I Have A Fever, and the Only Cure is NPH

I’m suffering from severe writers block brought on by a super-fun-awesome Monday hangover. That’s what happens when my friend Jamie from Island of Reality comes over.
We drink.
A lot.
ESPECIALLY when she comes to my house, because Brian has this “No TV In The Living Room” policy which is really great because not only does it encourage the long-lost art of conversation, but it has also probably decreased my TV intake by about 80%, which means more brain cells for me, so…bonus.
BUT
Sometimes you don’t want to just talk and talk and talk for 4 hours straight because it’s exhausting. And because it’s been raining for 40 days and 40 nights, outdoor activities like canoeing are not an option (but may become a necessity if this fersniggin’ rain doesn’t stop).

So, sometimes on a rainy Sunday afternoon the best thing to do is open up a bottle (or three) of wine and let the drunk do the talking for you. So that’s exactly what we did for about…oh…say, 7 hours. We also managed to cook ourselves up a tasty pork tenderloin, Caribbean rice, and grilled asparagus, which I consider to be an accomplishment considering that we were 2 bottles in the hole with no sign of stopping. As a result, the asparagus was overcooked and I may or may not have melted a critical (plastic) component of our rotisserie set by placing it on top of what is, essentially, a tiny oven. I tried to blame the company by saying that there should have been a warning on the top of the rotisserie, at which point Brian pointed out that there IS a warning on the top of the rotisserie, and removed the wine glass from my hand. He is a patient, patient man.

And it’s probably for the best, because come to think of it, I kind of went on a bender this weekend. Friday marked the end of a pretty long week, so Brian and I celebrated our two-day liberation by promptly driving to the liquor store to buy two six-packs of summer-appropriate beer. Unfortunately Milo had been in his jail cell...erm...crate all day and interrupted our plans for relaxing by spending the evening trying to eat everything in sight including (but not limited to) the cat, a cord of wood, the wicker furniture in the sunroom, and my foot.

And then Saturday night we had to sit through a performance of Carmina Burana, a scenic cantata composed by Carl Orff that would have been more aptly named “The Longest 90 Minutes Of Your Life.” [Note to self: Raise Carl Orff from the dead so that you can kill him for composing a cantata that contains no less than 25 individual movements]. Sweet Jesus it was a long night. And when it was finally over (at 10:15pm, which is 15 minutes past that magical time of the night I like to call bed-time), there was a reception. And then my dad wanted to out for drinks.


Despite the fact that I had given him just about all that I could give by sitting through that long-ass concert.

Despite the fact that I had a giardia-filled puppy at home whose ass-hole was a ticking timebomb of projectile pandemonium.

Despite the fact that my pants were too tight and were MUCHO uncomfortable (don’t even get me started on that).

So, yeah, one could say that more drinks were had than fun. And after all was said and done, both Carl Orff and the pair of pants that I was wearing were officially put ON NOTICE. Yeah, that's right. Carl Orff and Express Size 6 Trouser Jeans...you'd better watch your step.

So Friday Fun-Beer + Saturday Drinks of Desperation + Sunday Wine-Fest 2009 = Monday Hangover and Writer’s Block.

And to make matters worse, I’ve been invited by My Blog Doesn’t Suck to contribute a guest-post while she’s off having fun in Disneyworld (hate). So I’m wracking my brain for something funny to write that will make her proud AND perhaps draw a visitor or two to my little bloggio because, let’s be honest, I’m a power-mongering famewhore. Admitting it is the first step.

So, I’m going to need some decent coffee, some Tylenol Extra Strength, a sugary breakfast treat, and possibly some crack-cocaine STAT to get through this morning. I’m also going to need a double-dose of Neil Patrick Harris because it's just been one of those mornings. NPH, give me strength.