Sheer Exhaustion

I had a party Saturday night, a birthday party to make up for my actual birthday, which was spent driving back from Boston. It was a blast and a half. It was supposed to start at 8, but it kind of started at 6pm with my first guests arriving at 8:30. Of course, all it took was for one specific guest to turn the evening around.

I have a friend, let's call him BigBen. He's the kind of person that tells these stories and you wonder how he came up with what seems like these great whopper of a tale until you realize he lived them. Lived them all. When I talk about him doing contract killings, I'm only halfway joking. If you need property destroyed or a way to make someone start paying, I'm pretty sure I know the guy. The criminal element in my life, the weapons loving, multi-knife carrying, "pull a gun on a muthafucker that pulls a gun on me", tank stealing element that sits at my party table, plays bass for my fake Rock Band, drinks up all the gin punch and makes sure no one lays a hand on my pretty little head - yeah, I met them all through BigBen. And if I somehow met them through other means, they all just so happen to know him. Heaven help any fool that tries to mess with me because the beloved criminal element type that's got my back (I'm surrounded by a great cloud of them starting with my husband, sandwiched by BigBen's, topped by my uncle and cousin) would kill them. In that, I'm not joking. But I digress.

BigBen is this giant Nordic looking person with an innocent-ish face who is, most times, pretty laid back. That's a facade. Inside, he's seething with energy and scams. Don't get me wrong. He's a good guy. He protects the weak and innocent (sorta), he looks out for other people (kinda), and he always protects family (the one he claims, not necessarily the ones he was born with). He has a high moral code - it's just a little left of center in concept. Yes, BigBen came to the party and it took a turn.

It all started out innocently enough. Shots with the birthday girls, that's me and A., who's actual birthday was the previous Tuesday. They were harmless, sweet shots of irish cream and butterscotch schnapps. We were having fun. A friend gave us a gift of moonshine* and when BigBen learned this, he made us take a birthday shot with him. Those of us who took that shot were hit pretty hard, but we didn't feel the effects until about an hour later, when we had forgotten all about taking the shot and were in the middle of our Rock Band 2 World Tour. I was on drums because I'm oh so good at them* when suddenly, I was really very good at them. I look over at the others and BigBen is slowly sinking between the couch cushions. A. quickly lets us know that the bathroom was calling her name now. Now. RIGHT NOW. I think we almost broke our television and I'm not sure, but I think someone killed a bird. Someone tried to smoke the lit filter on their cigarette, I broke at least one cigarette because NOBODY should smoke, and passed out in near exhaustion once everyone was on their merry way. Don't worry, those who weren't staying over had designated drivers and those who were staying kept themselves from puking in our apartment. Well, on our apartment.

Now, three days past this weekend, I am still exhausted. I've been getting by on less than 5 hours of sleep a night for the last two weeks. That, with this party, has created one tired little southern girl.