One Beer Too Many

Well, the Holiday party season has arrived and I welcomed it in a way that I haven’t since my early 20’s. And I did it in grand style with 50 of my closest new friends. We started out the evening rushing around like crazy people trying to get ready for Kim’s annual office party. This was her first and we didn’t really know what to expect. Being somewhat shy and short on small talk, I struck out to the bar for my first of “ahem” several pints of social skills. After a little wax was re-introduced into my recently wax free system, I fell right in step with the crowd and began laughing and making fast friends. We had a great dinner, plenty of entertainment and some fine music. So fine, I’m told that I danced to it by myself as the party rolled on. I don’t consider myself much of a dancer in fact, quite the opposite but I felt especially smooth and coordinated that night and surly impressed Kim’s new coworkers with my kick ass rug cutting dance skills. In addition to my dancin’, I apparently hugged and then used as a crutch, some lady that I had never met. She’s a lucky gal though, I didn’t drag her to the coat rack to make out. My wife stuck by me and made sure that I didn’t do anything stupid... Oh wait... No as it turns out, she didn’t. I managed plenty of stupid things. Not the least of which was accepting the generous shots of tequila from my new found friends.
I stand by my belief that tequila is only a good idea when your too drunk to know otherwise. That stuff is pure evil.
By the end of the night, or party, (as my night/morning was just beginning) we headed home. From here on out, I have to rely on witnesses as I personally cannot recall a single damn event.
It would seem that we made it about a block before nausea came a knockin’ and I had to make a down payment on a full hangover as we stopped and waited for a train. I imagine this was a pretty neat thing for passing traffic to witness, but a deal with the devil is a deal and my payments were due. It would be the first of many in the next hour to come.
I get home, made it to the bathroom where at least I had a proper place do my dirty work. So comfy was the area in and around my toilet that I took a quick nap with my hand resting all cozy and uh, warm in the cat litter. My nap was indeed a quick one though. I awoke to Kim pounding on the door telling me to unlock it. (Apparently I didn’t want to embarrass myself with letting my wife see me like this, it made perfect sense at the time SO CAN IT!) She was still dressed beautifully in a gown and seemed pretty intent on my getting the hell out of the litter box and into bed. Normally I would be quick to answer that request, but with the elusive doorway constantly spinning just out of reach, I wasn’t able to get out without first falling into the damn wall which in my opinion shouldn’t have been constructed there in the first place. This just after she handed me a glass bowl with which to make future deposits should the need “come up”. She quickly revised her game plan upon seeing that I used up all my coordination on the dance floor and handed me a more sturdy metal bowl to take to bed. Not what I was hoping for, but even in my “fuzzy” state, I realized that my night for “swinging from the chandelier romance as the boy was at the baby-sitters all night” was about 4 beers and two shots to late. I crawled into bed and woke up to the alarm blasting a few hours later. Thanking god that it was Saturday and that I didn’t do this to myself on a school night. Kim on the other hand had to go to work. I ate some aspirin, crawled back into bed where I was fully planning to spend my entire day, or the next several, what ever it took not to feel like this beat up and broken, sore stomach havin’ pounding headed excuse for a carcass. At around whenever, I did get up and take a hot, hot shower, made some ginger tea hoping to stop the nausea, when that didn’t work, I got rid of it the old fashioned way, by literally getting rid of it, back to the toilet for me. From there I walk to the Hubbard’s who’s house Dylan is staying, to check on him. The Hubbards by the way are the son and daughter in law of the owner of the company who’s party was responsible for my current condition and by the time I made it over there, my antics had preceded me. After checking on Jr and explaining my condition and the evils of drinkin’, Karen told me he can stay a while longer. I greet this news with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, then head back home where I hold the couch down for the next couple hours. I did manage to eat and keep it down. I started to feel a little better, and then a lot better by the end of dinner. Thank god!
That my friends is as good a reason for moderation as there ever was one.
Sunday rolled around and I was a 110% better, a new man.
Whew! Glad that is over, I’d like to say I learned from it. But I won’t make any promises