this is not a swan song, but it goes:

That was some weird weekend right there.

Friday night I was lounging around at sleetfall's place, feeling tired from a long week of work and not enough sleep and just generally enjoying a low-key evening. I had been invited to a party at war_pug's place in Somerville, but I wasn't particularly feeling it, and with my car still limping on a spare tire until I make an appointment to have the snow tires put on I didn't really have a way to get there and back anyway. Apparently, however, neither of those excuses carried any weight with anyone but me. Around 11:00 Steve called to inquire as to my whereabouts, and when I indicated that I was not, in fact, planning to make an appearance I was promptly deluged with calls from partygoers (some of whom I'd never met) demanding my presence. thablueguy even called from California and lied through his teeth, claiming he had flown in for the occasion and was mightily annoyed with my sloth. So I stood up, bid adieu to sleetfall and got on a train.

I have to admit, the party was completely enjoyable. (That might just be Stockholm Syndrome talking, though -- more on that in a minute.) I showed up, said hello to people, and resumed hanging out in a relatively low-key manner, only now it was punctuated by typical party insanity and occasional shouting. Against my better judgment I accepted a drink consisting of spiced hot apple cider, sliced cut pineapple, and a copious portion of alcohol I never once tasted. At some point Steve put some episodes of the Tick cartoon series on the television, and fairly predictably I found myself entranced by the glowing screen and nodding off shortly thereafter.

Steve had agreed to give me a ride home, but when I finally managed to rouse myself and go looking for him, he was nowhere to be found. I eventually discovered he was upstairs, asleep -- but not before playinggodagain literally held me hostage and forced me to play a hand of Asshole. I was bleary, half-awake, half-drunk and I don't really know how to play that game. But every time I tried to get up or insist I wasn't playing he, very jovially, incited the other partygoers to physically assault me. They cheerily complied, and I howled, and was afraid, and smiled nervously in spite of myself, and eventually they let me go, bestowing upon me the sort of pitying looks one usually reserves for a cat that has a string of cans tied to its tail and has terrified itself to the point of exhaustion.

I woke up midday Saturday with a fairly nasty hangover and lapsed in and out of consciousness until sleetfall called me sometime in the early afternoon. He asked if I would be willing to provide music for his party that evening, and I replied Hell yes I would. Then he asked if I had looked outside my window yet and I said no I had not. And he entreated me to look, and I did, and lo, it was snowing. In October! Ugh. I pulled myself together enough to work up an iTunes playlist and transfer it to my iPod, then put on one part of my costume and packed the other part in a bag and made my way to Jon's. Due to my hangover I hadn't had much interest in food all day, but I discovered upon arrival that I was hungry. Jon and his roommate had both already eaten, however, so I debated food options briefly while putting on the rest of my costume. (Pictures may follow, in a subsequent post, if I lay hands on them and they are not crap.) Then I promptly forgot about it entirely, ate a handful of corn chips and spiced pumpkin seeds, and commenced drinking heavily. Look, I never claimed to be particularly bright.

So sleetfall's party is a little fuzzy around the edges in my memory. I know that I had a good time, and kicked around with some members of the Tuesday (now Thursday) night gaming crew. And I know I was loud and abrasive to several absolute strangers, as is my way, and I recall enjoying the Hell out of it. My clearest memory is of making my way out to the kitchen at one point to mix myself another drink and discovering that not only was there no further cola, but also that what I had initially mistaken for cola due to its dark color and the fact that it was in a Coca-Cola 2-liter was, in fact, red wine. No, I don't know who put red wine in a coke bottle, and I don't know why. There was a pot of perfectly good mulled wine on the stove that was a fairly big hit at the party, so I see no reason why anyone should've wanted to drink room-temperature not-mulled wine from a giant plastic bottle. Such mysteries are best left unexplored.

Needless to say I woke up Sunday feeling, to say the least, rough. And I promptly discovered that the laundry I had put off the day before had overnight escalated from high priority to outright necessity, so I did a few loads. I had left my glasses back at sleetfall's apartment, so eventually I went over to collect them. Without them I'm fairly useless; I can't really read anything and I get a headache if I attempt to perceive anything visually for very long, not that I would have noticed that sort of headache amidst the persistent sledgehammering of my brainpan that was my hangover. Jon and I had dinner together, most excellent takeout Japanese food, and feeling significantly more human I eventually made my way back to my own apartment and proceeded to stay up really late for no reason at all.

This morning I awoke in a panic. I had reset all my clocks succesfully, but my internal chronometer insisted that the light level in this room was much too high and I must have overslept. I was unable to dissuade it, so I tossed and turned fitfully and eventually got up and prepared for work. I'm feeling a touch on the cranky side, but its OK because no one is here and I'm going to take a short lunch in order to fit in a much-need post-work nap. That pretty much brings us up to date.