Sunday Morning (not the Maroon 5 song)

I haven't had a drink in a while. Okay, I have, but I haven't gone out and gotten good and drunk in a while. This weekend I did it twice. Verdict? I'm old. And stupid.

I woke up today with crispy hair and a body covered in seriously-large bruises. Seems I got a fancy orange/cranberry-juice-and-vodka hair treatment last night, when my friend knocked over my drink onto my hair while sitting on my midsection and playing "typewriter" on my chest. Of course. The bruises are from being knocked onto the ground by said friend and then from my struggle to harm him in return.

Luckily, a few minutes into our brawl, I remembered we were at someone else's nice new apartment. It was a housewarming and we were warming the place by knocking into shit and spilling on their stuff. So we ended it, and I sheepishly proceeded to try to clean their apartment. Not just where we had fought. Their kitchen and bathroom and stuff, too.

Regardless, we got home at 5:30AM (after they basically had to TELL us that we had over-stayed our welcome - playing Wii and disturbing neighbors just eats up time) and I proceeded to scour the city for a box of Kraft mac n' cheese. Which I then made, and tried to consume all 7 servings before my body realized it was full and this was a really bad idea. Didn't happen. The husband's like "Woo! She's drunk, I'm getting sex!" and I'm burping and trying to keep the nuclear orange noodles down in my gut where they belong. No sex was had. Maybe a little afternoon delight? Nope. I look like I've been run over by a truck and I'm bloated as shit.

Anyway, I remember the days in college when we'd drink all weekend, maybe I'd puke once, and then I'd get up for my first class of the week (2PM on Tuesday) with a pep in my step and a clear head, ready to take on the world. This morning I'm in pain and I look like Estelle Getty.

Lesson learned.

Until next weekend.