The All-Day Drunk

I wake with the alarm, pulling the pillow over my head with a frown. Oh MY GOD. What the HELL was I thinking yesterday? Thirteen hours of drinking? Thirteen hours of—oh, damn, what did I say to Gigi? Mental note: Ask Gigi if offended by sage advice.

Damn the alarm. I struggle out of bed, hit the snooze button and dive back under the blankets. Why am I getting up again? I don't have to go to work…oh, that's right, I have an appointment. Again, why did I schedule this again? Ten a.m. SEEMED like an okay time. After all, I planned to be done with All-Day Drunk by early evening sometime. But somehow I managed to keep drinking right on through—suddenly it was two a.m., MackTate had tried to pay his tab twice and Jimmy was ready to kick us all out.

Oh….my head. The worst part is that the hangover hasn't kicked in yet, considering I think I'm still drunk. I crawl back out of bed, hit the OFF button this time on the alarm, since I don't have time to snooze. I survey the damage—my clothes, my purse, and mail are all over the floor. Yeah, that's right, I decided to be pissed off since I was drunk and throwing mail seemed appropriate at the time. I shake my head and collect a pair of jeans from the floor. They smell like an ashtray. Lovely. I pull a second pair from the closet, passing by the mirror on my way. Mental note: Avoid mirror until nap and shower later.

Keys. Keys. Key—oh fuck. My car—it's downtown. Not only is it downtown, it's actually in the PARKING LOT of Ego's. Well, let's hope it's still there. No wonder I set the alarm for so early. How did I do that so well…while so inebriated? Okay, fine. I'll call a cab.

Phone. Phone. Phone…oh Jesus. Oh, there it is. Right where it should be, underneath the Visa bill. Thank God at least the phone made it home with me. Speaking of making it home, I vaguely recall checking the number over the door last night—this morning?—to be sure it was my apartment. The key wasn't cooperating. Damn. I need help.

The cabbie tries to talk to me. I try not to puke in his cab. Another moment of clarity hits me: Intrepid H. was actually rocking me like a baby in his lap. It was about that time I slurred, "You'll never have me and Gigi but you'll always have nice hair." And…was that Slyther pulling my shirt up so that everyone could see my stomach? Then I cringe as I recall he asked to touch my boob and I happily agreed. Ooops. He better not be lying about being gay. Uh-oh...Intrepid H. gave Diva a ride home. Mental note: Check with Diva to see if molested.

Ah, the car. Yes, it's here. Intact. I wish I was. Yup, I need some help. But I'm gonna get that later. Dammit, the holidays are just beginning. Who tries to quit drinking at THIS time of year? See you in a week.

-Shakira 11.27.02