Last Weekend

I had a pretty busy weekend.  It started off on such a high, classy note, but ended in an achy, shame-filled haze.  Let me explain.

Friday evening was decent. I received a last-minute invite to a potluck of sorts, put together by a friend who planned to see Jumping the Broom with most of the invitees.  The food was good, and I caught up with some folks who I hadn't seen in a while.  Since I'd already seen JTB, I chilled out on my own afterward, although I had considered going to Busboys to see Maurice Kirya.  Side note: They all liked JTB, and I did too--don't buy into the mass haterade out there on the internet.  Yes, it has flaws, but remember, it's basically a romcom fantasy, people!!!

Saturday:  I got up late and went to the National Cathedral for their annual tower climb and flower sale.  I'd never been to the grounds of the Cathedral, so I enjoyed exploring and checking out the awe-inspiring architecture.  The event also featured a fair with vendors of jewelry, clothing, random knicknacks and games for kids.  Random:  While walking around, I spotted Susan Rice, the Ambassador to the U.N. on the grounds with her children (Presidential appointees: They're just like us!).  I eventually decided not to do the tower climb because I was in a wrap dress, and I hadn't really eaten enough to sustain myself for what could've been a major workout.  Maybe next time.

After picking at a bad chicken roti from one of the food vendors (tried to support Black folks...), I headed across town to H Street to meet up with a member of my arts society and an old friend to see Blues for an Alabama Sky, a play by Pearl Cleage.  Currently playing at the Atlas, Blues spans a few chaotic months in the lives of four Harlemites during the last days of the Harlem Renaissance.  Although the first act was a little slow (some part of that is due to the script), the actors really brought the fire and drama in the second.  Certain twists were definitely predictable, but we enjoyed ourselves.

Since we were on H Street, you know we had to get some drinks nearby (especially since I hadn't had a drink since right before Lent).  We headed to Little Miss Whiskey's to get our fill of the Awesomeness, the bar's infamous sweet tea vodka-blended drink.  There should be a warning label on the mason jar mugs that house the concoction--you feel so good halfway through one, you think that you can take on two.  Trust me, if you see the bottom of your second Awesomeness, you'll be feeling the opposite of awesome the next morning.  And most of the afternoon.  I'll get to that later.

We grooved to the fun, really eclectic set of the DJ on the crowded second floor.  Laughed at the antics of drunk white folks, too--what kind of chick bursts into the stall-less men's room, ahead of guys in line, and proceedes to use the toilet while a guy she doesn't know pees at the urinal?
Later, heavily buzzed, I made my way back home on the Metro.  I checked my phone in a haze, and found that one of the friends (the super-bourgie one) had left a freaked-out message about being lost and headed toward SE D.C.  I'm glad she found her way to her exit, because I might have gotten her even more lost in my condition.

I awoke Sunday with barely a hint that I was about to have worst hangover I've had since college.  It was really a stealth hangover.  I slowly got out of bed, thinking that I could shower and dress quickly to make it to church (I haven't been since Easter, which is unusual for me).  As I went through the motions, my stomach started undulating.  My head started pounding.  Dry toast didn't help.  I ended up on my couch, in a fetal position under a chenille throw, still in my Sunday best, knocked out for hours.  Darn you, Awesomeness! 

Even after taking aspirin, I still felt like someone had kicked my brain stem.  Is this what alcohol-induced brain damage feels like?  Since it was Mother's Day, I had to call my mom, and I heard my voice sounding ridiculously hoarse and tired.  I explained it away by saying that I just wasn't feeling well.

The hangover really did last most of the day.  In shame, I decided not to call my grandmother--definitely wouldn't want to worry her, and since she has a zillion other grandkids and great-grands, I was hoping she wouldn't notice.  But I know she did.  I'm getting too old for this...

However, I'm glad that my weekend didn't end with my vajay-jay exposed on Facebook, a cautionary tale told by a friend of mine here.