The Cake Hangover

Last night I went to Valapalooza, the 45th birthday party of my friend Val, the bingo and karaoke queen.  It was rad.  This time, karaoke came to us.  Val rented the party room of her co-op.  Another friend of hers runs a small business; he has a van full of karaoke equipment, which he set up in the party room.  It was all the fun of public karaoke without having to listen to a lineup of drunken strangers.

Ken and I were the first guests to arrive.  Second was Bob, Val's friend whom I'd met several times before.  I was startled to see him walk in with a bird perched on his hand.  It was Amy, an African Grey parrot.  I've read about African Grey's before.  They're one of the smartest birds known to humans.  They can learn hundreds of words, not just as  mimics, but with some understanding.  When Amy wants something you have, she says "Share with the bird!"

Of course I was completely fascinated by Amy.  She was shy and didn't want her feathers touched, but Bob got her to perch on my hand. I let her stay there for a good half hour, and would have been happy to keep her all night if someone else hadn't wanted a turn.  On of the guys at the party who couldn't remember my name referred to me as the Amy-sitter.  (I considered titling this post "Amy Sat On My Finger", but I thought it might be too vulgar out of context.)

Bob managed to get Amy to demonstrate some of her repertoire.  She's shy around strangers, so he had to coax her.  She whistled at the pretty girls, answered the phone: "Hello?", laughed for us, and did a bizarrely accurate imitation of two beer bottles clinking together.

Once Amy went back to her perch the party was all about karaoke.  Each of us went up in turn to belt out a song, while the audience participated by singing along, dancing, and other shenanigans.  As the evening progressed and drink flowed, the shenanigans got wilder.  Someone had bought some glowing-rainbow-light-sabers from the dollar store, and they were employed in every possible phallic context.  One of the women, a large lady with a strong and gorgeous voice that just about took the roof off the place, stuffed two balloons inside her T-shirt and did a burlesque number that involved much butt-shaking, fake-boob stroking, and ended with her taking a pin and popping both balloons.  I would have paid admission to see that act, I tell you.

It was all great fun.  Even Ken got up and sang.  His best number was "Rock This Town" by the Stray Cats.  I got the most props for "We Belong" by Pat Benetar.

There were bowls of chips and party mix scattered around the room.  I was on my sixth pretzel before I remembered that I shouldn't be eating them.  The wheat thing, as you know.  Anyway, I stopped, but within half an hour I was feeling no ill effects, so when the big, goopy, delicious-looking chocolate birthday cake was served, I took a small piece.  Maaaaaaan, that cake was superfantastic!

Sadly, I got a cake hangover.  All I drank all night was fizzy water with lime.  It was the cake (on top of the pretzels; I'm sure it's a cumulative thing) that did me in.  Last night I had a little chest congestion, but it wasn't too bad.  I thought I got away with it.  But by this morning my chest was all heavy and achey and blech.  I coughed and coughed and couldn't get it clear.  Eventually I gave in and took some cough syrup, which helped.

Unfortunately, although that cake was mighty fine and I only half regret eating it, on the balance it wasn't worth it.  Three minutes tops of cake enjoyment vs. hours of feeling gross the next day... it's not a good bargain.  Add to that the fact that I'm always trying to keep my physical stress load to a minimum, so as not to trigger a fatigue episode, and I think that might've been the last chocolate cake I'll ever eat.  At least I really paid attention to it, just in case it came to this.  At least (*sniff*) I had a chance to say goodbye.

To end on a positive note:  It was a fabulous party, and I enjoyed every minute of it! :-)