So I woke up at 8 this morning on my couch, with all my clothes on, the TV blaring, and a plate in my lap containing a half-eaten chik pattie. This is what happens to you when you drink for 9 hours straight. I stumbled up to my room, shut off my angry alarm clock, and fell into bed. Woke up 2 hours later, dying of thirst. I went to the kitchen and found that the gallon jug of grape gatorade still had a few cups left in it, so I took it back to bed with me and drank up. Around 11:30 I awoke yet again, gatorade jug still in hand, to AZ blaring James Brown at maximum volume. I kicked the wall and tried to go back to sleep, but it was useless. I got up and showered and ate a veggie burger, then discovered that not only was there not a drop of milk in the house, my cigarettes had gone missing at some point during the night. I hiked down to Mickey Mart where I purchased half a gallon of milk, half a gallon of ice cream, and a pack of cigarettes. I ate a giant bowl of ice cream and played Tricky for a couple of hours (very very badly), then ate most of the cereal in the house with my new-found milk. Played more Tricky, watched Real World and Monster House with Lyci, then went over to Justin's where we were going to start brewing beer. Downed a very large Mike's Hard Lemonade. Then, and only then, did I start to feel normal again. But looks like I'll be recovered for Robin's party tonight. I can feel my liver cowering in terror.