I got Henned. Again.
Apparently I’m a glutton for punishment. I spent the weekend with Rich Henn down at his place (he lives in the Baltimore suburbs), and, as should have been expected, I came away in pain.
I didn’t slide into any subway doors this time, but I did sport a wicked hangover, especially on Sunday. After a day of lounging around watching movies (I took in Predator and Waiting), we took a trip out to a small comic shop about a half hour away, and then came back for a HenI got Henned. Again.
Apparently I’m a glutton for punishment. I spent the weekend with Rich Henn down at his place (he lives in the Baltimore suburbs), and, as should have been expected, I came away in pain.
I didn’t slide into any subway doors this time, but I did sport a wicked hangover, especially on Sunday. After a day of lounging around watching movies (I took in Predator and Waiting), we took a trip out to a small comic shop about a half hour away, and then came back for a Henn staple meal: baked ham with mash potatoes and raisin gravy. And then, of course, came the beer.
We headed out to a local restaurant, and sat at the bar for an hour or so. We took down a few drinks, ate a side of meatballs and sausage, and around 11 or so, hunkered down at Henn’s basement bar. When his buddy, Ed, stopped by, the beers really started to flow, topped off by some liquored concoctions, which really did us in.
It’s also possible that we drunk dialed a few people–four or five times each between 1 and 3 am–but I suppose that’s another matter all together! It’s also possible that I was pushing the idea that we keep drinking, long after we’d passed our expiration dates, but I’ll also leave that out of the narrative for now.
When Sunday morning rolled around and I’d had at least three or four hours of poor sleep, I realized just how much alcohol we’d put down, and just how truly bad an idea that was. My head throbbed, and, well … there were beer farts. Lots of them. And it wasn’t good. My stomach was a mess. I really felt bad for the other passengers on the Amtrak back to New York, because anyone within five rows of me probably needed medical attention! I’m not proud of it, but sometimes there’s nothing you can do. If it’s any consolation to those people, I was in agony most of the way home. Apparently, Rich felt every bit as bad as I did.
It was only around 4 pm Sunday–when I finally got home–that my headache finally went away.
So, yes … I got Henned. Again.
I never learn …
