FAT TUESDAY CAN BITE ME. Okay, so being as I haven't gone out and acted like a total drunken idiot in years because apparently marriage has settled me--people say this to me all the time. Um...not accurate. I only mellowed because I gained a bunch of weight and don't feel comfortable being "that girl dancing on the stage" at all. You know "that girl"--the one everyone points at and says, "Oh my GAWD! Does she know her gut roll is bouncing in rhythm to the music!?! EW!" Where was I? Oh, right. Fat Tuesday. Mandy came over to hang out for a bit, and we decided since we knew we were going downtown later that we should pregame. I had four beers and two rum and cokes, apparently having forgotten the old adage about what happens when you have beer, then liquor. Oh, and yes, in my "I'm READY to PARTY" mindset, 6 drinks was PRE-gaming. So Mandy swings by her house to change clothes, and we meet her and Aaryn at the Tap. Now I have been ragingly, stupidly, ridiculously drunk before. I admit this. I don't know what got into me on tuesday, but I decided somewhere in my haze that I was going to top every incident of drunkenness ever experienced in my 26 years. If you keep that goal in mind, then Fat Tuesday was a success. The last thing I remember is standing on the patio of the Tap talking to Big James the Bouncer (I capitalize "Bouncer" because if you can deal with people as drunk as I was on a regular basis, you deserve the term "Bouncer" to be capitalized--kinda like with royals. Badge of Honor kind of thing...). We were at the Tap for another HOUR after that, and I got nothin'. Ric got me home and to the bedroom (which he says I covered every inch of trying to get to the bed because I was a zig-zag staggerer, and I almost pulled down the shelves in our room trying to balance myself), and he somehow managed to get me into the bed after about fifteen minutes of me not understanding that I was supposed to be UNDER the covers. He gets in the bed, I turn to him and hold up my arms and demand, "STRIP ME." Being as I smell like a brewery, that's probably the only good idea I had all night. So he starts trying to help me out of my bar clothes, at which point I slur to him, "This is half sexy, half NO." "Mmhmm," says Ric, probably thinking to himself that there is NADA sexy about me not being able to remove my own Mardi Gras beads. As he finally gets himself tucked into bed to finally get some sleep and finally erase the memory of what an idiot he married, I turn to him, smile sweetly and say, "What's YOUR half-sexy?" "Wha--you--just go to sleep!" "Uh oh." And thus the vomiting commences. Forget FAT Tuesday--I threw up enough that I probably lost fifteen pounds and at least three vital organs. It's amazing to me, however, that it took me forever to make it from the bedroom door to the bed, but I managed to make it from the bed to the toilet without any serious injuries or damage to property. So yeah, I spent all of wednesday and thursday with the world's nastiest hangover ever. Why is any of this relevant? Because after not remembering multiple HOURS of my life and being a total obnoxious brat (which reminds me--I have it on good report that I berated Travis for about ten minutes on how Ric and I were leaving, and if he didn't get Mandy home safely I would kill him, so I should probably apologize to him for that), I have decided to greatly reduce my alcohol consumption for the rest of my life. My liver is already grateful!