Life Lesson #27: Rule #80: Stop, look, listen. At weddings. In life.

I’m not too sure how I feel about being surprised. Like earlier today, when I found out I’ve got a sweet case of pneumonia. But I’ll get to that in a bit.

What I am sure about is how I love to surprise other people. Especially my friends.

I had no intention of going out to the Hamptons this weekend. Plans to drive out to Montauk were scratched given the ridiculously shitty weather that hit on Friday, and I had Clueless’ wedding on Saturday in Westchester.

Consequently, I anticipated a Drift-Free weekend. I figured my wallet and liver could both use a break. As well as my ribs. Earlier in the week, I had an intense pain thought to be a result of a muscle spasm and/or popped rib. I had been icing and taping for a few days and eventually choose to swallow some mild painkillers, grin, and bear it for Clueless’ big night.

Well, all that changed at about eleven pm Saturday evening.

Clueless’ wedding was a blast. I brought Hansel and at the last minute, recruited Goose to be a date for a former coworker. Although the day was filled with heavy thunderstorms, a giant tree sprawled out just a few yards away from the reception hall and a power outage that was apparently fixed only moments before the cocktail hour (rumored to be taken care of with a passed-under-the-table envelope to the fine workers of Con Ed), they managed to pull off a great party. I suspect they’ll be happily married for years to come given the shit-storm of badness on the actual day (that’s how that superstitious stuff usually works, right?).

When the DJ announced the last song and the bartenders refused to serve us any more, I was mildly heartbroken. I mean, how often does one get to get all dolled up, drink and eat for free (provided you ignore any wedding gift you handed over), and circle ‘round a crazy uncle serenading the happy couple with his tie wrapped around his head? I feel more than a few shared my despair.

Until Hansel keenly observed that we could be at the Drift by one am.

“Holy crap, Westchester would be shocked!” I said. It was her actual birthday and I would put a hundred bucks on her already being there with a Double O Seven in hand, celebrating her ass off.

I was sold on the idea before even walking out to the car.

Luckily we were able to scrounge up two of Hansel’s friends not only sober and bored enough to drive out there, but as excited with the idea as we were.

With my party dress still on, a bottle of Grey Goose and some Red Bull in the back seat, we were off.

The excitement of finding Westchester , mixed with what I’m going to safely guess was a good third of the vodka bottle, was overflowing by the time we pulled the car into the sandy driveway.

I bee-lined it for the dance floor, knowing full well that she’d be there, surrounded by the usual suspects of Jager Bomb guzzlers and Shakira dancing lovers.

Bingo.

The look on her face was priceless. Actually, the pain I felt a second later when someone lifted me up and crushed my already messed up rib was truly overwhelming. And then when it happened again by another drunk friend with a penchant for bear tackles, well, let’s just say I was left speechless.

The rest of the night went by at blinding speed and pain. There were flashes of terror that I might never walk again. Followed by not giving a damn, because at least those last moments on my own two feet would be on the beer and napkin covered floor of the greatest bar on earth, right after I had surprised the crap out of one of my best friends.

By the grace of someone up above, we made it home (I heard I fell out of the cab, followed by Hansel’s graceful somersault over me. Although without evidence, I refuse to believe it people.). I woke up undressed, completely confused, and feeling as if someone replaced my insides with molten lava.

I made it through Sunday in a blur. I had to be raced to my family’s second home, aka City Island, by three o’clock for my aunt’s birthday celebration. Again, I don’t know how it happened, but it did. Although, I was in my dress from the night before. Since it was the only thing I remembered to grab. And for anyone that’s ever been to the Drift, you know what your clothes smell like the next day. It’s a mixture of disgust, alcohol, and a bit of self-loathing. I think I got re-drunk every time I took a whiff of myself.

And so, I don’t think my mind really had the wherewithal to process just how acutely my body hurt. Until this morning.

A trip to the Hartsdale Imaging Center confirmed the biggest surprise of them all. I hadn’t broken my ribs after all. Instead, I have pneumonia, my right lung being filled with fluid that is pretty much bothering the shit out of my muscles and ribs. I guess it’s infected or something. Another visit to the hospital tomorrow and some blood work will confirm the rest of the damage I've done.

Life Lesson # 27: Partying like a rock star, living like an unemployed lunatic, and not taking the best care of yourself will one hundred percent lead to poor health and a bit of depression I’m going to guess is a result of some sort of withdrawal. But if it means bringing a smile to your friends’ faces, well, then I say, bring on the consequences. It’s nothing some strong antibiotics and more than three hours of sleep can’t cure.