On Hangovers

I sat down and thought "how do I write about being hungover without sounding like a little bitch?". So I thought hard about hangovers. I know all the scientific facts as to why they happen. IT'S GOD'S PUNISHMENT FOR INANE STUPIDITY THAT'S WHY THEY HAPPEN AND WE DESERVE EVERY LAST MINUTE OF IT. So those are the facts of it. You're a dick, you make a mistake, you are justly punished, you swear never to do it again (note: any reference to "you" in this statement is, of course, not you, but me). 

So why are they repeated? When you walk into a door and smack your face and cry, you don't take 2 days to get over it and then promptly do it again, do you? I have a suspicious feeling this is one of those things that I should speak only for myself about. I'm sure there are a few chronically repeating door-smackers out there. Regardless, the logic is flawed. I do not want to put my hand up and say: 
 "why yes, I DO make myself look really nice, go out, spend exorbitant amounts of money on things I don't remember, touch disgusting strangers, get banned from places, and come home looking worse than than before I got dressed up! Yay! And then, the next day is even better! I get to BE SICK without actually having an illness! How cool is that! See the trick is, you have to poison yourself just BEFORE the brink of death. That way, you ravage your body and vital organs but you live to do it again. BONUS!". 
But, if somebody asked, I couldn't lie. Lying AND drinking too much?! I'd go straight to hell. Except I can't, cos I'm already there. It's called a hangover.

This is my response to the challenge I have issued to myself: I've come up with a plan to lessen a few of the effects of Overindulgence and its consequent Visit to Hell. The ends justifies the means, right? All that activity must be, logically, to achieve the hangover. That must be why I keep doing it. But there are so many materials that get wasted (HA!) in the meantime! Money, time, effort, clothes, dignity, my sense of self-worth... Thus, the results of the Hangover Experiment can be easily mimicked in the following fashion. 
Next time I feel like going out and getting CRRRRUUNNNKKK!!!, I'm not going to bother getting dressed. I'm only going to end up in a complete mess again anyway, so why waste makeup and bother getting wet in the shower? 
The next step in the plan is to take a 2 by 4, find a stranger, get them to grope me, and then hit me on the head with it. I have thus killed two birds with one stone in this step: touching somebody I don't know who probably has herpes, and gaining a pounding headache. ECONOMICAL! I've achieved something now which would have taken hours and hours and way too much kidney function. 
Now, I run up and down a hill for a very long time wearing high heels (okay, so maybe I must get a little dressed up) without stopping. I will thus achieve breaking my knees, feet, neck and thighs which will take at least 2 days to recover. I will also sweat out an Olympic-sized swimming pool, and be extremely attractive. But at least I didn't have to shave my legs first.
The final step will be to take 3 cups of fish sauce, a jar of mustard, a cup of salt, lots of milk, a dash of Tabasco, a wedge of lemon and blend it. It must be a drinkable consistency, so I'll add the brine that anchovies come in as I see fit. I'll drink this down really fast. The result will be throwing up in a really unattractive fashion (and before you say anything, yes, I have seen attractive throwing up) for hours, and severe dehydration. 
The final step in the Hangover Plan is to crawl into bed with no clothes on and wake up the next day wondering how every single step of the above happened.

Feel free to adapt this plan to suit your own resources and/or level of stupidity.

I'm Running Out of Time To Procrastinate

I have this horrendous love/hate battle with Time (a.k.a thyme, depending on whom I am speaking to). I LOVE time, but it HATES me. Time is not my friend, but I am Time's clinger-onerer. Sometimes I get rebellious and indignant and decide to show Time I don't NEED it, I can survive without it, and I'm going to WASTE Time to prove it.
That's when this kind of stuff happens.

You might be wondering what exactly is happening here. Well, I invented a new kind of tooth-floss technique. I called it The Weave. It takes three times as long as normal flossing and is half as effective. The look on my face you see there is not pain, not anger, but Determination. It takes a lot of it to achieve the length of the Weave I eventually did.
Sometimes it's hard being this awesome.

Just An Everyday Encounter of the Fail Kind

So, I seem to be developing this habit of throwing things. That would be just swell were I shotput champion, or even a potter, or a combination of both (a shotpotter!?!?). However, when everyday items I am holding in my hands are getting biffed about quite rudely without any notice to myself OR the items, it becomes Troublesome. 

Yesterday, I was walking (as in, Walking for Exercise not to get from A to B... INORITE, I WAS PROUD TOO) and my shoe started to rub my heel threateningly. I really did NOT want a blister on top of my other blister so I took the shoe off to investigate, and promptly threw it in the ditch. "What. Why. Thefuck. Whatisthis. LAME." were all sentiments that were oozing about in my brain (I had not yet reached the punctuation mark level of alertness for my thoughts to do anything other than ooze).The ditch was NOT small, it was NOT shallow, and it was NOT dry. To top it off, I was wearing my favourite socks, which say "Hot Spots" on them and have multicoloured spottydotties which make me feel zesty. I really really did NOT want to walk on a sock into the ditch, because that is NOT a zesty thing for one to do while one is wearing one's zesty socks. Of course that meant I had to hop in my hot spots socks into the stupid ditch to get my stupid shoe which was STUPID.

But that's not the point. The point is what I did TODAY. It is my belief that a person's choice of lifestyle and habits of living should be of no consequence to other people, unless there is harm being done. Well, I think I need help now. Intervention, or summat. I hurt somebody very, very badly today.

I am sorry Mr. Pepper.

It was an innocent enough start to the morning. I wanted pepper on my tomato. I got it. But Mr Pepper got decapitated.
Other people call them The Ghosts, I (imaginatively) call them Mrs Salt and Mr Pepper. They spend their entire lives either cuddling, or reaching out for a cuddle. They are like the yin and yang of salt and pepper shakers. They were literally made for each other. They ARE meant to be together- cos they're a set!! This is how they are SUPPOSED to look:

This is how they NOW look after domestic violence ripped them apart:

See the expression on Mrs Salt's face?? Total shock. That's what I did to her. You would look like that too if you went to hug your husband and his head and left arm were Missing Presumed Shattered.
I don't know how it happened. One minute Mr Pepper was fulfilling his purpose in life, the next minute I was throwing him on the floor in some kind of fit and parts of his head I am still finding.

I can't bear to look at her face. It's so accusing and ghastly. She will be reaching out for him forever, and he will never give her another hug again. 

God, I look after CHILDREN!!