The Painin'


There is a point in the night that everyone who has ever overindulged on alcohol is very, very familiar with.

It's the point at which you go from being blissfully buzzed, best dancer ever, in fact I think I might quit my job and go on tour because no one my age has moves this raw to a blubbering, incoherent, oh god what did I just give birth to in the toilet I think it just started clucking, raccoon-eyed homeless woman barely capable of brushing her own teeth.

This entire transformation takes less than a millisecond and only happens while you're fast asleep. Sort of like a magical visit from Santa Claus on a crisp winter's night.

Except instead of a fluffy white beard he has a greasy salt and pepper molester moustache, and instead of a hearty "ho ho ho" he makes a noise that's a cross between an alarm clock and a dentist's drill (sorry Vicki but no matter how much you try to glamorize your job getting your teeth scraped sucks) and instead of a bag of shiny new toys he has a pillow case filled with bars of soap that he uses to flog you over and over and over in the head.

In some sort of mystery that baffles even the most respected scientists, babies have an uncanny ability to pinpoint this exact millisecond and begin screaming their balls off loud enough to make sure everyone in the house wakes up to celebrate the momentous occasion.

Last night I met my friends Jamie and Elizabeth out for a nice laid back sushi dinner, which turned into martinis, which turned into after dinner drinks at a bar with people half my age on college Christmas break stumbling around looking for something to take home or at the very least rub up against.

It was all fun and games until on our way out I promised Elizabeth I would meet her this morning for a Turbo Kick class. Also known as Oh God Please Please Please Just Kill Me Send An Air Bubble Into My Artery Or Throw A Blood Clot At My Brain And Just Make It Really Quick And Painless Please God class.

And of course like clockwork Lila sprung to life at 4:22am to celebrate The Point.

And of course when I got to the Turbo Kill Me Class Elizabeth was waiting for me in the front row.


Close enough to the mirror that I could fog it up with my heavy martini breathing and when I got to jumping really fast I actually knocked it with my meat apron.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to go throw some corn into the toilet. That clucking thing is still in there and I think it's hungry.