"Nurse, we need ibuprofen, water, and a *GINORMOUS* triple soy mocha, STAT!"

"Actually, I'm a drinker with a writing problem." ~ Brendan Behan


Last night, I commando-crawled in my pj's over to my friends' house a block away to babysit their sleeping kids; beautiful British Booty and her cool-ass Boy, Cyber Babe, were going down to SoDo to see their beloved Goldfrapp... whoo hooooo!!!


Meet Cyber Babe and British Booty

Off they skadaddled after CB went downstairs, wiped their poopy son's arse, and tucked him back into bed. And off I went on a wee tour of their very funky home. Nosy, nosy puss.

Here, we have some crazy-ass masks:

The one in the centre is a mask from Nairobi that was used in an actual ceremony to try to cure a man of depression. It's still covered in dirt. Amazin', ain't it?

But by far, one of my favourite thingies in their incredible art collection is this guy:


Meet British Booty's grandfather. He was sculpted by her father, Master Sculptor at Madame Tussaud's of London... the Grand Poobah himself. Yes, he has indeed chatted with, measured, and sculpted the Dalai Lama and the Queen ~ both a few times ~ as well as... the Spice Girls! Yeah! For some reason, BB has no idea why I'm so ridiculously impressed by her dad's day-job, but when you're someone gets lost in the scrolling folds of Michelangelo's Pieta and has no idea how to even begin to sculpt...

Anyway, moving further along in my travels, I spotted something that nearly obliterated the pseudo-technophobe in me, and gave my inner housewife a nasty case of the vapours:

Meet Stan. He's a real Roomba.

A few hours later, I was still stroking and whispering sweet nothings to Stan and slurping a Mike's Hard Cranberry when BB and CB came home. Since it wasn't obscenely late, BB and I headed out to find ourselves a cozy corner and liquid imbibements at the Pig. With regretful faces, René and friends informed us they were closing up for the night, so we were thusly sent to The Accused Pub about a block away. Now, I'd actually been there a FEW times with friends, despite my initial reservations about the place, but this time it was dire. Absolutely frightening, frat-boy/redneck freaky dire. Like bass-booming pickup-truck-pumping-Metallica dire. Trying not to recoil and cringe too visibly, we continued right past, employing our arsenal of feminine sub-arctic acknowledgement to deflect the low-toned jeers and leering perusals from two separate clusters of yucky blottos. It was classy.

Eventually, we relaxed and chatted our way to the wonderful oasis that is Oliver's Twist, where we made friends with Kim (named after Rudyard Kipling's hero) the Barman, shared Pocky and truffled popcorn, and proceeded to get H-A-M-M-E-R-E-D. I kid you not, this was in my top three of The Most Drunk I've Been In My Life. (Incidentally, two out of those three times was with BB.) Ah, Kim, dahling, methinks you made my drinks a tad bit... strong. Honestly, I thought we'd be safe, arriving a mere 18 minutes before closing. But no... No, we were no' safe a-tall. Two gin-based ladydrinks, and British Booty had to practically carry me home. And let's not get into what happened once I got home. Suffice it to say, I woke up with my contacts still on and two sinks to clean in the morning.

I put it all down to BB's enviable and distinctly English constitution for holding down the molten juniper; she seemed okay after that first one, so I must've been too, right? "Another one, please, Kim! And make mine a Charlotte!" A liver of titanium, that girl has. Me, not so much. My poison of choice has to be caffeine. And sugar, of course. Both of which are sustaining me through the spins right now. At least we won't get malaria.

It is 12:36pm. Seeing how far my pj's had gotten me last night, I'm resolving to wear them until the bitter end tonight, when I shower and change into my gym gear. Needless to say, my Ninja conditioning and BJJ classes are going to be interesting. Golly... I hope I don't puke on anyone.

And Pig Thursday. René, could you make that a chamomile tea, please?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Update:

It is 5:35, 25 minutes until my mixed-arts conditioning class, to be followed by BJJ, and every time I close my eyes, the world is still spinning and my stomach is still flinching. Should be a great show tonight, folks!

Also got an e-mail from Sarah after she read this post, and agrees the drinks were ridiculously strong... for even *she* was entirely hungover the next day. Moral of the story: If you're needin' to drown those leakin' sorrows, seek not enlightenment, but Kim: He'll see you right.

(the impressionistic photos above were all taken with my crappy cellphone camera)