Well.

I woke up half an hour ago on a friend's futon. At first I didn't open my eyes, I just listened to the vague sound of a thumping stereo coming from another room. Then I attempted to swivel my neck around in all manner of the normal human range of motion to ensure it hadn't in fact become so stiff and brittle through the night that my head had snapped right off and was ready to roll onto the floor. Success! The last little job was to pry open my eyes and motivate my ass from its thoroughly enjoyable horizontal position. Easier said than done this morning, I assure you.

Last night's registration/introduction soiree went so well I cannot tell you. Babies were kissed, journallers were dissed ((mostly)with love) and pictures were taken. We began to take over the main floor and hallways of the hotel in a purely enthusiastic and squeeful...I mean gleeful...way. Alcohol was comsumed in large quantity, which would have been alright except for the fact that the hotel has a Champagne Hour between 5:00-6:00 every day. Free, y'all. So what did I do? Like a doofus, I took advantage. Like an Extreme Doofus (hey! That could be the next big reality show!) who will never learn, I got a wicked headache.

I never learn, what's up with that? "Pick an alcohol and stick with it" should be tattooed on my person somewhere as a reminder when I'm pondering a poor drinking decision. I've always liked how I think I look with a lovely fluted glass of champagne in my hand, because of course it's all about how you look holding a freakin' glass. I would have looked the same way if it had been ginger ale for cryin' out loud. Still, I persisted in my doofosity and downed the stuff. Then moved on to Swedish Lemonade and sips from the drinks of sooo many people. Bad, bad, bad. Underline it and bold it for good measure.

My body began to rebel shortly after a large group of us headed out to The Marakesh for a late dinner. The first course was wonderful, a variety of dips and salads with huge hunks of bread. By the time the belly dancer had finished her excellent set and the second course arrived (Kalamity called it a chicken pot pie and it was certainly that but with a twist. It looked like a baked brie, a round of phyllo pastry but with meat inside, and the outside was dusted with icing sugar adorned with lines of cinnamon), I knew I was in trouble. Two bites of that one and I was done, one bite of the chicken that came next (a scalding thousand degree chicken, straight out of the fire pits of hell and onto your table! No, no utensils, why?) and from then on it was water, water, water. We also were seated on these couches with fluffy pillows, so it was entirely too easy to just recline a bit and rest my aching head on the shoulder of my buddy Rising for a moment. Next thing I know I see a flash behind my eyelids and am keenly aware that someone (!) took a picture for posterity. Oh well, I guess it's better than a cleavage shot....

Back to the hotel lickety-split, shedding my clothes and taking even more pain meds (I seriously think my kidneys have more to worry about this weekend than my liver) before climbing onto the futon where I slept like the dead for six and a half hours. I would have liked to log more snooze time because karaoke tonight is rumoured to go wicked late, but you can't have everything. My head is back to its normal size and more drugs will soothe and relax my aching neck. Coffee will soon be available to me and I can probably sneak a wee shower while my totally generous hosts slumber.

Today, it's Guinness or nothing thanks.

Posted at 6:57 a.m.