The Hangover.

            Last night I celebrated my birthday in a civilized manner.  A bunch of friends joined me at Leaf for dinner, stimulating conversation, and chuckles. 

            Alright, so that’s not how it went down at all.  We did go to Leaf.  There were a lot of friends.  There was also an entire case of wine, and for some, liquor drinks.  The conversation was definitely stimulating.  Perhaps at times inappropriate, but really, who’s to judge?  And I haven’t laughed that hard in a while.  It was awesome to be completely surrounded by people who love and support me.

By 10 o’clock, I should have been heading home like the more sane members of my party.  Instead, my I-can-still-go-out-and-drink-like-I-used-to alter ego reared its ugly head, and I continued on to the next bar with the six remaining drunkards.  Oh, but before that, I slapped someone.  Twice.  I think he asked me to do it, but neither of us can remember the particulars.  I apologized this morning.  It’s all good.

Anyway, after arriving at watering hole number two, even though I’d reached the point where I refused to drink any more, I continued to act more like a 20-year-old than a 33-year-old.  I was loud, obnoxious, probably slurring at some point.  And though remembering those things is embarrassing, it’s not even the worst part.

The real low point, or so I thought, was at seven o’clock this morning when I attempted to open an eye and thought someone had hit me in the temple with a sledge hammer.  After a full hour of moaning and wondering if I’d managed to brush my teeth and wash my face before getting in bed, I managed to peel myself off the mattress and stumble down the stairs. 

Between the light from the TV and the sound of my children playing kazoos (Thanks Chris), I only lasted downstairs for 15 minutes.  It was imperative that I return to bed.

Three Aleve and one hour of sleep later, I could at least stand up, but it didn’t feel good.  Then the nausea began, and of course, the sweating.  Now, here it is almost 5 o’clock and I still feel pretty bad. 

When did hangovers become a horrible all-day affair?  I guess when I passed the age of 30 and had two kids who expect me (and rightfully so) to be on my toes every day by six-thirty AM. 

I had a blast last night.  I think the pain of today was worth it.  But I won’t be partying like that again for a solid year.  Maybe more.  So now I’m going to go sit on the couch and wait for bedtime.  Mine and the boys.  And I'll continue to funnel Gatorade like it’s a magic potion.