2007-06-06 - 7:59 p.m.

This is what I saw when I looked at my arm early one Memorial Day morning a week or so ago. It had been a long weekend. A long weekend of drinking, eating, drinking, boat missing, and drinking. That Friday night before I had gone out for Amelia's 30th birthday. Saturday saw the chicanery that was Rich's bachelor party. That night, after dropping Peter off in R'ford, I came back to Dover made a post-midnight snack ate it, and promptly went right to bed. Promptly. I woke up that next morning and felt something odd, and soft, and salty, and carb-filled in my bed. Down by my leg. I whipped the sheets off and found a turkey sandwich. On a plate! Please! Give me some credit. I don't just take loose sandwiches to bed with me! I'm not 25 anymore! Anyway. It's not every single morning you wake up with a sandwich in your bed. Granted, Cinco de Mayo resulted in me waking up the next morning with milkbones in my pocket. I'm still trying to figure that one out. Did I eat the sandwich? Of COURSE I did. It looked very tasty. I didn't feel good after. But I had a Memorial Day BBBQ to get ready for. And ready for it I did.

Seriously, the night before was the BBBQ - which went great, if not sporadically attended. I don't mean many people didn't attend. I mean it was stretched out from 1 p.m. to about midnight. They'll never reach the insane numbers/drama that the ol' R.B.D. cook-outs did. There were no feuding Spaces, no concrete getting poured, no rouge RVs, no 14 person flip cup tourneys, no Kanner, and of course, no yak-yak birds. But it was still fun. And I didn't even get ridiculously drunk or anything. But SOMETHING at the BBBQ had to explain why I woke up with my hand looking like it did in the above picture.

Have I gotten to the part where I woke up with my arms, hands, chest, and sheets covered in blood? And I freaked out, came tearing out of my room - splooshing blood from the top 1/4 of my body - only to run into Dan in the bathroom? Oh, I guess this part is now. To Dan's credit, he didn't totally bug out and think I had just been ax murdered. He only kinda bugged out. I'm running around looking for toilet paper, papier mache, ANYTHING. And there's nothing. Dan tells me there's paper towels in the kitchen. So I run downstairs, without my glasses on, while trying to put a shirt on (without actually *touching* it. Which, I gotta say, is enormously difficult) and run to the kitchen counter to get paper towels. There's none on the counter. So I bend down to look under the sink. And in the process, leak approximately 3 gallons of red, hot, piping, blood out of my nose on to the floor. I panic. Clearly, I had been bleeding out my nose all night, sonombulistically staved it off with all my appendages temporarily, and now? I've got blood all over me and I'm bleeding all over the linoleum. I can't find the towels and I'm getting desperate. I am thrashing around under the sink and end up knocking over the shining, green Cascade box. The Cascade box splashes down into my pooling blood and the little aluminum latch flips open and the Cascade, . . . well, cascades into my bloody blood. It ends up creating small, pinkish mountains out of my proboscis-y mole hills. Of course I don't notice this until after because I'm busy covering my nostrils in paper towels and raising my head to the ceiling. And then I go and sit down and watch the first few episodes of A&E's Sopranos marathon. Fuck if that thing didn't suck me in.

Anyway. I guess I got a bloody nose in the middle of the night before Memorial Day. I got covered in blood. It was not enjoyable. The blood was very cakey on my skin after. Also, we don't even own a dishwasher. So why the fuck we had a box of Cascade dish washing detergent dangerously cavorting behind closed doors is fucking beyond me.

It's been real,

Vornado

ps - Have you ever woken up in some sort of dilemma due to drunken tomfoolery that with enough time passed you can now share in the stark limelight of Stuff & Things comment section? Do tell. Do . . . tell.

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