In case you didn’t know, it’s really fucking weird to have a hangover at 11pm.

Yesterday was the 10th Annual Fast Eddie’s Day.  My 4th annual, actually, but the important thing is that unlike Christmas caroling or eating herring on New Year’s or whatever the fuck they do for Kwanzaa, this is a winter tradition that’s worth taking part in.

The point of Fast Eddie’s Day is to get there when it opens, snag all the possible tables in the back, and drink and eat all day long for cheap because everyone is off work the next day.  It’s simple and glorious and, well, simply glorious.  I’m so glad that I have different types of friends, because I don’t think Fast Eddie’s Day could be pulled off without Kat, The Brad, and the people I know because of them.  I’m always the youngest one there and I love hanging out with grown-ups.  These are people who at least appear to have their shit together, and even if they don’t, nobody acts a fool because everyone knows why we’re there; we’re adults, goddammit, now let’s drink like it.

To get to Fast Eddie’s Day, one must wake up uncomfortably early for a Sunday morning, especially when one has bartended the night before.  If one lives in South City (and I think I’m the only one out of the group), one gets to motor through scenic North City, Baden, and Jennings, possibly noticing the “No Hoodies No Sagging” signs on all the bar windows.  One then gets to drive over the bridge into Alton, which normally freaks me out but is kind of cool this time of year because of the bald eagles.  They’ve migrated back, so you can see them hanging out in the trees, fishing in the river, and soaring over the bridge cables.  That’s right.  I said it.  Bald eagles don’t motherfucking fly.  Bald eagles motherfucking soar.

I wish I could tell you more about Fast Eddie’s Day itself, but there aren’t many ways to describe $3 beers, $1 burgers, and 7 straight hours of people you like.  Awesome?  Maybe?  I think that’s it.  I also wish I had photos, but most of us forgot our cameras or didn’t charge our batteries and, let’s be honest, shouldn’t be trusted to operate expensive photography equipment with so many spillable things nearby.

I was home by 7pm, passed out shortly afterwards, and hungover as shit when Graham called at 10:30pm to remind me about Tori’s birthday.  After dragging myself to the bar for a million waters and then back to their house, I realized that my hands were shaking.  I was dizzy.  I was feeling the way I hadn’t felt since the day after my 25th birthday party, the one where that bar was closing and the owner yelled at me for not taking more shots of tequila.  The one where people ended up peeing in my bathtub.

So I thought….

….and I went to bed.