Today is Saturday, so you would be entirely within your rights to expect a hung over post.
Here it is.
Today I woke up with a trial version of my hangover.
I felt it in the corner of my mind and it was tangy, bitter, nauseous and there was a niggling sense of having done something terribly, terribly wrong. It was ok, though. It was a preview of things to come. I was innocent- I didn’t know what I had done. It took a while to reach the level of regretful wisdom I am at now.
I remembered incrementally…. first, that I had already woken up this morning.
I had woken up naked and gone to the bathroom, found my kitchen eerily empty, thought it must be like 3am, checked clock which said 7am. Gone back to bed and noticed the man I had been curled up with. Also naked. I shook him awake and told him to get out of my bed. I need sleep for work. Sleep sleep- out of bed now. Go kitchen.
He woke up slowly.
Out out out! Kitchen! Sleep kitchen couch!
He seemed to vaguely understand. He sat on the edge of the bed with his own hangover to contend with. I stretched diagonally across the bed,extended my legs and kicked him. Out out out! Kitchen sleep, bed morning sleep work one hour!
Then I went back to sleep, but I couldn’t relax properly because the fact of this man in my bed was starting to bother me.
I know this man. He is a FRIEND.
He is a friend who came to hang out with me at work (ding ding warning bells) but I thought maybe he liked me as a person. Yeah he probably does too, but anyway who comes to hang out with someone at work for like 3 hours? Nobody. I’d do that- if I wanted to screw somebody.
We left work at 3.30 and he convinced me quite easily to go for a pint. We had a pint and then a whisky.
He ordered a wild turkey and the barmaid brought me my bushmills and a glass of something transparent.
I was like, eh whiskey? Sorry wild turkey, it’s a whisky!
She’s like, yeah yeah! Whisky!
So we look at the glass of clear liquid and I smell it and it’s gin.
But I don’t trust my boozehound snout, so I’m like, uh maybe it’s clear whisky? Who the fuck knows. I don’t want to look like a fool, I mean whiskey is MY drink! But I am ignorant of things, maybe there is clear whisky?
But he’s looking at it confused. So the barmaid goes away and I tell him to leg it up to the bar and look at the bottle of wild turkey. Of course it’s whisky coloured. The barmaid reluctantly changes his gin for a real wild turkey. “I REPEATED IT TWICE, you said Tanqueray!
I’m like, listen biatch I speak english better than you do. But no, I’m nice. I’m just like ooh sorry, hee hee.
Anyway we had our drinks and a good chat bitching about Italians….
Then I was not sure what to do. On the one hand, I wanted to party because it was Friday night, my night I can go out with Andrea.
But if I kept drinking during the day (I thought) I would fade early. So I didn’t want to drink and then stay in.
So we leave the bar and…
wait I didn’t remember all this at once.
I’m taking you on magical journey on the hangover train.
So where was I?
Anyway. Waking up and a sliver of the suggestion of the idea that I may have kissed this guy last night, begins to crop up in my mind.
I should at least tell you we are friends. He was a friend of my ex’s and mine, but I always got along better with him so he’s not gonna go rat me out to my ex. He’s a rational, skeptical son of a gun, into economics and shizz. He agrees with me when I go all “hey man, the po-lice rock my world, I’d prefer police who every now and then skull some peaceful protestor, than no po-lice at all.”
I like him as a FRIEND. His nickname with the old group of friends is Rango, and it is a nickname based on appearance. Just to clear that up. Anyway he’s one of the few who actually bothered to stay in touch with me after I split with my ex.
So I’m all too warm in my bed sprawling around and glad I unceremoniously kicked the intruder out because I am farting like the bean-munching drunken midnight cooking freak I am. I groan remembering being overcome by the boozy spirit of Martha Stuart and making a massive pot of pasta for everyone on a whim and then not eating any because I only had three clean plates and the lack of a plate for me seemed insurmountable at the time.
Oh sweet jesus, I remember Rango feeding me pasta from his fork. Urghh I do however have the dignity to remember myself being like, urgh no, and taking the last few forkfulls off the fork to feed myself like a proper human being. but I did accept 4 or 5 airoplanes before making this sensible decision.
I can hear Rango stirring in the kitchen.
I notice my vagina kind of hurts.
I allow a tiny little memory of him TRYING a finger and me saying “no!” and then us going to sleep but I’m naked for some reason so I know that’s just me lying to myself. My vagina kind of really hurts.
I go to sleep.
I wake up and hear the door slam. Relief! Won’t have to endure seeing Rango and knowing he could smell his fingers at any moment and there would be a pussy smell. I also remember having peed last night in a turkish bathroom in the bar so there would have been a bit of a sloppy pee smell also. Because there was no t.p.
I go to sleep with an innocent-ish smile on my face. I barely close my eyes, barely drift off into hot uncomfortable snooze, when my alarm goes off like vindictive bitch daggers in my psyche.
I have a very dry mouth. I’m not sure if Rango is really gone or not, can I risk a kitchen visit? How did I get naked? When did Rango enter my bed? I do know there was definitely no funny business before we were in bed together. I’m not sure if it’s a real memory but I think he was in my bed already when I went to bed. I can’t remember. I also don’t remember getting naked.Did I get naked before realising he was in my bed?
I recall him stroking my belly and growling “you’re so fucking sexy” and then “your pussy is amazing” and also something about my pussy tasting nice so WAIT A SECOND did he go down on me? Oh fuck I think so. Oh that is so gross, I don’t LIKE him, and I don’t like oral…
For some reason I am hung up entirely on whether or not we kissed. I think it was all some sick ploy of his to get me drunk and give me head and do various other things with me naked all so I will eventually cave and give him a kiss.
OH FUCK I had his dick in my mouth. I think. Oh man. What the fuck? I’m so not attracted to this guy. I really really am not attracted to him. What the fuck am I doing writhing around in bed against his hard on, growling weird shit back to him?
Panic descends. Not panic that I don’t remember how much or how little actual fucking we did without condoms but the panic that maybe the other people in our party had not left the other room when we got down to the dirty talking?
Oh sweet mother of all hangovers, please don’t let Andrea and her nice boyfriend and the other couple (ahhh it was a set up, 3 couples!)
have heard me through the OPEN door into the kitchen, with my ooh yeah I’m so wet or whatever ridiculous porn inspired breathy bullshit I was not exactly whispering to Rango as he dug his fingers in in a way that made me want more and more and more and grind against his cock but also feel like damn that’s actually a bit too rough but I don’t care, tomorrow’s difficulty sitting and potential thrush next week is for tomorrow’s self to deal with. Dig in, apparently sexiest man in the universe for like 10 minutes.
Shit I don’t know all that happened. I hope so much that the others weren’t witness to the… oh man he was telling me I was sexy all night. At one point- you see I actually CAN hold my drink, I was way less drunk than him and we both drank from 4pm til at least 1am quite heavily- at one point he was grabbing my neck and blearily gazing at me and I was like, “eh… he he… right.. enough of that I’m not a pony (??) don’t grab my neck, hee hee!”
And he was all slimey, looking intently at me the way only a really drunk person can look at anything, saying “a pony? i don’t understand” and I was darting away to make some drinks or pasta or something… starting to realise he wanted to get it on.. but kind of denying it because I can have a male friend and get drunk with him, right?
Oh no what’s the use, I fuck everybody I get drunk with.
Oh I don’t smell good.
I’m at work now.
My vadge hurts a lot.
On the bus in here I could feel the eyes of everyone boring into my skull. They were all judging me. I feel like the neighbourhood must have gathered to discuss my debauchery this morning over croissants and coffee and now they are just judging me.
I have at this point filled in most of the remaining holes with cold hard facts and real trustworthy memories and oh man it’s not a pretty picture. But I did call Andrea and pull the old “zomg I don’t remember what happened last night, do you?” and she told me she left early and I didn’t disgrace myself so there is no need to sully her opinion of me, whatever that may be, by telling her I woke up with motherlovin’ Rango in my arms. I am very relieved anyway. But also, there is another couple that I can’t account for, I have no idea if they went home before we commenced the noisy orifice-exploration in my just changed sheets! I have no clean sheets to put on my bed to get rid of the smell because I just changed them the night before. Damn it. At least my bed wasn’t all smelly, but now it is. Eww.
Also, I just did my hangover poo.
And it hurt. A LOT. So that means… yeah.
To go with that nasty thought, my brain thought it apt to supply a memory of him asking me “oh yeah do you like that in your ass?” and me being like “yeah yeah I love it” in my most cringe-worthy porn voice and I don’t remember was it a finger or a penis or the thigh of a rugby player, but discomfort wise it could be either.
Oh man what the fuck?
On the plus side, I am actually pretty awesome in bed. I need drunkeness though, it uninhibits me… clearly. A bit too much. Jeez I don’t find this guy remotely attractive even in the sense of we have chemistry but he’s kinda gross. There is zero chemsitry. I find him gross, I found him gross when I was drunk out of my mind yesterday, but then there are all these memories of the crazy sexy times so..
And I absolutely have no interest in bum love.
But with only 9 or so hours of solid hardcore drinking… every bit of standards and “I’ll only sleep with people I am in some way attracted to” and decorum and whatever I have, out the fucking window, naked.
We were going to buy bourbon and make old fashioneds but they had no angostura or maraschino so there was no point, but that had been the premise for the continuation of the drinking. So we bought jagermeister and went back to my house where we began planning a party inviting people and saying “BRING EVERYONE!” and also planning another party for next week. We were alone until around 10.30 pm and it was starting to get a little bit awkward but then a couple arrived and then the other couple. I was on fire, the most awesome bubbly hostess ever, making roast potatoes and baby carrots and later pasta with my own homemade pesto and making drinks for people (we finished the vodka, amaretto, jagermeister, beer, and gin) and being off the wall amusing and telling all my best stories about embarassing things that happened to me, and the other couple who arrived first were like OMG you’re the best, you’re fuckin awesome, and I was nissed as a pewt but I was good drunk, steady afternoon drinking drunk not cram in beers after midnight drunk.
Then I was waking up and shoving this unwanted man out of my bed going FUCK OFF I need sleep. Or that was what I meant to say, it came out more garbled and possibly more rude.
Earlier on Rango was like, wow you have lost weight and he kept looking at me and I was getting edgy being like when are the others arriving? Call them! Because I was starting to remember that thing about men and women and the inability to be friends properly and I don’t know, I have friends who don’t fuck their male friends but I don’t know if it’s that I’m just slutty or else if it’s that I force my standards on myself but my body doesn’t actually care who’s hot or not, or if it’s that I’m just too damn sexy to have male friends without them wanting to jump my bones? Or maybe it’s that my openess when discussing certain things that makes my male friends think I’m coming on to them. Groan….. remember discussing masturbation, vividly, with arm-waving and loud volume. He told me I was “rica” ie delicious, a lot. Before we commenced the fuckery. Just in the middle of conversation. Why do I still refuse to face it when some guy is clearly looking for a piece of me, and only later it seems really fucking obvious?
He told me I lost weight, a lot. I was like yeah, you know, diet and excercise but then I burst out laughing and was like hahaha no of course not, diet pills and anorexia! I don’t know why I keep using that as a kind of joke, no one laughs.
I don’t smell good.
I really wish I hadn’t done whatever I remember doing and then whatever I definitely don’t remember at all.
Shit it did feel good to feel that wanted though. He couldn’t believe his luck. That may sound egotistical but fuck man, he’s called Rango for a reason. It felt awesome. why is it that the really weird looking guys are so forceful in the sack? And why can’t I just fuck someone NORMAL looking, why do I aim for the absolute pinnacle of hotness and then wind up in bed with… oh god no…
I can’t imagine myself looking him in the face sober and kissing him let alone putting his dick in my mouth, but shit man it was not bad.
Or maybe it was the fact that he was also drunk. I mean I may have initiated it all. He may have just lain down in my bed because he was drunk and couldn’t get home, or something.
I may have just done my rubbing my ass up against his groin move that is something I just can’t resist doing when I’m in bed with a male person.
Ohhhh don’t feel good. Feel awful.
Shit shit shit why did I shit on my doorstep like that? One of my only friends, friends with ALL my friends! And my ex. He won’t tell him, he’s more my friend than my ex’s. Obviously, cause he wanted to get in my pants.
So did he just wanna get in my pants or is it that he wanted to screw my in every possible way because of the long day we spent getting shitfaced in each others company, and because I’m such a fun drunk? I am a fun drunk when I’m like that.
But I feel rotten today.
Regrets, I have a few, but then again, too few to mention.
Looong day at work stretching ahead. Want a hug, some fizzy water, some fruit or something like a watermelon.. yeah I’m just thirsty. And then I need a shower but I’m in work all day MAN I stink of sex, it’s disgusting. Luckily I had a stroke of genius yesterday and brought deodorant into the shop so I can spray some of that like the classy ho that I am.
I REEK. I am going to try mask the scent of guy that repulses me’s cock.
And get some water.
I’m lonely, I want someone to talk to.
OH NO, customers! Loads of customer, and I’m so thirsty! Now have to wait til they leave, hopefully it will be right now. Do I need to crank one out to make them leave? NO don’t try things on ,please I hate you please have mercy I didn’t mean to!
Shit that was real unpleasant.
The fuckers wouldn’t leave.
I was in pain, thinking going to puke… horrible.
Then went to get fizzy water thinking it would sort my head out and clean some of the dick residue from my mouth and I got fizzy wagter but when I opened it it was totally flat so it just tastes weird like DISAPPOINTMENT.
Oh man why all my sexploits are so shameful for me.
Arggghhh crushing mental anguish.
Fuckers coming in here wanting to try on shoes, I feel like I might puke.
I woke up when my alarm went off and leapt to attention and began furiously brushing my teeth as memories crept in the cracks in my mental health. I was halfway brushed when I needed to hurl. I flung some spit from the back of my throat but it wasn’t puke, it felt like puke but it wasn’t puke. I think if I had puked I might be in better condition now but it doesn’t always go that way.
Why such manic manipulation of my vaginal walls? Seriously ow. Man I cringe thinking about having done ass stuff in the state I was in, without any kind of preparation. What the fuck was I thinking?
Oh man. Despair! Despair and hours and hours left in this misery with these CUSTOMERS.
UPDATE: Sat on the shoe-trying-on-pouff cradling my head and trying to shove out nasty sharp images of man I don’t like’s penis and BALLS. Sat for a good long while.
My whole body aches, not to mention (again) my poor private areas or even my shame cortex.
My tummy is unsettled. I feel like I’ve been shaken and shaken and all my bits are jiggling around and they need to sit still and settle down but it’s become clear that I will not just feel better soon. I will either decide I am safe to move as far as the pharmacy, buy some anti nausea medicine and hope I make it there and back, or I make a break for it now there are no customers and go puke upstairs.
I am drinking a big bottle of tap water because the fizzy water is so horrible flat.
I don’t think I’ll make it to the chemist. Desperate for someone to become aware of how utterly I am suffering right now, I try to check facebook but standing is too woozy. I sit miserable and text my pharmacist friend asking for advice. I start feeling hopeful like she’s gonna reply with something I have to hand, which would have to be elastic bands or velvet clothing, so it’s unlikely. I see a wizened old prune gawping in the window at shoes and just as I’m slamming the door shut and locked so she can’t get in and take away my only exit strategy, it becomes absolutely clear that I am gonna puke and I may not make it to the bathroom. My evil little brain starts fucking with me and throwing fun snaps of me arching my back last night and this guy’s hands all over and his excited dick and oh nooo I’m gonna hurl so I run up the stairs desperate wishing please please just get me up to the toilet and it occurs to me that merely getting there will not be enough, I will also need to keep my long ponytail out of my vomit and also not puke on my hands or clothes because I have to work all fucking day so I can’t smell of puke.
I hamster-cheek the first wave and miraculously none comes out the sides of my mouth… I thrust myself towards the toilet and with my last second of pre-puke preparation time, flick my hair over my shoulder and hope for the best.
It’s projectile. It stays clear of my clothes and hair (at least I think so) but spatters my boots and the (luckily tiled) bathroom walls..
I spew about 2 litres of water and coca cola. I don’t feel better, more wants to come but I don’t want it to. I want my belly to calm the fuck down and let me live my life.
It’s all liquid but it’s super acidic. I suppose I ate quite early in the day yesterday and even the few bits of pasta are long digested by now. It feels like a waste of a puke, only throwing up water. I always feel like there’s that silver lining to hurling chunks, because at least those chunks can’t go to my thighs. But this is a stinky storm cloud with no silver lining. (what the fuck is a silver lining anyway? What kind of cloud has a lining? What would it be, a layer sewed into the cloud that is made of solid silver? How the fuck is that a good or useful thing? So, that cloud is raining on you, but hey at least it has silver in it? What use is that if clouds are far away in the sky?)
Anyway I flop to the ground and quiver for a few minutes before I decide I have beaten the desire to puke into at least momentary submission. I am fine now because I am able to wipe the walls and toilet bowl and the outside of the toilet down the sides and my boots and the floor and the full extra toilet roll. I hear a noise scarily close, as I wipe the toilet, crouched on the ground. The toilet in my shop is upstairs and has a sliding door that’s a pain in the ass to close and also I didn’t want to be stuck in a 2 square metre room with my puke so I left it open, and adjacent to the bathroom door is the glass door that looks out onto a shared balcony.
There is nevery anyone on the balcony, never! And just at this moment as I’m on the ground with my hand inside the toilet (just inside the bowl, where the flushing water don’t reach) there is a neighbour entering the shop next door and he can see me oh how embarassing.
I kinda feel good but kinda not.
I go downstairs and my own personal pharmacist has written to me with instructions that sounds so awesome I immediately reply I love you… of course you can’t seem to get solpadeine over here so it’s not entirely feasible.
Anyway I wish I could talk to her properly about all my terrible pangs of regret and shameful sexploits, but she’s in the UK so no possible until at least I get home from work tonight.
I go to the chemist anyway and get some soluble shit for nausea and the chemist smiles knowingly when I tell her why I feel so ill (obviously jsut that I drank too much, not that it’s the physical manifestation of my mental and emotional revulsion)
I go back to work chirpy as fuck.
It lasts a few minutes until a family of really cheerful nice customers come in. They see me and I look rough as my poor genitals treatment last night. Ohhh urk stop with the mental imagery, it’s not fun at all.
The customers are so fucking nice it’s grating on me. The little boy starts telling his mum about a cartoon he saw or something and he’s like “hey then they puked all over the place and had to go to hospital” and the dad is like “oi, that’s not very nice to say! Puke! No one wants to hear that! I’m sure this nice girl doesn’t want to hear all about puke!” and he smiles at me like please forgive the little tyke but I find it hilarious because if they had come in 10 minutes earlier I would have puked all over their faces.
Anyway that is you up to date now.
I will of course let you know when and if anything happens at all, or fails to happen today.
That is my promise to you, or your money back.
Now I am finished writing that bit I don’t know what to do with myself.
I am feeling weird but considerably better than before and during vomiting, which is something, a very small something.
I can’t tell if I’m too cold or too hot, but I do know I am entirely the wrong temperature.
I may need to put on some makeup now I look atrocious and if I sell too little today I will look like a shit saleswoman because all week I sold fuck all and now I’m hung over again on the busy day and no one is buying and the shop has been closed several times so far today so I could pee and poo and think maybe I might puke and really puke and get nausea medicine so I need to sober up and be good today because tomorrow is my dad off so I can get over my hangover then. Ugh it’s one thing to say, quite another to actually put on makeup and more importantly look at my haggard hung over facein the mirror close up… no.