I would have prefered to wake up with a wildebeast gouging out my appendix, whatever that feels like

holy crap on a pointy stck….

I just…

woke up.

i woke up all sprawling in my bed, innocent of whtever the fuck shenanigans I got up to last night.

Whence did I come? Whince did I drink? Whance did I throw up for my hair to get so matted and smelly?

No clue.

Eventually some vague ideas formulated themselves and I realised (maybe realised is not the word)where keys? Where keys and why so much puke? I leapt from my bed and inspected the landing outside my apartment door.

Ah yes, sweetcorn and a stench of vomitation that points the finger of drunken blame entirely in my direction and frames perfectly good questions.

What? How did I  get home? Who put me here? Is this condition somebody’s fault?

Was I… a terrible drunk? I can’t remember anything after the dancing. Oh lordi…. dancing.

And there was a guy putting his arms around me…. not attractive enough for my drnken self though, I mean he was tall and stocky and his face wasn’t too bad but the extended belly put me off. urgh… I may have threatened to mace him in the face. Shit got to stop bringig the mace to the dance floor. Groaaaan  I had it in my boobs for some reason. Oh I am such a creepy weirdo.

Seriously, who brought me home last night? Did I get  taxi? Did I puke in taxi? Did I get lift with car-wielding folk? Did I puke in car? No memories.

I got up recently and sprayed cilit bang on the landing outside and rubbed with a towel. Then as my vision corrected itself and the axes clarified into a definite horizontal and vertical I noticed there was quite a lot of puke still there, so I swept it all into the hall of my apartent which is my jurisdiction so I am allowed to harbour as much sweetcorn and stomach acid as I care to…

I couldnt find my keys though, except then I did… they were in the sink in the kitchen which presumably means they are tainted with vomit. I can’t tell because my hair smells so bad that all else pales into insignificance. Also why is my passport in the sink? It’s not covered in vomit though  Idon’t think.

Ugh.

My hair is a dreadlocky solid.

And then when I was sweeping the vomit into my hall I noticed my handbag lying prostrate on the ground, gaping open and containing a lot less of whatever it used to have. I rummaged to try get an idea of what was missing but all I found was more spongey puke and damn sweetcorn.

I got back in bed and clutched my computer to me… the warm beacon of rationality in my storm. what the fuck happened last night?

I reembember looking awesome…but the only viable option was the kinda fat Romanian guy with the crutches.

I have to say he wasn’t tooooo bad, maybe his heavy jewelry and pot belly would have evened out the fact that i am extremely hairy… but the fact tht I didn’t even go ther in the condition I found myself means he probably was pretty gross.

He put his arms around my waist a couple of times and.. oh groan.. I did threaten to mace him… even if the presumptuous manner of him touching my thin part of my body made me… what do you call it? Something classy aboout lady parts… getting slippery? can’t think right now.

Then I remembered… I spent a good part of the night outside my apartment, entirely at a loss what to do with my keys. I don’t know did I even try to fit them in the lock before giving up and havig a little nap and voiding my stomach. Oh nice I’m gonna look all skinny today.

I like to puke but when I was 15 and gave bulimia a whirl, I was unable to force myself to undergo the unpleasantness of forcing a hand down my throat so it didn’t work out. It’s probably a good thing…

OH crap I must have been real drunk and lairy last night….

People kept givng me shots of rum to drink and I vaguely recollect going “wooo!” a few times.

Ugh my head…

I am going to have a solpadeine which I bullied my mother into bringing for me because they don’t sell them here. My mother brought them for me and now I will be able to survive my day. Oh man my head… to go into the kitchen I had to hold my head with both hands. Oh the smell.. oh the pain… it’s not fair. My nostrils are encrusted with stomach acids. I am not well. I spent at least half an hor outside my oor last night trying to get the door open with my keys but failing.

I smell SO FUCKNG BAD.

I don’t want to smell like this, nobody does… ugh who the fuck asshole gave me shots? I had a whole bunch of shots as well as a rake of jagerbombs and beers and straight whiskeys and I should have just fucked the guy with the crutches.. oh groan I was yelling things at peopole last night …. I was yelling “I can’t have a boyfriend who’s prettier than me, I get paranoid” which isn’t too bad, but I also was yelling some inexplicable lie about working in an S&M shop selling sex toyys and costumes for furries.

Who were these people? Andrea’s friends….

I presume her boyfrined dropped me home but I don’t remember it.

I have so much vomit to clean out of my home and handbag and clothing, it’s not even funny.

Grrr.

Please someone come and take the burden off.

I  am going to relieve myself of one burden (unresolved horniness) if I can, but it is likely I will just get the whirls and lie here twiching and not ina good post orgasmic way. I would appreciate someone sending me a maid to clean up all the puke or if you are broke, a hug will suffice. I know I smell really gross but come on I look really thin, I will forgive a bit of groping… also I can’t find my mace. OH it is in my bra. That’s nice, I slept wtih a can of mace in my cleavage. Wel, it cwoud be cleavage except I have small boobs. Last night there was ONE hot guy but he was going out with a girl who was

pretty

petite

had massive bazzongas

BITCH

I tried to be nice to her and talk to her when no one else was talking to her but eventually I got distracted by the warmth of feeling like a charitable motherfucker and the fact that she didn’t thank m for my effervescent company and condescention made me reiterate my original oppinion of her.. bitch. I thought it though, didn’t say it out loud.

Oh I am glad Ican’t remember much of what I got up to… I just know I was awful. Ok gonna try something while the spins hve kinda subsided

Oh.. wasnt a good idea.

Sorrry.

I can’t even muster a usable fantasy, let alone.. ugh.. touch my smelly disgusting body.

What a crappy day off this is turning out to be.

updaete:

Tried to think about things and provoke a nervous twitching… no can do. Fele too ill.

Tried to call my friends, no one home or up or willng to answer phone.

Tried clling my MOTHER… she’s obviously still in bed.

WTF it’s like 1pm in Ireland.

Get up already.

Someone please comfort me, I need a hug and acceptance and for someone who was there last night to tell me that I looked thin and didn’t make a fool of myself.

I already feel kinda bad about the start of the night… we went to this bar called Morrocco I think and they made awesome cocktails but I was like NO I want BEER so I had a beer, but they were like, “oh a small beer then” and I swear I nearly maced the fucker who said that. I don’t know in what universe presuming I want a small beer is an insult, but I took it that way anyway.

Then we sat with this group I didn’t know… I had met one girl before once and SHE remembered ME but I did’t remember her, and I apologised saying presumably I was horrible drunk that night.Then from the other end of the table (the all female end of the table) came an accusatory “what age are you?”

For a second I was unsure who it was aimed at. Me? Was I being Id’ed? It fel tthat way.

I was like “uh 24”, proudly, like they were gonna be impressed.

The bitch down the bottom of the table.. she was all “ooh I gave you 23, I thought you were 23…you look LITTLE”

Well.. in Italian, so little is more of an age related description than one for size.

But I was put out, to the max. I know, I know, looking younger isn’t an insult, not like looking older… what bothered me was the harpies down the end of the table discussing my age because I looked so out of place with these imperious 27 and 28 year olds gasp!

Seriously, what a fucking wench to be sitting there talking about my age. Tittering about how old I look.

I don’t look underage, other than that you seriously don’t need to include my birthday quotient into your conversations. And if you have nothing better to talk about, you can always discuss how old I look and then NOT SHARE IT WITH ME and EVERYONE ELSE AT THE TABLE.

What a cunt.

Andrea was like “uh it’s a compliment?” and I’m like “Huh I’m not of an age where looking older or younger really makes a difference to me, I’m in my 20s, and also she only gave me one year less…

But I should have been cooler about it like just shrugged and been like… okaaaaay…  whatever floats your boat..

and moved on.

Oh my tummy hurts.

More solpadeines but they don’t cure nausea, I will need something supplementary to deal with the tummy hurtation.

Why ME?

Seriously I didn’t order those shots, some malicious asshole was just trying to get me drunk and Succeeded.

I wish I had some dude here beside me except with the amount of puke that I smell like I wouldn’t get very far.

I would so like a sex now though.

Why so many shots? There were like 8 rounds of shots plus whatever dirnks I had, which were cnsiderable. Oh dear.

Shots of rum too, who the fuck drinks shots of rum? Bullshit.

Update:

Memory added: Me standing in the middle of the circle of people yelling “I know what you’re all thinking! YES, I said it… I WATCH PORN!” and then everyone else being like, uh that’s not what we were thinking.

Memory added: I did my party trick. My party trick is where I pull my long hair around behind my shoulders and under my armpits so it looks like I have really long armpit here. I keep pulling this out of the bag as a hilarious and charming ice breaker, the only danger is if I do it in front of the same person twice they will realise how terribly pathetic and desperate to entertain I really am.

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7 responses to “I would have prefered to wake up with a wildebeast gouging out my appendix, whatever that feels like

  1. Shit. Wish I could make you soup or something. Unfortunately the 20’s are “the vomit years” for people of the civilized ‘drinking’ cultures. Can’t do the quantity as well in your 30’s – it gets worse. (really worse)

    I don’t like those c’nts. They do this shit all the time here, it’s either the age or the weight thing. It’s like “HEY, I’m in the room!”… And what? like there is a difference between 23 and 24? wtf? If your birthday was tomorrow you’d have a face like a raisin? Assholes.
    Have a nice hot shower, wrap yourself in a blankie and play your game…. and feel better;)
    xo

    • Ah thanks… I had a little sleep there so I am no longer feeling so sick but now just have a generalised ickyness. Thankfully don’t feel too guilty or ashamed because I don’t remember anything. Awesome. Finally my body is working in my favour! Yeah it’s a bit ridiculous to make such a loud big deal about a very fuzzy kind of age anyway. What the hell is the difference between 23/24/25 etc… I just don’t like the “hey we were discussing how young and childlike you look before eventually settling on asking you your age… because you’re so freakishly out of place it was a valid topic”. Bitches. I was good though, when one of the guys asked me to rate HER age I didn’t guess 45, I just said “no i couldn’t guess an age, it’s stupid and it can’t go well for any of us!” I’m gonna have some more pain killers and water now

  2. Aw hunny what a drag of a way to wake up!
    I know that place and it’s a crazy one.
    I agree with you on the C-word for the wench at the end of the table. People are Eff’d…brush it off.
    I am sorry I haven’t had a chance to do much blog reading the last week PLUS I haven’t been able to type much anyhow and here’s my hillarious story:

    So a few days ago I am rushing off to work and to take my kid to school. As we leave we notice that our three pumpkins from halloween are rotting on the front porch.
    Ugh.
    Moldy, droopy squash-faces…gross.
    I say to him to quickly grab a bag and ‘lets bag these suckers up before they start oozing’.
    I hold the bag open, he kicks the pumpkin inside.
    Well, as he kicks the last one in it happens to roll onto the ring finger of my right hand and literally jabs a huge chunky sliver of moldy pumpkin under my fingernail. I winced then brushed it off as we were in a rush. No biggie, handled.
    Fast forward to the end of my day when my finger is doubled in size, red, hot and throbbing (can you say ‘PENIS’?, sorry, had to say it) and it was extremely sore. Like you just look at it and it hurts.
    Too late to go to clinic so I scrub it out best I can and bandage it up with some ointment. Next morning trim my nail and try to figure out if there is something still under my nail. I couldn’t see or feel any chunk of it so i figured it was just injured.
    I go to work
    PAIN….THROBBING…ouch!
    I end up going to clinic and this cute little Asian doc comes in with all his gack (that’s what I call ‘supplies’ or tools)
    He looks like a guy about to go on a mining expedition. Goggles on his head with a head lamp, glasses and magnifying lens. Each hand has a tool and I am scared.
    He cuts my nail back and that hurts like a MO-FO because I thought I had cut it back as far as it could go already. Nope!
    Then he cuts the side of my finger right through the skin.
    RELIEF!! The pressure is easing up!
    It bled like crazy.
    Then while he was off cleaning his knife I look at my finger and I notice a rather large piece of fingernail sticking up all of a sudden. I say “Hey you missed a chunk of nail”.
    i look closer and realize that it is a HUGE piece of moldy pumpkin that had been lodged under my nail so far in. I guess when it started bleeding it forced it’s way out!!
    SUCH a relief O M G.
    Anyhow. I couldn’t type anything for several days, too sore, and it got me doing other important things like learning Skyrim and setting up my art studio lmao.

    I hope my story distracted you from your discomfort and maybe gave you a smile.
    AND….Here’s a HUG for you.

    **HUG**

    ~ Val

    • Ow… seriously my brain feels distracted but my stomach screams why did you have to mention rotten pumpkin and gross fingernail when I am in this state? Nah my stomach is pretty much ok now I could almost eat something, I think maybe going to call a pizza. I don’t know what I would do if I lost the use of my typing finger… must have been hell! Even for playing skyrim! Also sounds painful… what a weird injury btw. I am more or less back to normal now, I have showered and washed the puke out of my hair and I partly cleaned up the hall so I am feeling better and there is less of a bad smell now. I think most of the hangover was just being so freaking alone and having all that puke to deal with… so thanks for the moral support! (I will ignore that you didn’t help with the cleaning, that’s ok) I also tried to talk to my mum on the phone but she just nagged me about dirnking too much… so didn’t make me feel much better. Anyway hope you are enjoying skyrim. That is what I am going to do with the rest of my sunday what’s left of it. Also pizza.

  3. I seriously think, at times, you’re the drunkest person I know. And that takes some skill. Coming from a skilled drunk.

    Loved all the misspellings, it was almost like you were so hungover you could barely type. Those days are the worst.

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