French Kiss the Morning

Prior to my affogato burst early last week, I was buzzing on something entirely different the previous Saturday night.

Cosmopolitans.

And because of that, I don't think I'll be having any Cosmo's for a LOOONNNNGGGG time.

Let me explain.

It was one of our closest friend's 30th birthday that weekend. Her and her husband, being big spenders, had a pretty extravagant evening planned. A group of 10 of us, were driven over to an exclusive waterfront restaurant, had a HUGE 3 course meal feast, PLENTY of drinks, and then were all driven to a city bar, where we continued to drink, and drink, and drink.... (and dance on podiums....!)

Boy did I pay for it the next day. Following a night, where I had one glass of wine, and about 7-8 Cosmopolitans, it took all the energy I had to keep awake on the drive home. Because I knew if I fell asleep, I might chunder, per Men At Work lyrics.

Getting home, I managed to brush my teeth and remove my make-up with one of those handy moisturised make-up removal wipes. As I crashed into bed, with Hubbie already in his 10th dream beside me, I closed my eyes.

And the world started spinning a dizzying black.

I opened them and closed them. I tried to still the blackness, but everything was whir, whir, whirring. And then I just knew what I had to do.

It wasn't so much that I felt it, more than I sensed it. Then again, maybe my purely intoxicated state disguised the nausea I was feeling. I ran to the toilet and vomited.

No. 1.

Nothing unusual here.... the contents I mean. I had clearly had way too many cocktails towards the end of the night, and my stomach was just emptying out the spare fluid. I went back to bed, and can't remember the rest.

The next morning I very slowly woke up. You know when you're waking up, and it takes you a good few minutes to realise you're awake, and not dreaming? Yeah that's called a hangover.

The hilarious thing about this moment of the day, was that I was in bed, 9:30am, thinking I should get up because the alcohol was still in my system and wouldn't let me fall asleep again. Lying there, I remember looking around the bed sheets and going "I need to wash these, I think I'll do that today." I could see bright light peeking through the blinds, and knew the sun would dry my washing quicker. I thought I'd be good, and despite the previous 'big night,' do some cleaning and washing, before Hubbie got home from work (yes poor thing on a Sunday) and we went out again, to a friend's sons 1st birthday.

Yeah right.

As soon as I was upright, I felt my stomach begin to move. And the nausea just kept getting worse. Previous times that I've over-drank and been sick, I've been sick the night of the craziness, rather than the night after. So I couldn't understand why I felt this way, seeing as I'd chucked the night before. I put it down to needing a coffee and some toast to fill my empty belly, and went about, in agony, preparing my breakfast.

I sat down on the couch to watch tv while I ate my brekkie. The only thing I ended up watching was my plate of toast and coffee mug. I couldn't touch it. I couldn't go near it. I was feeling so unwell by this stage, that I started to doubt whether I actually needed any food. But yet again, in my stubborness to see the situation, I decided to have a sip or two of coffee, followed by a bite of toast.

I was trying to talk myself into it. Internally I was like 'yes the coffee is helping, that's all I need.' Several minutes passed before I attempted another bite. As soon as I began to chew though, the wretchedness started moving from my stomach, into my throat.

I ran to the toilet, posing stationary above it. Realising I still had uneaten toast in my mouth, I ran to the kitchen and spat it into a tissue, disposing of it in the bin. Don't ask me why I did this, but I'm glad I did. I ran back to the toilet, and stood there, waiting. But nothing came immediately. Only my mobile started to ring.

Hubbie had already called me once that morning, before I started feeling so bad. So I was highly doubtful of it being him again. I walked over to my phone, and saw 'Dad.'

I paused a second. Should I answer? I decided I would, knowing that I could talk my way out of it, without anyone being none the wiser of my ailing condition. He couldn't see me.

Hahahahahahaha.

I answered, and he was like "Are you awake?"

Suspicion started creeping into me. "Yeah, I'm just having breakfast, why?"

"Oh well me and your mum are standing outside, and all the blinds are closed.... we're going to the plaza, and thought we'd stop by if it's alright, we haven't seen you in a while...."

That, I believe, is the definition of Murphy's Law.

"Oh, yeah, come in, no problems...."

Had I spat my uneaten toast in the toilet, I wouldn't have had time to run back and flush. It was like my sixth sense had been telling me to.... "be clean."
LOL.

I answered the door, still in pyjamas and nightgown, and they sat down. I knew my best bet was to not hide my tiredness, or my big night, because although I could hide my need to be sick, if they thought I was simply tired, they would think me leaning on the couch, all fetal position like, meant I just needed sleep.

Look, my parents are really cool. My Mum surprises me when she says "nooooo, it's not bad that you can see your bra through that see-through top!" and my dad impresses me with his stories of youth and the crazy things he did back then, like getting into jail and stuff :) (He's really, very good, which is why it's funny!) If I was sick, or showed myself to be sick in front of them, they'd just get unnecessarily worried, and that I didn't need. One person was enough for me to worry about, and at that moment I couldn't even look after that one person properly.

(Deep breath, I feel myself getting nauseous just thinking about it!)

So I acted my way through it. I made small chit chat. I willingly offered the previous nights story, and the plans for the rest of the day, then let them do the rest of the talking, only answering when absolutely necessary. The visit only lasted for 10-15 minutes. All the while I breathed, willing the contents of my stomach not to come flying out of me.

I did feel so bad. I didn't want my parents to think my silence meant my not-wanting them to be there. But I hoped they would just put it down to my 'tiredness.'

I stood at the door and waved to them as they drove off. And then I ran upstairs to the toilet. (I don't know why I went upstairs, I think I was more comfortable there, as it was there I'd thrown up the night before.)

And yes I threw up. Anything I'd managed to consume of my breakfast went. As well as I think some of the night before.

I sat back on the couch, my stomach feeling lighter, and less nauseous. I thought, 'good, now I'll wait 'til I'm 100%, then I'll get myself ready for later on.'

Wrong.

I sat there on the couch for over an hour. I managed to get up and walk around, throw my brekkie away, and sit back down on the couch. I was so crook. Then again, up the stairs I went.

I stood in front of the toilet, gagging for ages. And then I vomited. Again.

This time it WAS from last night. And I swear, I tasted something citrus-y that resembled the overly-abused Cosmo's. Ugh.

That was the last time I threw up. I couldn't believe how sick I'd been and how many times I'd thrown up, so long after the fact. The rest of the story goes: Hubbie came home, convinced me that I'd feel better if I started getting ready; through many tears of protest 'I still need to vomit!' I got ready; we drove to the 1st birthday party; I sat in the stationary car, there, holding my plastic bag, swearing I was gonna throw - I didn't; we survived the party, I put on the best show of my life; and I had my first bit of food at 4pm, that didn't reverse back on me - chocolate cake.

I hadn't eaten 'til 4pm. I'd had plenty of water and soda water, oh and bits of turkish bread from Hubbie's meal. I'd been terrified to consume something in case I became a regurgitating monster in front of everyone at the party, a la Exorcist style.

Had some Macca's chips at the end of the night, and some bites of Hubbie's burger, as we sat at home, still tired from the night before, I myself COMPLETELY drained of energy. Yeah, I know, so healthy right.

But the point of all this is the vomiting. My theory is, since I'd broken the vomit-from-overconsumption-of-alcohol seal, my stomach is now more sensitive, and more likely to throw up alcohol (never mind me overconsuming it!)

I'd taken pride my whole life in proclaiming that I'd never vomited from alcohol. I could always say that I'd drank heaps, but felt tough and strong, and alcoholically able in knowing my stomach could withstand any combination of potent fluids I put into it, MWA HA HA!

But then I broke the seal.


Seal Breaker 1:

My second Christmas party at this my current employer. I decided I hadn't been loose enough my first year, so went about in drinking more that year. Ended up in the toilets, throwing up, with a really sweet colleague calling out "Miss S, are you alright?" over the cubicles (she hung around because a male cleaner was in the toilet, I know, how nice of her right?) I blacked out the second half of the night and fell asleep at the club we were at. A window totally was smashed in near me and I missed it all, all because I got drunk and passed out. A friend took me home that night in his car, and for his kind troubles I invited him to my wedding :)
Then, I only threw up that night. I was queasy the next day, but I didn't projectile anything.

Seal Breaker 2:

Blonde's sisters Hen's night, of which I've mentioned in my post "WOW. What a weekend/s, what a week/s." It was the first girls night I'd been out to since I got married. I got WAAYYY too excited, so much so that I just couldn't waste the champagne that was left behind, (part of the complimentary drinks for our party) when the guest of honour and her friends left (yes, Red and I outstayed the hostess). So I drank it all. I said 'I love you' heaps to Red, or so she tells me. She says I was really amusing and funny, and still funny when she and her sister had to practically carry me back to their car. I stopped being funny when I warned of throwing up in her car on the way home.
Hubbie thought I was being funny when I said, "I'm sick, I'm gonna throw up," as I stumbled my way up to our bedroom late that night/early morning. But when he heard me heaving my lungs out in the toilet, he realised he wasn't gonna get any funny-ness that night.
Again. I only threw up that night, and was left nursing my poor stomach the next day.

This time however, my 3rd time, I've broken my seal altogether, as well as breaking a new seal, that of throwing up THE DAY AFTER. I'm getting more and more out of control. However in an effort to not throw up ever again from alcohol (as I sat in my PJs for half of last Sunday, I felt so crap, and made myself remember the feeling so as to not do it ever again) I've found the link between the 3 seal breaker scenarios, and realise the circumstance under which I must be careful of going overboard. It's simple really.

All 3 times I said to myself internally "I'm gonna make the most of tonight."

It's simple enough yes I know. And most times you would imagine anyone to want to have a great night out, it's practically a given. However, when I look at my watch, and start realising the night is ending, I kick it up a notch, turn it up a gear, and start getting really crazy. And that's what happened all these 3 times. That and all 3 times I wasn't driving.

My warning thoughts are as follows:

* wanting to have a really good time, because I haven't partied in ages
* wanting to have a really good time, because I want to make the most of it
* wanting to have a really good time, because I didn't make the most of it last time
* wanting to have a really good time, because I'm not driving
* wanting to have a really good time, just for no reason at all

So there has it. I've discovered my internal mental cues, the 'warning signs,' to a potentially messy night. All because I broke my alcoholic seal. Stupid.

Random Quote #4

Let's set the scene:

My house, a few Sundays ago, approx. 4pm.

The WHOLE family is over (the prequel to my "drunk" post).

3 female family members are helping wash the dishes. They are huddled together. I sneakily poke my head in.
"What are you talking about?" I ask mischieviously.
My blonde family member speaks up without a hint of hesitation, or inhibition.


"Licking, sucking, the clitoris....."

Laughter ensues from all of them. I raise my eyebrows. "Okaaaayyy, well I need to wash the dishes a bit more often."

My drunk post

Okay so this is quite possible going to be my mosr random of all random posts. Because i am drunk
Yes sireeee. Me drunk.

Ok ay so not sdrunk but tipsy. I knoe that from the fact that It took me 3 times to actually write the above post with noe speeligng mistakes. The rest od the post? ahh whatever. let the re be spelling itakes i dont care!QQQQQQQ!!!!!!!! Im drunk ;-)

So anyway, i have had my entire family over today! Yes siree my entire  family all came (acutally not fake and her borther but hey what a surprise thee  but i dont really care anyway) and it was a truly wonerful day. even motor mouth was here and i honestly didnt mind her, its gonig with my nw attitude of 'whatver'
yes htats rught, i have a new whatvever attitiude. its cool. its gonig well.
het did i tell u i love my cusin? like in afamilial way. i dont know what i should call him, um maybe 'chihuahua'. LOL. Tnhats funny becayse i KNOW why its funny! yes thereofore he wil lbe known as  chihuauauaha.\
ahahahhahahaha.
i sooooo odo not car about my speeliing mistakes right n eow. thats because usually im such a perfefctionist,. butn now im like all 'whatdever'.
seeeee? going with my new attitufede???
and back tom y cuz chichuahua. he is so cool. im rapt. rapt tha alll my dfamily came over toda,. my cuz's my aunties and uncles, aeven my uncele who had a stroke recently, a few monthd back. they all coame because we called the whole family over, no one had been to aour palce yet since we moved in. and it was awedome. so awesome like super awesome. we were danixcing and there was music and we were singing and eating and drinking.
yes lots of drinking.
im not reading back this post u see/ otherwise i may think differenntly.
NOOOOOOOOOOO! i must post it i must!!!!!!! please excuse my dual oersonality ATM.
so it was cool EVERYONE came (impoirstant).
Ahhhhh sonice!.
Lovely. Love Love Lvoe LOve Love.
Is all gso good.
and i made 135 cakes in preparation no joke, one recipe makes 71 th e other 64 = 135! yay i can count still,
ok i think its time to go.
goodnight and i lobe everyobodyQ! ALl of you you are all wonderful!
MWA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
XOXOXOXOXOXOX
I hac love for rhte pwhole weorld and everyone in it even the annoying people! Yes You!
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

WOW. What a weekend/s, what a week/s

Definitely the right word. WOW.

It has been crazy-mania for a while now. Two Saturdays ago, one of my best friends flew on over from the States, to make it for her sisters wedding.
The same day that she flew over, we went out for her sisters hens night. Being the first girls night I've been to since getting married, the phrase "getting wasted" was a complete understatement to me. My friends found me particularly amusing and entertaining that night. As did Hubbie when I stumbled into the house, clickety-clackety, moaning that I was drunk.
The following day found me not only re-cuperating from the previous nights bender, but catching up wth my sister and brother-in-law, at lo and behold, a bar.
As if I didn't have enough the night before. With the family I had, I had no choice BUT to drink, unless I wanted to be ridiculed for the rest of eternity.
It was a really nice day though, and I didn't drink too much. It was a lovely family catch up.
The next day, Monday night, my U.S pal came by for a visit, and after catching up for a few hours she fell asleep on our couch. While we waited for her sister to pick her up, Hubbie and I took terms babysitting her sleeping self on the couch while the other got ready for bed! By the time she was picked up, I ended up going to bed about 1am.
That was 3 nights of sleep screwed up already. And it was only the beginning of the working week, meaning I wouldn't have much time to catch up on sleep until the weekend. And even that didn't look promising, as the following weekend was going to be busy, busy, busy!!!!
The following nights I can't really remember to be honest. But I know that when you have odd and insufficient sleep patterns for a few nights, you actually need to sleep IN to fix your body clock up. And getting up for work wasn't fixing me up much.
Plus I was busy trying to organise my Hubbie's birthday lunch for that coming Sunday. I had all these plans, to make some food earlier, make a cake and make coo kies, do the grocery shopping, plan my dishes, clean the house, etc, etc....
Thursday after work I had big plans, to do ALL my grocery shopping, make the cookie dough (so it was ready to be baked fresh Sunday morning) as well as get ready for work and other regular weeknight jobs.
Then the bird and the fridge happened. This is a freakin' book in itself.
Let me begin.
I'd come home earlier that day from work, and as Hubbie wanted me to wait for him to eat dinner (I think just leftovers) I had no choice but to wait. My first point of frustration was not being able to make sandwiches for work the next day, as we were out of bread. So I found myself wasting time, which I did not want on a night when I wanted to get a lot done.
Also that day, we'd received a fridge that we had previously ordered, an extra fridge that we wanted to keep in the garage for those family functions where there was just not often room in ONE fridge for all the food, drinks and dessert we had; in other words, this was a grog fridge.
So this fridge was now in our garage having been delivered earlier in the day with my Dad there to accept it.
Hubbie came home and one of the first things out of his mouth was
"there's a baby bird in our front yard and it can't fly!"
Upon further inspection, I saw that this wasn't a baby bird that you keep as a pet, rather it was one of the wild neighbourhood birds (like a sparrow) and it was quite literally in our front yard, so small, trying to fly but not even managing 20 cm into the air, as its wings were not strong enough.
Now I'm not normally a person that gravitates towards birds. I think everyone has one pet animal they prefer and mine is cats. I've never been a huge bird person, but because of Hubbie's love of birds and other random animals, I've grown fond of certain types of them.
Now this was, as I say, only a wild neighbourhood bird, but if you saw how tiny and vulnerable it looked, and the way its wings fluttered helplessly as it tried to take off, your heart would've cried too.
Hubbie and I KNEW what we had to do. We had to somehow save this bird. Another larger bird, possibly a member of its family, flew in a few times when it thought we weren't there, and either gave something to the little one or just checked on it. But then it never came back. And despite my wishful thinking, a flock of birds did not come and lift this baby bird off into the sunset.
It was going to get dark soon, and remembering the wild, vicious cat fight we'd heard outside our yard only nights before, knowing full well that there were plenty of cats in this area, this bird would not last 'til midnight. NO WAY.
So, hungry, with a new fridge in the garage that had to be adjusted because Hubbie's car didn't fit anymore, a baby bird in our front yard that couldn't fly and that would be eaten if we didn't save it, we decided to attempt the task of rescuing - ahem, catching - the bird.
Meanwhile time was ticking, and I still needed to get the grocery shopping done and make my cookie batch.
With an empty cardboard beer box, I stood in one corner, while Hubbie, with his gardening gloves, attempted to come at it from another side, in order to corner it.
The baby, tiny as it was, was also smart, and managed to make its way to a corner where it was almost impossible to reach. I kept saying "just grab it! It's a baby it won't bite you! Stop being so soft!" He attempted again a few times, and finally, managed to lift it and place it in the box. I quickly shut the lid.
As we took it around to the back of the house, (we were going to put it in the shed) I wasn't holding the lid down properly, and this little bird's head started popping out, as it tried to get out of the box.
Now it was me freaking out. I wanted to put it back in, but I didn't know how to do it without damaging its head.
I was totally freaking out and almost shrieking, and it ended up jumping out. Hubbie had to get it again and put it back in. "And you say I'm soft?!"
Yes he was right, I soooo ate my words. I guess its fear of the unknown, fear of this wild bird. No matter how small this thing is, logic flies out the window (ha ha) and you're left petrified of this little object that you could easily miss if you walked by it.
Well, we ended up setting up this poor little bird in our shed: we opened the top lid and slid over it an old bbq rack left behind from the previous tenants, that way the bird could see through and have heaps of breathing space.
Then came the fridge argument. Hubbie realised that the current position of the fridge prevented him from parking his car in the garage, as he could quite literally NOT get out of his car. If the fridge was moved up or down the side of the garage either way, it still meant there was minimal space in squeezing by. And he was not risking, in any way, a scratch on his car.
Sigh.
And then he suggested, putting our spare fridge, under the stairs. As in, in the house, under the stairs, only around the corner from the kitchen and in clear view of our other fridge there!
I was NOT a bogan! I was not going to have one fridge in clear view of the other, shoved into a house space like under the stairs, where you could still clearly see EVERYTHING!
The more we argued the more absolutely furious I got. There was NO WAY, he was keeping the fridge in the garage, with the possibility of scratching his car (he is very precious about his car you see, as it is a classic and on the not-so-cheap side) and there was NO WAY we were moving it under the stairs, where it was in clear view, as I was not going to cheapen the look of our interior. The thought absolutely disgusted me and made my lips curl.
We were stuck in a gridlock over the bloody fridge.
Then we thought of another option. Why don't we move the fridge to the other side of the garage, set up an extension lead, and that way it wouldn't be interfering with Hubbie's passageway to the car?
We realised that would also block one of our exits out - not a crucial exit point, but it was the way we brought our rubbish bins from the back of the house to the front. The fridge being in front of this exit now prevented us from moving our bins through the garage. For the moment we decided to keep the bins IN the garage, therefore removing any use for that door, which was good as we now had a fridge in front of it.
After eating, I frustratingly rushed to the shops. It wasn't helped when Hubbie called as I was getting out of my car and insisted that it was better for the fridge to be under the stairs. I nearly blew my top, the mere thought of that stupid idea turned me bright red. There was no way that was happening, and I let him know that as we hung up.
The rest of the night was just plain stupid. After getting just my BASIC grocery items, I left the shops to see a message on my mobile. I listened to the message as I drove home, and I grimaced as I got to the end of the message. Hubbie. Pretty much saying "get an extension cord...... 5 metres long........ don't leave the shops...... get the cord."
Sigh.
Back I went. And when I couldn't find the right length cord there, I had to go to ANOTHER store.
By the time I got home, I still had to wash the dishes, make lunches for the next day, clean up, and I didn't even get time to make my cookies.
He had moved the fridge in that time, but the old bird cage we wanted to get that resided at Hubbie's parents place, we couldn't get because they weren't home to drop it off to us.
At the end of the day we had a fridge wedged between an extremely frustrated couple.
And we had a bird in a cardboard beer box in a shed, perhaps more lost than when it started out.

To be continued.....