I don’t want to go on the cart

So, I’m not dead. I’ve just been far, far away in the magical land of Middle Tennessee, visiting with friends old and new. It was actually a really fun trip, despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that the entire weekend was pretty much a bender, which I ended up paying for later.

Saturday evening was full of themed, drunken rabble-rousing at 1202 Mahogany Trail. I haven’t been there in quite a while, so it was a little odd to be back. Lots of new faces, lots of introductions, lots of names I promptly forgot, lots of booze to ease the mind. It was amusing seeing damn near all the ladies except Kristin, Amanda, and me interpret “Middle School Dance Party” as “Catholic schoolgirl” party, but, hey, maybe they all went to Catholic middle schools. At least they dressed up; I couldn’t find my ubiquitous red-pink-orange-green-blue flannel shirt or I would have wrapped it around my waist — over overalls, of course — and stuck giant silver hoops in my ears, picked the gunk outta my braces, and hopped on over to the party in platform sneakers. Good thing I didn’t go for the flannel, though, since the AC was out and it was hot as balls in that house. No matter. I was soon inebriated enough to not care.

I paid for my shenanigans dearly, though: Sunday morning I was booted out of my hotel at 11, and ended up on MTSU’s campus, hugging the toilet in the basement of the KUC, sticking my finger down my throat and horking up water and wine and salad greens from who knows when. Now that’s a dose of humility right there, to be spending a summer Sunday morning on an abandoned campus, getting intimately acquainted with the public toilets and then crashing on the lounge couch beside some old dude who’s trying to study. I spent the remainder of the day nursing a pulsing headache and the nagging feeling that I was going to spew all over everything and everyone. It wasn’t until I was back at 1202, playing the Wii, that I began to feel better. I mean, anyone who has ever played a Wii will probably understand why that is.

Sunday evening I headed to Lesley‘s place, where I met Jag (the one with ladybits, even thought SHE TOTALLY STOLE THAT NAME, OMGWTF!!!) and Crystal (no link because I think her LJ is private). We sat around and shoved crackers and bread and berries and fruit salad and cheese and sangria and white wine into our boozeholes, and talked about and poop and episiotomies, and not necessarily in that order. It was awesome. Eddie lurked, like old men are wont to do. He’s a sweet kitty. I’m sad I didn’t get any pictures of him.

I went to bed exhausted, but luckily Lesley’s guest bed is like a pallet of regenerative awesomeness, so when I woke up Monday morning, I did not feel like barfing on anything (which would have been horribly embarrassing on those pristine white sheets). In fact, I dare say I felt good. I peeked out the window and saw a squirrel ravaging her tomato plants, which I hated to tell her because I didn’t want to ruin her day at 10:30.

So, yeah. Not dead. Just tired. And not looking forward to working the late shift tomorrow night. But I think that’s going to give me time to go get a haircut. After looking at pictures of myself from the weekend and seeing what a freaking rat’s nest I’ve got perched on my shoulders, it’s time to take care of this mess.