Pizza Diarist hiding his beer.
How I ended up drunk in a guy's gym locker room tonight is an interesting story...

Sometimes you can drink a pitcher of beer, pull the lapel of your chesterfield around your chin and the flaps of your hunting cap down over your ears, and take the long, lonely stumble home to pass out in your bed wondering when your train was going to come in. Other days you can drink the same pitcher of beer and find yourself at a meeting of the Young Dalhousie Conservatives before passing through a male locker room full of floppy birds and chisiled waxed chests to end up as the loan cheerleader during a volleyball game involving people you've never seen before.

Tonight was definitely one of the latter.

I don't know when exactly it was that I began to see events in my life in terms of whether they would make for good blog posts or not. But suffice it to say that when I was told there was a meeting of the Young Dalhousie Conservatives on the top floor of the Grad House this evening, I decided to drop by for the sake of you, my loyal readers. Well... that and the fact that I was already two thirds of the way through a pitcher of Honey Brown Ale. That helped, too.

So I took a seat next to the person with the most conservative hair cut I could find: parted and flat, held down with something I could only assume was either formaldehyde or mousse (liberals use semen or gel). I stumble into the perfect discussion: the right to bare arms. I'm all about baring arms. Just not when those bare arms are holding guns. So I immediately challenge him on his contention that if everyone just had a high powered automatic rifle the world would be a much safer place. You see, I'm a big fan of just criminals having guns. That way they're much easier to spot. The conversation obviously goes nowhere.

Suddenly I'm invited to watch a volleyball game at Dalplex. The beer whispers to my frontal lobes that that sounds like a great idea, so I tag along. Little do I know that to get to the gym I'm forced to pass through an area in which men walk around naked as though this is ok. Well... it's not! I don't know how you woman kiss those things without laughing in their faces. Naked men are hilarious. Being fairly intoxicated by this point, I laugh like a schoolgirl and skip by the shower stalls, spinning penises like biplane propellers while belting out "Singing in the Rain."

I yell obscenities at the opposing volleyball team until I'm politely asked to leave.

What's happening to me? Is this what rock bottom feels like?