This one speaks for itself

I've had beer goggles of the worst kind, like when the alarm goes off at 7:34 a.m., I've gotten 35 minutes of sleep, I'm still too drunk to drive but suddenly sober enough to realize that the dude lying next to me is, sadly, not Colin Farrell's twin brother, but a not-so-distant relative of Elmer Fudd.

But I've had an even stranger, twilight-zone-esque alcoholic calamity--the reverse beer goggles. The scenario goes like this: I'm out at a bar/nightclub/Shell gas station, etc. I'm drunk, I meet a boy, I investigate his molars with my tongue, then take him home. Then I squint my eyes, rub 'em a few times, and think, Christ Ariel, you picked a real coyote date. So I make him sleep on the couch and stumble off to bed.

Then, the next morning, some friggin' greek god is in my kitchen making pancakes. That's right, a GQ model is asking me if I take cream and sugar while I'm giggling nervously and surreptitiously looking for Mr. Fudd under the couch cushions.

So who knows? Maybe I sleepwalk and wake up at the Chip n Dale's frat house. Maybe the UFO keeps dropping off the wrong alien abduction victims at my house. But hell, if this is the product of impaired judgement, then keep the drinks comin'!