Posted:Sun Jun 21, 2009 4:54 AM CST
Do you know the muffin man? Read me, hate me, Rate
Cuz I have some serious hungover munchies, I also could do with a good old fashioned man poke. See? I'm still doing the honesty thing.
What a night!
Woke up this morning, face stuck to my pillow. Peeling my face from the cotton, it appears the shroud or Turin has reappeared in County Cork, Ireland. Perfect outline of my panda eyes, a lickle smear of lipgloss. I’m all about the classy.
Clad in this very green top, and forest green Canterbery track bottoms off I went to my sisters house for some much needed Heineken consumption. Sitting outside, my brother in law approaches and sneers “Hessy, the Green Giant.”
Returning indoors as the chill of the evening crept up my spine, we sat around their massive oak table. My sister, my brother in law and his Dad, Johnny. Johnny is an epic of a man. A Charles Bronson look alike, 72 years old. Works 6 days a week as a truck driver. His face is creased and tanned, a worn face of a mischievous youth. I brought up the Green Giant remark, we all snickered away. I don’t think Johnny got the reference and said “Sure Hessy girl, I love big women.” Second kick in the lack of testicles for me. I did giggle away, he was half cut from a well earned evening of Stout drinking.
Bailey, our golden retriever sat interested on the floor, as if he too was having a laugh at my expense. He then returned to his consuming mission of tearing an empty milk carton to shreds.
Being well on at this stage, my brother in law began to show off his skills of making a wine glass whine. Then began a very competitive tournament of who could do it best. Try as I may, I couldn’t get the feckin thing to whine.
We then began discussing the never un-funny topic of “the drunkest you ever got”. My sister said she’d love to be able to remember but alas, too many blackouts! Johnny then told a hilarious story about drinking Bushmills whiskey in a pub, then having to walk home. Using every available wall en route to keep him standing. Took him 45 minutes to walk less than half a mile. More progress sideways than forwards it would appear.
My most drunken escapade was during a Hen/Bachelorette weekend. Having easily floored 6 pints of Heineken I had the most elusive epiphany! Tequila time baby! However, it was not a case of one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor. Oh no, Hessy the Incredible Hulk sank them with admirable capability. I could walk, I could talk but Holy Fuckering Batman, there was a party going on in my head.
Clad in angel wings and a halo, I got on the dance floor and threw shapes like an epileptic. Accosting a rather handsome young man, who never had a chance of getting away. After some Olympic quality tonsil tennis my sister dragged me away and we made our way home with the gang who were really worse than I was. Or so I keep instilling. Stopping by in a fast food joint, having lost my halo but not the headband and stem it was attached to, I resembled a telly tubby with an aerial like apparatus sticking out of my head. Munching on a burger that could have been a living mooing cow for all I cared, another handsome man was pointing and laughing in my direction. Great looking rugby-esque lad, but with one of those apparently retro mullet type haircuts, smoothed with a rather ridiculous amount of hair-gel. I scanned the bustling Fish n Chip Shop, everyone was drunk. I was as we say here, langerated still.
(Continued in comment below, as if I'd leave it at that!)