Thursday, January 01, 2009

2009: So far, not a fan.


I open one eye. My eyelid hurts.


I wiggle my toes. One of my feet is planted on the floor beside the bed, which is never a good sign. It means I had the spins when I passed out. There will be vomit somewhere in the apartment.


I dry heave. It's 8am on New Year's Day. I have to go to work. whimper.

I stumble out of the bedroom. I look in a mirror and see that my face is streaked with glitter mascara and one eye is red and swollen. Maybe from glitter to the cornea, or maybe FauxHawk punched me. I can't be sure.

The living room is littered with shot glasses and red bull cans. I step on a pizza crust. I cough, and half a joint falls out of my mouth. Ok.

I recall a themed house crawl. I recall jerk chicken. I recall dumping an entire can of redbull onto TigerCat's pants when she passed out on the living room floor. I thought it would wake her up. Party in her pants. I recall her telling me that she puked in the bushes. I now recall puking in her bathroom. That's least now I know where I left it.

I recall TheCrazy wearing condoms on her feet. I recall walking to one of the apartments on the house crawl in nothing but flipflops, leggings, and a tank top. I recall an entire punch bowl of killer koolaid. I recall leaving drunk voicemails on Spaz and MC's phones. I recall having to pee and finding TigerCat curled up around the terlet. 

With pieces of my night starting to come together, I shower, dress and check my email. I have 2 emails from the Prof I TA for in CapitalCity, telling me that the massive project I worked on all week isn't good enough and he wants me to redo it by Sunday. I consider dropping out of school.

I walk to Starbucks. The streets are completely deserted. 

I get to the office. I am literally the only person in the entire building. I could turn naked cartwheels down the hallway and no one would ever know. I might do it later, when movements stop causing me to hurl.

I am still dizzy. Time to track down the New Year's Baby.



1 comment:

Cleavage said...

I'll trade you one new year hangover for one acute case of infectious tonisillitis. Being housebound lost it's glory after the third disc in a row of SATC, and while the liquid diet is great for my waistline, I WANT SOME FUCKING SALTY TEXTURE. So, I will happily trade you your hangover and the chance to ogle tiny babies.