Birthday

Cel e brate (verb) sella brayt - transitive and intransitive verb to show happiness that something good or special has happened, by doing such things as eating and drinking together or playing music



As I waxed another year older, I did as many people do, "celebrated" this event. In "celebration" of this momentous occasion I find great irony. I find that although my body is less and less resilient to "celebration" as I get older, I continue to punish myself on this great day as if I spent the other 364 day of the year indulging in complete and total debauchery. You would think the smart way to "celebrate" at my age would be to have a quiet day that started with a healthy breakfast, a long nap in the middle of the day, a salad with a candle on it for lunch, a smart diner and a full 8 hours of sleep.



Um……hell no.



Once again I fired back enough booze to kill a small Yak. This was of course complimented with a full day of eating things that would instantly kill someone with diabetes, completed with a night full of sex with someone well below my number of seasons.



I awoke with my tongue literally stuck to the roof of mouth. I was apparently snoring so hard that my throat and nose actually hurt. I knew it was going to be a rough morning when I found a quarter, a dime and a penny stuck to my cheek. When my eyes opened it felt as if the light of God was actually boring its way into my sinning skull. This is of course was despite the fact that I have shade screens, curtains, and blinds closed in a effort to prevent this very occurrence from happening. I went to sit up to get some water to help remove my tongue from the roof of my mouth and I literally heard, inside my head, "NO"



"Excuse me" I thought.



"No, you will not be getting up" my head demanded.



"Uh…..yes I will, I have shit to do today." I thought at myself angrily.



As I tried to move, I found that my entire body was apparently in on this little coup. Again the voice came, "No, you HAD shit to do today. Currently you are going to lay here and let me pound for a while." My brain was very demanding…and accurate. I did not move and my head began to pound as if a T-Rex in a Spielberg moving was running on my skull.



At this point, my stomach has decided it was time to pipe in and said, "Well, you can lay here if you want, but I need to clean this place out…you here me talking Mr. Canadian Mist."



"Oh YOD nouuu" I said aloud. My tongue firmly stuck to the wrong portion of my skull.



I attempted to move……



This attempt was met with the severe realization that I am no longer 21 and that having sex while intoxicated thinking you are 21-ish is not only retarded but will HURT! Despite the pain I flung myself floor-ward and hoped that my legs would hold me. In what felt like and must have looked like an Olympic Weight Lighting Event for reverse paraplegics my legs caught underneath me…..barely. My knees slammed together and with my feet pointed in, formed a pyramid shape (A very strong shape in physics!). However, in doing this my muscled sent shock waves of pain upward to my brain, which was already pissed because I had defied it. After allowing the ludicrous amount of pain to be felt for simply semi-standing and allowing uncontrollable twitches throughout my body, my brain again spoke, "Oh, you don't want to listen to me. Ok….perhaps I can help your hearing then."



Once again my brain was accurate.



At this point I began to hear…EVERYTHING. The covers falling to the ground sounded like a cannon going off. It was only shadowed by the bass drum like pounding I could hear IN MY OWN HEAD. Every breath I took sounded like a hurricane passing by my.



My stomach, apparently pissed at my lack of progress to an area more suitable for vomit, began to start the "cleaning" process without my approval.



"Oh phuck" I hissed as I threw my body forward toward the bathroom. Looking like a man walking down stairs, each deafening and pain amplified step I took brought me closer to the floor. By the grace of god my bathroom is not far from my bed and I was able to gently place my cheek on the toilet seat just prior to the removal of what I had now realized was WAY to much alcohol. I will spare my readers the mess of how my tongue was removed from the wrong portion of my skull….but I am sure what you are picturing is relatively accurate. I will only go so far as to say the first "heave" looked like a garden hose with a splitter on it.



During the purge cycle, in which I felt I had expelled every ounce of liquid from my body, my aging back decided it wanted to let me know exactly how if felt about last nights activities. I cramped in such a way that I went from all fours in front of the toilet to one arm in the toilet hanging on like a stunt man in a movie where a guy is hanging from a helicopter. Needless to say my face was no longer near the spot it need to be to unleash the wrath of my stomach. My stomach, apparently not happy about the job only being half finished, "flipped the switch". As soon as I felt pressure in the lower half of my twisted body I clamped my ass cheeks together with a force so hard I could have prevent Mt Saint Helens from erupting. I am quite confident that if "Mythbusters" would have checked my ass at that very moment that would have confirmed it "Plausible". Sadly, as I lay there with one arm in the toilet, my torso twisted with the cramp in my back, my ass cheeks unnaturally clamped together and my only free appendage covering my mouth to prevent further vomiting, I heard my woman say, "you ok honey?"



Of course, as any man would, I responded, "yeah….I'm good".



My brain commanded, "Lay here….lay here and I will eventually make the pain stop".



My stomach broke in, "I dare you to stay here."



My muscles cried, "For the love of god, do what the brain says!"



….and then……another voice…."I gotta pee"



Shit……………….it was the penis; the true master of the male body. All other areas of my body bowed to this request. My muscles began to relax, the pain in my head began to subside and the demand to evacuate the stomach subsided at both ends. I was able to stand. Like any good man, I gave credit where credit was due. "Oh thank you penis, thank you for this wondrous, if ever so brief moment of relief." I thought to my master.



Once the penis had been satisfied, I gave him a shake as most men do at the end of the liquid release cycle. For a moment I actually thought I had broken the sound barrier with the shake of my penis as I head an unbelievable BOOMING noise coming from this action. The pain in my head was so sharp it actually staggered me.



Ah yes, with my penis out of the picture my brain was back in action; making every action a 1000 times louder. Despite the ringing in my ears, I knew I only had a brief window to get back into bed and get off my feet before my muscles would simply quit and walk out on me. Looking like 4 slinkies had been attached to a human torso I quivered toward my bed and in a minor miracle I flopped onto my side of the bed.



Of course as the saying goes, "No rest for the wicked", I began to feel my stomach start up again. I would have cried but I really believe that during the vomit fest I had squeezed what little water was available for tears out of my body. I again tried to rise, but this time I my legs did not catch me. I sort of crumpled down, ass in the air, face on the floor. In a bizarre twist, the cool tile of my bathroom floor on my face felt nice. In what I now realize was a mistake I tried to keep my face on the cool floor and sort of "inch worm" my way toward the toilet. As the urgency began to increase I attempted to "inch" faster which was only successful in causing my face to stick to the floor and setting off a strange body traffic jam.



I did finally make it to the bathroom and back to bed. However, as stated at the beginning of this, why must I "celebrate" my birthday….I mean really….it hurts.