Perty! Party! Party!

One thing my Old Man was very insistent upon was that when he went tits up( one of the seemingly millions of little phrases he used), he wanted a party.

So we're gonna party.

Today.

There isn't supposed to be any booze there but I know my family and if there is one thing you can guarantee, someone is going to get as drunk as a piss boiled owl.
(See?)

That used to be me.


I would have had a rolling bar in the rig and at least two pocket flasks on me but seeings how I finally quit the shit, someone else is going to have to pick up the slack.

I'm sure I won't be disappointed.

One thing I DO NOT MISS is waking up every morning puking my guts out and being still drunk from the night before.

It was pretty common for me to get my hangovers at about eleven or noon.
The minute I got off work I was drinking again.

When a skinny little dude that weighs a hundred and fifty pounds can pound down almost a full bottle of straight whiskey while drinking beer chasers all night,every night, you are looking at a serious individual.

Seriously trying to kill themselves.

So I finally wised up and had a little chat with myself and decided my marriage was more important to me than drinking myself to death or even possibly killing someone else.

That being said, sometimes being sober sucks ass too but I just deal with shit now.

So Someone is going to have to hoist one for me to the Old Man's memory but that's cool.

There is gonna be a party, just like good old Dad wanted.
Heh, I will be telling some stories on his ass later.
He used to drink like a fish back in the day and I have some doozies, if my pickled brain can recall them.

What can I say? We're Irish for fucks sake!
Both his parents were first generation Americans, both sides of that family came straight from County Antrim.

My Mothers side of the family has been traced back to the Revolutionary War and the trip across the pond before that.

Either way, its' time to party!

See ya's later.