ack wednesday

As I get started in this whole blogging thing, I’ve been thinking about the fact that, really, these things should come with Parental Advisory labels: may not be suitable for YOU, mom and dad. Are you sure you’re mature enough for the explicit content within?

I mentioned the idea to this boy (whose birthday it is today—happy birthday!!), and he got pretty excited. So excited, in fact, that he whipped up a little sticker of his own:

Feel free to make yourself a copy and slap it on your own site. Elder relatives around the world should consider themselves warned.

So, with that disclaimer applied, I’ll just mention that boy did I Mardi Gras last night. As part of a festive happy hour (is that redundant? I suppose so) with coworkers, I Mardied a bit too hardy. Although I went to bed protesting that “I don’t know what happened, I really didn’t have that much to drink,” when I mentally tallied up the empty glasses this morning I realized that there were three martini-shaped ones, one sturdy little lowball-shaped one, and one voluptuous hurricane.

Perhaps I should have had something to eat. Something, at least, a bit more substantial than the garnishes adorning the aforementioned glasses.

At any rate, as a result of this pre-Lenten extravaganza, I had plenty of time today to contemplate the way that “the day after” is all about being careful. Careful not to turn too sharply or rise from your chair too quickly, lest you set the room spinning and fall down in a pathetic heap on your office floor. Careful to walk gingerly, as if you might just snap right in half otherwise. Careful with your head, in particular, which is usually heavy and full of hurt, though empty of coherent thought. Absolutely careful about eating, which is done bite by cautious bite. Although I am decidedly not careful with the whole fat/calorie-counting bit on these days. My philosophy is that if it sounds good to you, you’d probably better run with that. Hence today I found a new hangover miracle food: melty chocolate ice cream, at about 3:00 pm. Thank you, office birthday party. You saved me.

I guess, really, it only makes sense that unconcerned excess be followed by a day of excessive concern.

But it was fun while it lasted, with the beads (no I did NOT, this is Minnesota in February for Christsakes, I don’t want to damage them), and the Dixieland jazz-band of cute, charmingly sincere, white boys, and the wonderful wonderful feeling of bed when I finally staggered into it. I don’t know if it was worth it, exactly, but who’s to say what any one human experience is really worth?

Oh, and it wasn’t all for naught. That boy of mine informed me that my inebriated ramblings last night (after he very good-naturedly picked me up and carted my sorry drunk ass home) included this little gem: “Love is like a T-Bar.”