Note: This post ended up being pretty gross towards the end. For a Christmas post, I mean. You can just quit after the main thing if you want.
All I’ve got today is the thing I made for the Monkeys’ annual Christmas party. I got the idea from a Facebook post, but the execution is all mine. This is the first example of such a thing I’ve seen that wasn’t just Photshopped and posted online. This is the real deal, a physical Wreath of Khan:
Merry Christmas, bitches.
Note: This is the place to quit if you want to. I won’t hold it against you.
Once the festivities wound down some of us headed over to Mary’s for further partying. It sucked because it was karaoke. Last year it was gay Christmas music and that was pretty fun. This year it was strung-out queens and bull dykes moaning their way through the worst, most depressing collection of songs I’ve ever heard. It made me want to drink. Actually, somebody – Lady Evil, I think – told me I wasn’t having fun because I wasn’t drinking enough.
This is where things go wrong and you’ll be all like, “Oh, you dumbass,” and you’ll be right.
I went to the bartender and told him I wasn’t having fun and to make me a drink that would fix that. I stood there and watched as he mixed pretty much every kind of alcohol available into a cup and then squirted tonic water into it from the spigot thing for approximately 1/1,000th of a second.
And then I drank it.
And then I went back and ordered another.
I knew I was in trouble, so I asked the Grand Hoff and Little Pond to take me back to Monkey House. They did and I made my way inside. Once I got in I thought I was pretty okay. I did a bit about how much Mary’s sucked (when I’m drunk I am very aware of the fact that I am not holding conversations, but doing bits). Later on everybody told me they thought I was okay. At that point.
The next thing I remember is waking up on the air mattress Lady Monkey had thoughtfully blown up for me the previous night. It was a billion brightness in the room. I’m not sure exactly how to measure the amount of sunlight that is boiling directly into your eyeballs, so I’m going with that.
I was cuddled up in the brand-new Insane Clown Posse blanket (it was the gift I ended up with). I threw the blanket off and stumbled to the bathroom, knowing I should probably throw up. But I couldn’t. I felt awful, but I guessed I must not be as hung over as I thought I was. Darned if I could remember going to bed, though. Also I had no idea where my shirt was. That didn’t stop me from going back to sleep.
I woke up a little later to maybe about a million-and-a-half brightness. I felt worse and tried to go throw up. Again, nothing. I knew I couldn’t just sleep in the Monkey’s daughter’s room all day, so I ventured out into the living room. Lady Monkey was there looking lovely as always but maybe just a bit under the weather. I told her I didn’t know where my shirt was and she said she was washing it. I told her I didn’t remember going to bed and she said that after I did my Mary’s bit I had gone outside and thrown up for about four hours.
Oh. So that’s why I couldn’t throw up.
Apparently Monkey and Coopacabra and maybe Gnoll and some other folks had sort of hung out with me and helped me work out the vomit. Or something. So thanks to everybody that did that.
I can’t recall the last time I blacked out drunk (rimshot!). No – seriously. I don’t drink like that. The sickest I’ve ever been was after my 21st birthday when I was working at The Masquerade and I still remember the whole night. I’m honestly not sure I ever have blacked out before. I just don’t ever really drink like that. I’m pretty good about monitoring myself.
I knew I had to get back home, so I got in the car and just did it. Lady Monkey offered me a fresh-baked biscuit before I left, but I the thought of putting anything in my stomach was appalling. I took a big, curving off-ramp to get off the highway and as soon as I left it I threw up right there in the car. I knew it was going to happen, but there was nowhere to pull over. So I held on as long as I could and then BLORP all over the place. Well, all over me. Not much actually got on the car. I pulled over as soon as I could – in front of a church on Sunday morning, no less – and popped the door open to finish up. Not much was left. I collected myself as best I could and got on home, not cognizant of the vomit all over my beard but very aware of the puddle quickly cooling in my crotch.
I got home, took a shower, and went to sleep. Mrs. Troublemaker is incredibly gracious about hangovers. I don’t black out, but I do suffer from hangovers from time to time.
You guys – I’m not even kidding when I say I didn’t feel completely better until Tuesday afternoon. Those drinks fucked me up. But I learned a valuable lesson. I’m not sure what it was, but I won’t be blind ordering drinks at Mary’s again.
Peace on Earth and good will to all,