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I am never drinking again.

Maybe the bender I was on Saturday night was due to the fact that my beloved Spartans lost to the hated Wolverines. Maybe it was that I hadn't drank like that since my 21st birthday. Whatever the reason, I. Got. Shnockered.

It started with the fact that it was a gorgeous fall day. The kind where you put on a wool sweater and some jeans, light some candles and read a book while sitting in front of the fire. With a nice tall glass of chianti.

It continued when we gathered around another friend's living room, talking and laughing and enjoying each other's company. And throwing back shots of Lithuanian moonshine.

We drifted on to a low-key alehouse and shared appetizers and inside jokes and how much we loved that it felt and looked like fall. Also, several glasses of ale.

Things began to get hazy from there.

I do remember sitting down at the next bar we went to, but I don't remember the trip there. Niether do I remember the name of the bar, how many drinks I had while I was there, or the spectacular fall onto my ass that I took that I didn't know about until I woke up the next morning with an angry purple bruise the size of a cantalope on my ass. Which is literally swollen. Not like "oh my God, my ass looks swollen!" But "you have a clinically swollen right cheek, perhaps you might think about using some ice."

I also remember puking several times, but I don't remember fighting off a certain someone who tried to... ahem, not important.

I was told about many things the next morning. None of which I cared about. I'm currently focused on rehydrating, laying in a position that requires no movement, and whatever drugs I can take that will get rid of the headache, swollen ass, and embarrassment.

"I'm never drinking again." -- Me, and I mean it.