Spend two hours flat ironing uncontrollable hair.
Dress in sleazy top and shoes with several torturous straps and precipitous heels.
Head out in 35 degree heat and 90% humidity. Watch two hours of flat iron effort disappear in a matter of seconds as hair becomes heavy, heat-retaining fuzz blanket.
Prime hangover by drinking several pink fizzy things. Pose for embarrasing pictures. Take part in increasingly bizarre and heartfelt conversations on things you know absolutely nothing about.
Take a cab home at 2 am. Tell the cabbie exactly which streets to drive on. I know you want to take the Queensway, dude, but if you take the Queensway it will cost me an extra $10. Are you trying to rip me off, motherfucker? Apologize to cabbie. Chat him up about his "homeland". Ask inane questions about communism. Overtip.
Stumble in the house. Let the dog out while wandering in the backyard barefoot after taking precipitous heels off and pitching them with loathing across the house.
Have the presence of mind to take two advil with a large glass of water before bed.
Peel off party clothes. Realize pyjamas are in darkened bedroom with sleeping husband. Stumble around trying to find them, quietly. Fail on both counts.
Fall in to bed, fall asleep immediately.
Wake up an hour later with distended bladder due to large glass of water. Walk towards bathroom, walk in to wall. Resume course. Pee. Stumble back in to bed.
Sleep several hours. Gradually become conscious of bubbling vat of acid that has replaced your stomach.
Roll on to stomach to try to get back to sleep. As you move your feet, aggravate stinging blister on left baby toe. Curse precipitous shoes.
Shove head under pillow. Pass out. Have paranoid traumatized dreams.
Wake up nauseous. Realize dog has farted in your face. Wonder if you have in fact died and this is hell.
Drag self out of bed. Find husband on couch. Husband looks at you and refers to your aroma in negative terms. Return to bathroom to brush teeth.
Husband attempts to converse about previous night. Realize you have lost capacity to speak. Respond in grunts.
Open laptop. View horrifying flashback inducing photos of night before. Realize that the man walking down the street in the skeleton hallowe'en costume - in August - was not in fact just a nightmare.
Park ass on couch. Order poutine.
2 things to say:
Did you go through the "I need to eat some fat-laden, calorie intense, deep fried, grease ridden food or I'll die" stage the next day?
Okay, so I've just spent the afternoon (when I should have been working) reading the entire archives of your blog.
Love it. But this post made me absolutely howl in laughter and try in vain not to shoot water out my nose as I giggled away at your expense.
Glad that I could capture skeleton man for you....wouldn't want to forget him.
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