My sister and I walked into the bar at the Radisson (I should probably be fired) last Saturday night and the 40-year-old Bantam hockey coaches we met the night before asked me, “How does your ass feel?”

“Ha ha, guys, that’s real funny,” I said.

“What, you don’t remember?!” they laughed incredulously.

This went on for a three solid minutes until they convinced me that my ass had every reason to be sore.

It’s been over a week so I feel like I can share last weekend’s events. Oh was it painful. So, so painful.

Gretchen and I ventured to Duluth for a “girl’s weekend” with Angie after I finished work on Friday. Upon arriving I slammed four beers in about 25 minutes, which is bizarre because, before I saw Angie, I didn’t even FEEL like drinking. There was no turning back from there. I think there was dinner mixed in there somewhere, and then bar hopping. We only hopped to two bars, however, as we found a fun bunch of “old” folks at the Radisson bar. We sucked them in with the “get your picture taken with random guys” game. They even let us come up to their rooms after I insisted that, being a hotelier and having entertained them for the evening, I had earned it. My reasoning sucks, but they still welcomed us up.

I didn’t get to bed until 4am Saturday morning – 23 hours after waking up to get ready for the final day of the workweek. I think we stumbled up to Angie’s apartment at around 2:00, but I took a spill on the way and had to deal with the bleeding once we arrived. Well, once Angie pointed out I was bleeding when I was running around bottomless trying to find my pajamas…

I also had some phone calls to place before I went to bed. Had my mind been functioning at that time, it would have told me, “No! Don’t call Darren at 3am! He has to be up in two hours for work!” Sadly, my mind had turned off. So I found Darren in my phonebook, called him Rob, he hung up on me, I called him back five times and left five separate messages, though one was apparently for Craig, with whom I work. I had severe concern about the locks being changed when I came home on Sunday, especially since Darren wouldn’t answer my calls for the rest of the weekend. Oops!

Saturday morning was even worse. I woke up at 8:30 and I felt acceptable considering the evening’s events. Gradually, that worsened to the point where, after vomiting, I turned on the shower and could only stare at it, thinking of how I would surely faint and break my head AND Angie’s bathtub if I tried to get in there. That shower has enough water pressure to peel the skin off an orange and the thought of having my orange peeled was daunting. Angie and Tuna went out to lunch and Canal Park and I slept. I woke up at three, felt a little bit better, showered, took another hour-long nap, and woke up to get ready for the day. At 5:15 I was feeling alive again, and that was the very time that I cracked open a beer.

I’m never going to drink that much ever again. I am a foolish girl and I can finally see why my dad gets so worried about me.