Clearing up misconceptions

Apparently, there are those in my immediate circle of friends and family who believe that no matter what type of school work I need to be working on, I will always readily put the aforementioned work away in order to participate in any type of drinking activity. My wife, in particular, holds this assumption of me simply because she thinks I'm always drinking or drunk. Oddly enough, it doesn't seem to register that I always get my work done because (believe it or not), school work, especially when the due date is unavoidable, is always the priority--over alcohol, sex, yard work, etc.

While I will not go into the numerous lessons learned last night from my wife's attempts to increase her tolerance, I will say that it was a pretty bizarre night that ended in a most routine fashion (think the whole "sickness and health" vow . . .).

Due to my efforts to appease the wife, I sat on the back porch drinking with her until about 10, even though I had a real assload of shit to read. I crashed out about 3 am with my readings only about half-done. So I have to walk into class with the fear that I will be asked something directly related to a particular story and consequently look like a complete jackass. Luckily, I had read all of the stories we covered today, so the complete and utter embarrassment will have to wait until another day.

On a brighter note, I will be leaving for Cancun in less than a week. It means getting on an airplane and leaving the country, two things that I'm pretty sure I've never done. While the rest of my fraternity brothers were always whooping it up in Mexico or Panama City during Spring Break, I was always the poor sucker left in C-town because I was working. But I finally get to go. Needless to say, I expect the plane to crash somewhere over the Rio Grande where I will be rescued by coyotes (the people not the animals--this isn't the Call of the Fucking Wild). Afterwards, they will nurse me back to health and promise to send me home whenever I'm able to get around (It's likely that the plane crash would've chopped both of my legs off; therefore, the need for a wheelchair or a motorized double-knee scooter would be imperative). Once I'm off the respirator (my chest, of course, has been caved in during the wreck), the coyotes send me to the Honduras where I'm forced to sell spices along with the rest of the indigenous people. Maybe I'll pick up sniffing glue.