Last night I had a falafel sandwich from Lebanese Taverna that I washed down with one of those "naked" mighty mango smoothies with no sugar added (that cost about three dollars and twenty cents each, no one warned me) and the combination somehow gave me hiccups FROM HELL. I blame the combination because the smoothie had this kind of weirdo after taste that seems comparable to the tahini sauce from the falafel (this was a decidedly gross aspect of the drink, but maybe a little less gross than I'm making it sound) and when I think about how they taste together, I hiccup reflexively as an involuntary reaction to the thought. Weird, right? These hiccups literally kept me up last night while my fellow Kerouacian adventurer Chris snored and spoke Arabic to himself loudly a few feet away. I'm not lying- Chris actually speaks Arabic in his sleep, though not especially well when he's awake.
I mean damn, aren't I little old for the hiccups?
I think I want to hold a "royal ball" for my birthday this year. There will be a strict dress code, we will dance to supposedly "undanceable" punk music, and cute invitations made to look like scrolls will be send to the highly exclusive guest list next week. Except I live in an apartment right now, so I don't know how well that'd go over with the neighbors. I shouldn't care, actually, because my neighbors on the left ritualistically play Spanish music every Friday night and Saturday morning at impossibly inconsiderate decibel levels and my neighbors on the right do something comparably annoying with Hot 99.5 (obnoxious top 40 station in Washington Metropolitan Area) over the course of various weeknights. This ball might be worth a shot.