i woke up this morning with jasmine rice stuck in my hair and the crusty remnants of masala sauce all over my face, my couch and my doorknob like blood spatters at a crime scene.

what.

the.

fuck.

?

it all starts coming back to me, fuzzy memories are forming of me walking stumbling into some indian food joint in the mission and mumbling something about something something, “feed me you cocksuckers, no i don’t care that you’re closing in a few minutes, you’re open right now.”

goddammit.

i’ve never liked indian food, it fucking stinks. it all tastes and looks the same, lamb sucks and basically, it fucking stinks. what the hell is wrong with me? why did i do that to myself? WHAT ABOUT THE BURRITOS? WHAT ABOUT THE TACOS?

GODDAMMIT.

i’d like to meet blackout-me some day and kick her in the crotch. whiskey alone would never put me through the misery i went through today. this is india’s fault.