It's been a long time since I've woken up at a time past 2:30 in the afternoon, but today demanded such a slumber. You see, last night I got pretty damn messed-up — Jell-O shooters were involved — and the night could be aptly described as "sloppy."
The thing about get-togethers at my buddy Dave's place is that something is usually killed, barbecued and eaten. So, last night, waves of meat found their way onto the grill: first some giant racks of ribs (both pork and beef), then sausages, then burgers. At any rate, the booze was plentiful and flowing freely. Very freely.
It got so bad that, at one point in the evening, I was standing in the kitchen with my friend James, and we were chowing down on a bowl of black jellybeans. I hate black jellybeans; in fact, I said to James, while scarfing down handful after handful, "I hate black jellybeans." Needless to say, all that licorice-flavoured confectionery eventually wreaked havoc on my stomach a few hours later, along with the meat, and the booze... which made for an awful morning.
I decided it would be a good thing if I took a cab home, instead of trying to negotiate my way on the TTC's always-interesting all-night bus system, the "Blue Light" buses, a.k.a. the "Vomit Comet." Seeing as I nearly zonked-out on the way back, only to be brought back to life by a serious bout of The Spins, I'm glad I forked out the extra bucks (plus a very generous tip) to be brought right to my door.
...which brought me to 2:43 pm this afternoon. Feeling surprisingly fine, but weak as a kitten, I've gradually become more mobile as the day has worn on. If you've ever seen the Kids in the Hall skit about The Hangover (including the wildly-popular game of "Shouting Numbers"), that gives you some sort of an idea for what today's been like, although it hasn't taken me 14 days to get better, as Bruce McCulloch's character required.
Hell of a night, though.