Monday, June 07, 2004

Drooling Tired


So. Exhausted. I need a weekend to recuperate from my weekend. Debauchery abounded. Let's not even go into Friday night. Saturday night I girlsat one of my friends while her boyfriend and my ex were at a bachelor party on a boat with a bunch of strippers. Those two descended on our girl's night after the boat docked and proceeded to tell us every grisly detail of the evening up to and including the fake-lesbian sex on the floor with the two-headed dildo (yes, full penetration - I was so happy to be privy to that information) and the disgusting racist comments of a "friend" of theirs about one of the strippers who was black. They were both yammering away in tandem at this monumental volume and it sort of seemed as though they were traumatized. They kept shaking their heads and saying how awkward everything was and I didn't even have to bring up the whole daddy-raped-me-and-now-I'm-a-stripper thing (blanket statement, I know, I'm sorry), they wanted to talk about that too. I mean, they came home and spilled their guts and wanted hugs and it reminded me of a friend of mine who I saw right after he witnessed a motorcycle rider get his arm ripped off by a tractor trailer. He walked in to a bar I was at and sat down next to me and needed all this attention and care which is to be expected, but I wasn't sure why slightly mistreated strippers gave our men this existential crisis. Then of course we were sworn to secrecy and had to pretend we didn't know anything about it when... ...the next day I had to go to a baby shower with the same friend and the girlfriends of the boys who had been on the boat the night before (good thing no one actually reads this blog). Neither of us are baby people and we were sitting in the worst possible place for the hangovers we were nursing as there were screaming children literally running in circles around us. She looked at me after a particularly piercing scream from one of the small mammals scrabbling in our orbit and said with total sincerity, "I think I'll feel better if I throw up." And I know I should have felt really bad, especially since her hangover was largely my fault, but after the third time she went off to puke while everyone else was eating chocolate mousse and playing party games with baby food, it started to be a little tiny bit funny. Everyone else gave the mother-to-be colorful hampers and baby monitors and little itty bitty socks and whatnot. We got her a gel eye mask, a soothing lavendar eye pillow, a rolling massage thingy and a great big bottle of champagne for when she's finally done breast feeding. She thanked us for being the only people who bought a present that was actually for her. At the moment I'm grinding the sole of my foot into the corner of a filing cabinet in hopes that the pain will keep me awake.

|