Sunday, July 3, 2011

I Do: Part Drei

I Write, Therefore You BON
    We were convinced we couldn’t have a good time unless we lost the power of speech, held deeply serious conversations on the power of plaid with perfect strangers, and wound up at Denny’s at 3 am because “ya know, I could really go for an egg.”
    WE INTERRUPT THIS DIATRIBE FOR THE FOLLOWING OBSERVATION ON LATE-NIGHT EATERIES:  What is it about drinking all night that compels otherwise rational human beings to seek out omelettes when the bars close?
    I don’t know about you, but if I’m in that kind of condition, they could serve me a boot with cheerios and a pizza box filled with fox urine and I wouldn’t know the difference.  It’s not like my taste buds are on top of their game, if you know what I mean.
It's SOUP! What'd you think I meant?
    And, while we’re on the topic, how would you like to work that particular shift?  Not only must you be fluent in another language (where “Taeggzzoverrrreezewidanengishhhhmuf” means “Two eggs over easy with an English muffin”), but who knows what messes you might have to clean up?
    On the other hand, the chemically impaired are great fun to watch.  Also, you can make a killing in tips, because everyone KNOWS that Benjamin Franklin looks strikingly like George Washington at three in the morning.  (NOTE: This last sentence is crucial to understanding the punchline at the end of this gawdawful long mini-series.  You may want to remember it).
    WE NOW RETURN TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED RANT.
    Struggling to rise from the dead the following day at the crack of noon, I forced my eyelids open and nervously peeked from behind the bedroom shade.  Whew!  Car still in the parking lot!
    Likewise, I conducted a satisfactory inventory of my wallet, house keys, and pants.  Thankfully, everything was how it should be.
    Except for my head.  It felt like someone had hammered a railroad spike through it sometime in the wee hours of the morning.
    Like a man forced to crawl through the Sahara, I lurched to the bathroom sink.  I twisted my tormented noggin under the faucet in a vain attempt to quench my burning thirst and overcome nausea which overwhelmed me like STDs at a frat house.
    Swearing I’d never drink again (yep, kept that promise), I cursed myself for not having any water the previous evening.
    WE AGAIN INTERRUPT OUR STORY TO PRESENT THE EMINENTLY SCIENTIFIC “PARTY ANIMAL HANGOVER PARADOX”:  It is well known that hangover effects are wrought primarily by dehydration brought on by massive consumption of alcohol.  These effects can be offset, to some degree, by a sufficiently large consumption of water.
    However, if you are so drunk that a raging hangover will ensue, you are too drunk to remember to drink water.  On the other hand, if you’re sober enough to remember to drink water, your hangover will be negligible, anyway.
    BACK TO OUR STORY....   
    As I gingerly fixed myself a hearty brunch of Whatever Is in the Refrigerator, I began to mentally prepare for the coming festivities.
    Let’s see, I thought, as I ripped the label from a can of Chunky Soup and set it on the electric stove.  Tux all ready?
Not that there's anything
wrong with that
    Glancing at the blindingly-white tuxedo hanging from my closet door, I knew that, unless I shared my apartment with a giant penguin (or the Bee Gees), I was good to go.
    I stirred the bubbling Sirloin and Vegetable stew with a ballpoint pen and sniffed an open jar of Miracle Whip.  Pronouncing it better than school paste, I jammed a baloney (I am NOT using the pretentious “bologna.”  It’s just as snooty as saying “catsup”) foldover into its mouth and dragged myself over to the couch.  I panicked as I momentarily forgot where the wedding rings were.


NOTE: NOT how I looked in 1986. But, you get the idea.
To be continued....
Next:  Off to the party!


11 comments:

  1. While that last picture might not have looked like you in 1986, it was exactly how I looked on my honeymoon when I was swimming in a Beijing hotel pool and watched my wedding ring launch itself off of my finger, during a rather impressive (If I don’t say myself, no one else will) front crawl stoke. Despite speaking no Chinese and being in a pool full of none English speaking nationals I managed to get the entire place to stop moving and help me look for my ring (no not that one, that was still attached, but only just, such was my panic).

    Eventually some little (although he might have been big to them) Chinese fellow surface clutching the gold. I hugged him, thanked him profusely and left the vicinity before he could get the wrong Idea and I could get into any more trouble. Mrs B proudly announces at every opportunity that her wedding ring has not left her finger in over17 years while I tend to keep quiet about the 3 glorious days that I managed….

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  2. Great story! Good thing that "Oh, shit" is a universal expression which even the Chinese probably understood.

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  3. I hope that baloney had a first name.

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  4. Why I miss the diners in Jersey? You could get eggs after drinking to oblivion at any hour of the day or night.

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  5. well, I love omlettes. So it comes sense that I would get one if I'm ever hungover.

    ALTHOUGH I think I would probably be too busy making out and throwing up to eat anything.

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  6. @Ruth: It's OSC.....oh, wait a minute! I know what you mean.
    @Barb: All kidding aside, the diners here in the Northeast are the best. The best they have in Virginia Beach is Dennys. NOT a knock against Denny's but you just can't beat a place called "Parthenon," "Acropolis," "Athena's Garden," or "Stavros' Greasy Sppon" for a cheap heapin' helpin' of greasy delicious vittles....
    @OT: Yep, she got me.
    @Lemons: While I didn't go out for breakfast, I DID come up against the "Drink Water" hangover prevention tactic last night. My 4th of July celebration was filled with lots of....well, let's just say I have a wicked headache this morning.
    Okay, time to whip up a bunch of eggs.

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  7. the last food i want when i am hungover would have to be eggs.
    barf inducing eggs.
    and i hope for the sake of her b.f., that miss lemons isn't throwing up and smooching at the same time.
    eggs

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  8. You make a good point. I don't like omelettes when I 'm sober. Why would a drunkard want to devour them? I love your caption under the Bee Gees photo. You're awesome.
    xoRobyn
    PS Please forgive my being MIA for a bit longer. I'm going camping and won't have a mobile connection. Be well.

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  9. @Violet: Isn't that what birds do, though? Nothing says love quite like half-chewed food (cheaper than a ring).
    @Robyn: I'll be MIA at the end of the month when I join my brothers for the annual Penwasser Camping Fest in Rhode Island. There will be beer and hamburgers on the grill. Followed by a trip to the pizza joint because we incinerated said hamburgers because of said beer. Ahhhh, the great outdoors!

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  10. The saga continues.....it is compelling, I must admit.

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