potw
10 May 2010
On Sunday morning, I woke up with a very, very bad hangover. It was a rough weekend, as I’d hit it hard Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, putting in a solid three night bender, something I haven’t done in a long, long time.
(Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I pulled three “out after 2am” nights in a row, including one on a school night. And yes, this means that I’m getting old. But yet, this weekend was nice in that it proved that yes, I still do have my fastball. Maybe not every time out, but I can still dazzle, baby.)
Anyway, when I wake up hungover, I want one thing and one thing only: two eggs, cheese, bacon or sausage (depending on my mood) on a plain, untoasted bagel from Heaven’s Hot Bagel, a place near my apartment that does a pretty solid job of clogging my arteries (further) but lessening my hangover. However, because I live five flights up, I have to psyche myself up to leave my apartment, not so much because I feel like I’m going to fall down the stairs on my way out, but I know that that walk back up the stairs, especially with a pounding headache and a half-functioning liver, may just end me.
So after laying around for an hour or two and doing a significant amount of farting and masturbating (yes, sometimes both at the same time), I was finally ready to head out of get my breakfast cure – I put on a t-shirt, jeans and my sneakers, grabbed my cell phone, and went into my bedroom to get my wallet and keys from their normal resting spot. But they weren’t there.
No biggie, I thought, they’re around here somewhere. So I looked on the floor next to my bed. No dice. I checked the jeans I wore the previous night. Nothing. I checked other likely areas in my apartment, but still, nothing.
And I thought it was funny. “There you go,” I thought, “I must have had a big Saturday night if I can’t find both my wallet and my keys.” True, it was fun, with my buddies Bill and Jeremy coming over to my place, sharing a pizza and crushing beers, and watching basketball, baseball, and a replay of the recent Barcelona – Inter Milan Champions League match (I’m trying to get into soccer, but more on this later) before switching over to VH1 Classic and an old Bon Scott-era AC/DC concert that has achieved “Save Until Manually Deleted” status on my DVR and which makes an appearance at least once a weekend. So the three of us spent a lot of time in my apartment before heading out after midnight or so.
But while it was funny at first, it became quite the opposite (unfunny?) when I seriously could not find my wallet and keys. I knew I had them when I came home, since I otherwise wouldn’t have been able to get into my apartment. And my apartment, though a one-bedroom, is not much larger than a hotel room and it is, aside from the empty beers cans and pizza box that were currently junking it up, very uncluttered. I had to find this fucking wallet and keys.
So, like a madman, I started looking over everything, checking the floor of the entire place, the bathroom and medicine cabinet, between the empty beer cans, under the couch and in its cushions, flipping my blankets and pillows off my bed listening for the tell-tale rattle of the keys hitting the floor, even looking in my refrigerator and kitchen cabinets. Nothing. These was not only getting me pissed off, but also very worried (not to mention, it was not helping my hangover).
But then, just when I was about to crash on the couch and feel sorry for myself, out of the corner of my eye, I spied the one thing I hadn’t yet checked: the empty pizza box, sitting on my kitchen stove. And:
Yep, the wallet and keys were in the pizza box. Of course. Off to Heaven’s I went, and we all lived happily ever after.
[Author’s Note: for the first time in six-plus years of blogging, I finally figured out how to post pictures in posts very easily. Therefore, I might do a “picture of the weekend” post every now and then. I don’t want to say every weekend, because, let’s be honest, I’m lazy and also there just may not be picture-worthy things each weekend. But I figured this was a good one to start with.]
(Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I pulled three “out after 2am” nights in a row, including one on a school night. And yes, this means that I’m getting old. But yet, this weekend was nice in that it proved that yes, I still do have my fastball. Maybe not every time out, but I can still dazzle, baby.)
Anyway, when I wake up hungover, I want one thing and one thing only: two eggs, cheese, bacon or sausage (depending on my mood) on a plain, untoasted bagel from Heaven’s Hot Bagel, a place near my apartment that does a pretty solid job of clogging my arteries (further) but lessening my hangover. However, because I live five flights up, I have to psyche myself up to leave my apartment, not so much because I feel like I’m going to fall down the stairs on my way out, but I know that that walk back up the stairs, especially with a pounding headache and a half-functioning liver, may just end me.
So after laying around for an hour or two and doing a significant amount of farting and masturbating (yes, sometimes both at the same time), I was finally ready to head out of get my breakfast cure – I put on a t-shirt, jeans and my sneakers, grabbed my cell phone, and went into my bedroom to get my wallet and keys from their normal resting spot. But they weren’t there.
No biggie, I thought, they’re around here somewhere. So I looked on the floor next to my bed. No dice. I checked the jeans I wore the previous night. Nothing. I checked other likely areas in my apartment, but still, nothing.
And I thought it was funny. “There you go,” I thought, “I must have had a big Saturday night if I can’t find both my wallet and my keys.” True, it was fun, with my buddies Bill and Jeremy coming over to my place, sharing a pizza and crushing beers, and watching basketball, baseball, and a replay of the recent Barcelona – Inter Milan Champions League match (I’m trying to get into soccer, but more on this later) before switching over to VH1 Classic and an old Bon Scott-era AC/DC concert that has achieved “Save Until Manually Deleted” status on my DVR and which makes an appearance at least once a weekend. So the three of us spent a lot of time in my apartment before heading out after midnight or so.
But while it was funny at first, it became quite the opposite (unfunny?) when I seriously could not find my wallet and keys. I knew I had them when I came home, since I otherwise wouldn’t have been able to get into my apartment. And my apartment, though a one-bedroom, is not much larger than a hotel room and it is, aside from the empty beers cans and pizza box that were currently junking it up, very uncluttered. I had to find this fucking wallet and keys.
So, like a madman, I started looking over everything, checking the floor of the entire place, the bathroom and medicine cabinet, between the empty beer cans, under the couch and in its cushions, flipping my blankets and pillows off my bed listening for the tell-tale rattle of the keys hitting the floor, even looking in my refrigerator and kitchen cabinets. Nothing. These was not only getting me pissed off, but also very worried (not to mention, it was not helping my hangover).
But then, just when I was about to crash on the couch and feel sorry for myself, out of the corner of my eye, I spied the one thing I hadn’t yet checked: the empty pizza box, sitting on my kitchen stove. And:
Yep, the wallet and keys were in the pizza box. Of course. Off to Heaven’s I went, and we all lived happily ever after.
[Author’s Note: for the first time in six-plus years of blogging, I finally figured out how to post pictures in posts very easily. Therefore, I might do a “picture of the weekend” post every now and then. I don’t want to say every weekend, because, let’s be honest, I’m lazy and also there just may not be picture-worthy things each weekend. But I figured this was a good one to start with.]
