My Body Hates Me
I had an eventful weekend. Well, not so much Sunday, as that was my recovery day, it was actually Friday and Saturday night. Here it is, Monday, and I am still not 100%...which has made me realize three things: 1- My body hates me when I drink, 2- My body REALLY hates me when I don't get enough sleep, and 3- I don't get out enough.
Friday night was Drag Queen Bingo. A few ladies and myself took a limo and went to dinner first. We had some cocktails and I started feeling good. It was a breath of fresh air to be out with the girls, not worrying about kids, and bills, and laundry. Sweet relief. After dinner we went to bingo and shit got turned up quick. I had cocktails and shots and laughed my fucking ass off. I danced and posed for pics in front of a cop car and drank some more. I dragged my ass to bed at around 1:00 in the morning (which I consider kind of early if I'm drinking) all wastie pants and woke up around 8:00 to take care of the kiddos while my hubs went into the office for a few hours. Ugh, it was a rough day. But I had to power through and get my shit together because a big group of us were going out to dinner and then to the Hard Rock to gamble a bit.
My stomach was in shambles from all the liquor the night before. I got dressed up, popped an Immodium and put on my brave face. The fancy dinner we went to was amazing. I started feeling much better after a few cocktails. Hair of the dog anyone? Is it considered hair of the dog if it's 9:00 the next night?
After dinner it was time to gamble. I was pretty exhausted at that point so I drank two Redbull and vodkas. Shit didn't work though. By the time everyone got in the limo and we got home, it was 4:00 in the morning. Fuck.
Fast forward to yesterday. Sunday Funday. It wasn't so fun though. I didn't have a hangover, which was definitely a plus, but I did get up at 9:00 with the kids, which sucked so much ass I can't even tell you. I was able to nap once Little E went down, but it wasn't a good nap because hubs decided to be Superman and mow the lawn while I tried to slumber. It pisses me off that he can do that kind of shit on such little sleep. I am a worthless shit if I get anything less than 8 hours. Real talk.
Last night, pretty much out of no where, my stomach decided to set itself on fire. I didn't eat anything for hours before this happened. I'm laying there and all of a sudden, BAM!, fire in the hole. I took two Zantacs, but experienced little relief. So basically I can't drink and stay out all night anymore. Period. I am almost 30 years old, which I consider young, but my body considers to be old as fuck. Apparently. It takes me a week to recover from a weekend of partying. It's so sad to type that, but it's true.
I have a feeling that if I had the chance to go out a little more often than a few times a year, I wouldn't go so crazy. However, I have two kids and a husband that works all the time, so fun times out are limited. It looks like I will have to just keep myself in check when I do get some time out. That actually made me chuckle, because, come on, who the fuck am I kidding? Excuse me while I lay perfectly straight on the floor, trying not to breathe. The stomach fire is back with a vengeance. Maybe it's an ulcer...
Damn you, Kettle One.