Some words about this weekend

Took heavy doses of pain relievers while drinking on Friday night. Not out of some strange addiction, but to neutralize an unyielding back pain that was keeping me from being able to act my age and go out. Felt the affects but hid them fairly well while dancing and laughing and trying not to appear too pathetic or self-abusing. Had a hint of guilt for the drug abuse (one which I do not have nor have ever indulged in), but did not stop the drinking. Was certainly dehydrated from the lack of water and surplus of liquor, then put myself in a cab for home at bar close. Slept like shit from the severe awkwardness of trying to adjust to a back pain that interrupted breathing itself.

Woke up late Saturday morning damning the possibility of leaving the apartment before 9:00 p.m. Back felt a bit better, but head felt a bit worse. Even though I knew that the largest part of my lack of motivation came from the filth of my surroundings, I merely swept whatever items would be in the way of where I wanted to sit or rest and had myself an afternoon of sloth delight. Task one was to fuel the day with a brunch pasta. Made a spicy meat sauce, got some noodles boiling up an al dente storm, filled up a big bowl with one third of the day's helping, then decided eff that and put all the noodles in the bowl, then watched Dirty Dancing again. I guess something about "I carried a watermelon?" will always be entertaining to me, even if it was already entertaining two other times this week. Followed that up with an annoyed feeling of thirst, which was solved by adding ice cubes to the Brita and transporting it to my coffee table with the Super Size cup. Then I watched a hot little number called Conversations with Other Women, which was thoughtful and well put together, but not without a sense of tragedy - being that Helena Bonham Carter was one of the leads. Then I napped even though one might think after only spending 20 minutes off of one's ass there should be a desire to shower, go or do anything other than lay around. Untrue. I rummaged through a mess on the love seat to hunt for my dear, semi-sweet dark chocolate covered raisins, readjusted my afghan, put my pillows into a more reclined setup and proceeded to lose four hours of my life at hulu.com. Caught up on some 30 Rock, a little House, saw the first episode of a shitty show called Legend of the Seeker (but who am I to judge, I love teen vampire love sagas), then luckily, I was called upon to leave my apartment and party.

[Insert montage of girl dancing and singing Justin Timberlake in the shower then drying her hair in a sexy-like fashion, then some type of swirling motion which suddenly shows her dressed up leaving her apartment and hailing a cab. Fast forward to girl sitting with friend and his friend laughing about film noir, the arrival of two hot sisters, free drinks at a preppy bar and its Christmas lights flashing, then to three drunk people laughing into the ceiling of a new cab heading to a club, then to blurrier frames of people dancing and bumping into each other and glazed looks and each new frame with a new person approaching, a round of vodka tonics in hand. End scene with three friends eating at IHOP, surrounded by trannies and slouched over women playing with their scrambled eggs.]
  
Got home damn well near six this morning without my Blackberry or a good chunk of my measly checking account. Slept for a few hours and woke up with a feeling or urgency that wasn't vomit, but instead thirst. Water, water, water. By 9:00 a.m., I'd been up two times to drink the Super Size cup dry, then I had to refill the Brita. My shaking, clammy hands and crusty mascara crunching with each blink made standing or being awake feel like full exposure to the coldest cold ever. So I mentally wrapped myself up in the security that I would not need anymore water and made a hangover blanket burrito commitment to my shitty Ikea bed. Then I woke up at 2:00 p.m. starving and wanting a flavor in my mouth other than water, mint or Squirt. So I made cocoa and a dozen oatmeal chocolate chip cookies while continuing to incubate in the fleece bath robe that stayed with me throughout the morning. My teeth felt so grimy. And my face like a mask of sweat and makeup had fuzed into my pores. Whattamess. Then, once more, a day of hulu.com, intermediate napping, contemplations of a day spent productively and the consumption of all cookies earlier baked. Watched The Office, Eddie Murphy's Raw, brushed my teeth, thought about showering but didn't, and then Ha came home. I hate being on the couch in the middle of my mess when she arrives after being gone for the weekend, but it's what I am, and she knows it. So she chatted me off the couch to the kitchen where we recapped our weekends and I made more pasta, but this time the creamy garlic and red pepper alfredo kind. We finished our conversation after I slurped up the last noodle, on a queue that almost said Okay, we both know you won't leave the couch unless you have a reason to, and now that reason is gone, so go back to where you came from, Potato Girl. Then I listened to Ingrid Michaelson's "The Way I Am" like 20 or so times, and here I am.

Broke, phoneless, clean out of internet media to discover, stuffed with my weight in noodles and cookie dough and just on the brink of admitting that acting my age is one of the most exhausting tasks I've ever taken on. Partying is rough, expensive and bad for the circles under my eyes. How people survive doing these types of things every weekend is beyond me. Beyond me, my wallet or my strength of character to face Monday with full knowledge that my weekend's greatest accomplishment was a free shot of SoCo and lime.