's giant asshole if my teeth weren't just a tiny bit straighter and more pearly white, and my boobs were rockin' too, now that you mention it. I fully intended to snap some shots of myself to document the hotness, but when I went to get my camera, I was distracted by a bowl of guacamole on the kitchen counter. And another grapefruit vodka.

Next morning, same bathroom, my reflection in that same mirror induced a bout of appearance-induced depression that I couldn't kick until we hit the cheese store in Comstock on the way home. Thank heaven for pepper jack and beef sticks, man.

Another piece of evidence to back up my theory: Gray stayed up one night last week, drinking beers and jammin' on his gee-tar while I sawed logs in the other room (or possibly finished reading Eclipse, though I'll never cop to that)((or tried to block out the sound of a certain Metallica song being played over and fucking over again. again)). He later confided in me that he quite innocently, mind you, ended up "kind of hammered", and had a hard time standing up when he undressed for bed.

Apparently he hadn't realized the effect of the alcohol on his razor sharp senses and his crane-eqsue balance because THE GUITAR PLAYING! OH GOOD LORD, the magical, wonderful guitar playing. He was NAILING those solos, he claimed. He was playing better than he had in weeks, and he had the booze to thank. He wished I could have heard it. He wished ANYONE could have heard him. He felt like a rock star. A really under-rated one.

So I asked if perhaps the booze may have been responsible for making him THINK he was playing awesome (i.e., DKS, or Drunken Karaoke Syndrome), and he declined to comment.