So All Day Hangovers are a Thing Now.

So in a lapse of judgment a few days ago I got super sweet Jesus drunk with some friends. I mean like all the drunk. I drank all the beers. How many? All of them. In retrospect this was a bad decision. Actually scratch that, I knew it was a bad decision at the time, I was just too drunk to give a crap.

Which was in retrospect, even more of a bad sign.

So lets just say that by the time I made it to the bedroom I had lost vertical hold and I immediately abandoned Operation: Bed in favor of Operation: Towel Fort on the Bathroom Floor Praying for Death. Just then my Super Best Friend texted me because she never sleeps. Or is a vampire or something.

This is our conversation edited heavily because I just got this new smart phone like a week ago and typing on it's tiny keypad when I was drunk was like trying to hit one ant out of twenty with the blunt end of a fire extinguisher.

It was hard is what I am saying.

So it's time for another drunk texting adventure with Holly. You're thrilled, I know.

ME: I am Trashed. The room isn't quite spinning but I have lost my vertical hold. Like, every time I try to lay in bed the room spins but the bathroom is cold as fuck.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: Towel Fort?

ME: Why the Fuck is alcohol legal? Why god why? So cold. So bathroom.

ME: Why does the bathroom vent run ALL THE TIME!?

SUPER BEST FRIEND: I always wonder that too but that's always why I sit in the bathroom when I am way too drunk because it's like a cold shiny cave.

ME: May be trapped in bathroom. Please do not abandon me now.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: That's the worst.

ME: Help meeeeeee.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: I would chug water, either it will cause you to throw up or rehydrate you.

ME: Well I drank a bunch of water and it hurts.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: I'm surprised your doing this well with your texting.

ME: Yeah, it's like I am being forced to transcribe messages onto the side of a mouse. Considering I can't stand up, me too.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: The key pads are pretty tiny.

ME: At least I know someone is on my side. Well besides the toilet. He may be on my side. Hard to tell with toilets.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: ...

ME: Night one of the arctic expedition. Temperature drop not unexpected but very cold. Despite building barrier wall fort bed was swept by nausea windstorm. Have hunkered down to whether storm.

ME: Water supplies low. Must brave Mt. Sink in order to make it till morning.

ME: It will be a dangerous climb. I cannot attempt summit directly. I must travel up the south face to reach the summit.

ME: The locals call the south face only “toilet.” I have yet to puzzle out it's meaning.

ME: I have gained the summit. Although at much cost. Was forced to rest on toilet.

ME: The cold grows worse as the night deepens. I have made it back to lower base camp towels.

ME: All seems undisturbed. The high cold winds of the summit are not as strong here.

ME: Still the ever present wind is here. It is a constant hand pressing on me. Numbing my fingers and toes.

ME: I have to stay awake. I have to keep my fingers and toes from freezing. Will never reach morning if I cannot use hands. Hope to recover base camp bed.

ME: Was it the folly of man that led me here? To the ends of the hospitable world? Was it a driving need to feel such remote places reflected in oneself that drove me?

ME: Extremities losing feeling. I must attempt base camp bed or I may perish.

ME: If I do not make it, I hope this journal will be found. May it be my last will and testament.

ME: Water supplies low.

ME: After a long and grueling journey I have made it to base camp bed.

ME: Most of my gear is still intact. Praise god that I may keep my fingers and toes.

ME: Pray that I will see morning. Wind has died down. Storm nausea his lost its fury. Tent bed no longer snaps and heaves in the wind. No longer does the wind threaten to raise my tent and loose it from it's moorings and cast me asunder.

ME: I may yet sleep and await the late arctic dawn.

ME: However I must upon waking resume my trek to Mt. Sink for water supplies are again low.

ME: Due to my dire situation I found I could not eat. So I hope with the cold arctic dawn my apatite shall return.

ME: Believe now that I will see morning. Base camp bed warming up. I feel grateful to be alive in this great cold wasteland. Grateful to have come. To test myself against the brittle rocks of fortune.

ME: All may yet be well.

SUPER BEST FRIEND: I feel this is the beginning of a great children's story book about being sick lol.

ME: I know right?

SUPER BEST FRIEND: Ha hah I miss drunken nights with you.

And then we had ALL THE FEELS and then the next morning I got a hangover that lasted THE ENTIRE GODDAMN DAY. Because getting older kinda blows.

Just a little.

And yes I really did text my friend all of that when I was drunk and trapped on the bathroom floor at like, two in the morning. Also I apparently turn into an eighteenth century explorer when I am super drunk.

Because I am like, a super writer who doesn't let pesky things like hand eye coordination and sobriety get in her way of writing a banging story which is pretty inspirational if you think about it.

Except for the toilet bit.

New Years, Six Dollar wine, JJR Tolkien and Le Miserables.

So, I'm hungover now. Hopefully this recounting of last night makes sense, It might not.

Whatever.

Yup. Last night I drank an entire bottle of wine. Yuppers. An entire six dollar bottle of wine. Why did I do this thing, you might ask?

Because I fucking felt like it.

So me and the husband get drunk in the kitchen and then start reenacting The Lord of the Rings in the kitchen.

ME: Can you picture being Frodo on the fucking boat, at the end of Return of King when they sail off to the gray havens? I mean, he like gets up in middle of the night because he can't sleep because of all the TERRIBLE TRAUMA, and he gets to the kitchen and then Elrond is all drunk again?

ME AS ELROND: That fucking bastard took my fucking daughter! That son of bitch. He doesn't deserve her, he's, he's not fit to, to- *Starts crying*

ME AS GALADRIEL: Yes, we know Elrond. Maybe you should stop drinking honey.

ME AS CELEBORN: Uh huh. Yup. He's a bastard. Got it.

ME AS ELROND: Son of bitch, that stupid son of a bitch, with his hands on my daughter. I sent him to die on that quest!

ME AS GANDALF: Oh don't mind me, I'll just be here in a corner AFTER I SAVED THE ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD. After you elves were doing shit nothing to help. Sure just sit around in elf town doing JACK and SHIT. It's cool though, no really, no you just go on about your petty bullshit Elrond everyone wants to hear that.

SCOTT AS BILBO: Oh look I think I shall go for a walk today! Oh no the fields are so wet!

ME AS FRODO: Fuck this noise.

Then we got really drunk and listened to Star Wars sound track on Scott's record player. Then I got super drunk and he put on Le Miserables.

You know what's kinda of a party killer? Le miserables.

I have never actually seen the play in all it's entirety. Scott attempted to explain the plot. It was kind of a downer.

ME: So she's hooking for her kid?

SCOTT: Yes she also sells her hair.

ME: That does not seem like a sound investment strategy. How fast does hair grow anyway?

SCOTT: I don't know.

ME: This is depressing.

SCOTT: You know that why it's called the Miserable One's right?

ME READING THE BACK OF THE RECORD: Oh no. Now this makes sense. This was written by Victor Hugo?

SCOTT: Yeah why?

ME: Because I can't make it through his books Scott. They aren't even man porn Scott. Look when I read Victor Hugo I feel like he is slapping me repeatably with his penis.

SCOTT: You know what I think I'll turn this off.

ME: That would be best.

Then about that point I had to eat some emergency crackers and then I went to bed because the world had become soft and warm and pleasant.

At least until this morning.

Whoops.

The Duct Work Was Trying To Murder Me.

So yesterday I had valiant battle against some duct work.

Owing to Scott having to work yesterday, I had put in all the duct work under the trailer by myself. There was a lot of cursing, and unnecessary anger. I manged to stab myself in every finger in my right hand at at least once.

My day started off at 7am, and at exactly 7:45 I realized that Scott had purchased round duct work yesterday, but somehow it never occurred to me that he didn't assemble any of it. Now round duct comes loose, in that you have to snap it together into a tube. This is ridiculously hard to do. Fortunately luck was kinda in my corner. Most of the ducts went together nicely. However every fourth or fifth duct, the sides would slip out of the groove and a tear a lovely gouge out of my finger. If you are wondering why I was not wearing gloves, the answer is I was wearing gloves. Duct work is like a circular razor blade, in that it thirsts at all times for human blood.

I congratulated myself on the assembly, had a cup of tea, and prepared for round two, actually installing the damn stuff. Now what you have to understand here is that mobile* homes are not made to have an wood stove sitting in a shed out back. Meaning that none of the vents are anywhere near conveniently located.

It pretty much took me all day. The space under the trailer was enough that I could crouch over and kneel, but that was about it. Also, I had to install the ducts in a very specific order, because when the last duct went in I would not longer be able to get in there any longer.

I'm not sure if you have ever used self tapping metal screws before, but let me put it this way, it takes for ever for one to sink and then most likely it has only gone though the outer layer meaning you have to do the whole thing all over again. At one point I was sitting on my ass, holding a section on ductwork up with my foot, one arm around it, trying to screw on a piece of pipe, and thought that I might end up punching the next person in the face who talks about being able to sit around in their underwear on their days off.

I have cold air returns crossing over hot pipes, and three elbow joints hooked together like the tin man had just broken his leg and it was terrible compound fracture, but it got installed god damn it. I had to custom cut some pieces, but it all worked out and I had enough parts, and for that I am very thankful.

I choose to celebrate my badassery (and also the pain in my hands) by getting drunk. This seemed like a great idea until I realized that I hadn't really eaten anything since breakfast. Also I came to the conclusion that, if you are already a crappy cook, getting drunk will not help with that.

Which is how I ended up stabbing myself with a fork.

* If you are from West Virgina you are legally obligated to pronounce it mo-bile.