Today I woke up feeling absolutely hung over.
My head hurt. I felt nauseous. I could feel the bile rising up my throat. I had no appetite. (Who would with nausea and bile, amirite?)
As I opened the bottle of ibuprofren and shook out four tablets in my hand and tried to clear my head, I thought, “God, what the hell did I do last night?”
Well, let’s see.
Nope. I had a headache on and off most of yesterday and didn’t eat anything all day or much the day before. I thought I’d eat at the party, but picky people should never depend on there being party food that they’ll actually consume.
As such, I wasn’t in a partying mood.
With a few exceptions, the party was fun. My brother hosted it, so I knew most of the people there. And I met a new person/spirit animal, who awkwardly shook the hand of someone who was leaving as the person went in for a hug. After the person left, she commented on how she isn’t a hugger and doesn’t like people in her space. I let her know I didn’t find that weird at all.
The most interesting part of the night occurred when two very drunk people decided to have a sword fight. One person had a sword as part of his costume and the other had a sword in the trunk of his car. (Between this and one guy geeking over my tats, you’d be correct in assuming that the dork was strong with this party.)
Drunk people should never sword fight. The danger wasn’t so much them cutting themselves or each other (it was like watching something happen in slow motion and the swords weren’t sharp) as it was someone stumbling off the end of the sidewalk and hitting his head.
No one ended up in the ER, but I would have had the end of one of the swords been very sharp. One sword owner brought his sword in the house and accidentally shoved it in my thigh (hard enough to leave a bruise) when he stood up from his spot on the floor. It would have majorly sucked if I had to go to the ER for stitches for that. And, as I’m typing this, I realize it would have been my third major party injury. Praise the party gods for sparing me!
Towards the end of the party, a girl got excited over a song that was playing and said, “Don’t you just love Nelly? HE’S AWESOME!”
I told her I couldn’t really hear the song outside of knowing that something was playing, since I couldn’t hear well (something I mentioned while talking to her earlier, which would make the therapist pleased), but that I had never listened to Nelly anyway.
She look at me like I had just said I had a terminal illness and would be dying in the next few weeks.
“Oh my God. That’s the worst thing ever. I would kill myself if I didn’t listen to Nelly. I can’t even imagine how awful that must be to miss out on someone like Nelly.”
That’s some serious Nelly love.
Did you have a fun Halloween weekend?