I'm bringing Sexy back

I half roll out of bed before flopping on the floor. Too many cheap beers with a bunch of classmates the night before has made me half comatose this morning -- actually, technically, this afternoon.

The bass reverberates throughout the walls and my bedroom has now become a gay nightclub at high noon. If only there were bald shirtless men dancing all around me...

I crawl to the door like a martyr caught in the desert: my throat is parched, my eyes are glossy, and I have very little coordination. I slowly reach for the doorknob...

As the door cracks open; Justin Timberlake fills the air -- decibel 14. I have to momentarily plug my ears until I get used to the intensity. I crawl through the door: hands and knees slowly creeping towards the end of the hallway. I peek my head around the corner to see just what the hell is actually going on.

As if there is any real surprise at this point...

"Daaaahteee thaaaang" Consuela sings at the top of her lungs. I slug my way towards the top of the landing; and look over. There she is, having single handedly turned my front entrance way into a bastardized opera house -- or better yet; a karaoke container. Her fat ass swings back and forth defying the laws of gravity as she mops the floor.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I scream at her with all my might -- but I'm no match for the music that is blaring all around me. She can't hear me. Why the hell did I ever get surround sound in my friggen walls?

I slink slowly down the stairs like a wounded animal on it's last leg looking for a bush to die under. One hand. One knee. I try to keep the nausea at bay...

She begins to scream even louder; "AYY Let YOU WHIP me if I Mis beeehave!"

I start to plan just how I'm going to murder her if I ever do get down these damn stairs. I keep slinking. The bass has now matched the intensity of my pounding headache. I am fully aware that if I do not put an end to it; I may just suffer from a terrible aneurysm. Two more steps...

"CON-SU-EYYYY-LA!" I scream while Justin takes them to the chorus. I can't be heard over the music. And she still hasn't turned around. I pause to catch my breath. I'm completely immersed in some audio version of hell -- and for the moment there is no escape. I try to go to my happy place -- but it has been replaced by nausea. I fear this might be the end for poor Consuela.

When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I try to stand. My knees are weak -- but I can do it. I step closer to her, all the while holding one temple in hopes that some sort of tactile pressure will alleviate the searing pain.

I walk past a mirror and take a moment to reflect. I look like a two dollar whore; eye makeup running all down the front of my face. My hair more tasseled than Bananarama. All I need is a butterfly clip and ripped stockings to complete the look. If I hadn't bathed yesterday, I'd probably smell like a dirty whore too. Must remember to wash face before passing out...

"CONSUELLLLLLLLA!" I scream again. This time she turns around -- and smiles. She continues to swing her ass back and forth while dancing to JT. I gather all my might and take a step towards her, arms flexed and ready to choke her -- when I slip. And land flat on my back. And crack my head.

"Ahhhhhh!" I wail, trying to hold in the nausea. Tears begin to form out of frustration. Consuela stands over me and says the obvious, "MIa, yer should be careful! Da floor iz whet!"

I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath. I've been awake for exactly 3 minutes. I give her the 'I'm not fucking around' look and signal with one hand for her to turn off the music. She looks astonished -- but complies. She looms over me again.

"Good morning?" she asks me. I don't think she knows how to play the situation at this point. I try to be cordial and bury any hatred that I may have felt due to intense torture.

"Good morning, Consuela" I say. She offers her hand to help me up; but I wave her away. I have to approach changing altitude with delicate precision. One wrong move and my head could very well explode.

"Consuela," I whisper from my parched mouth. "I need you to keep the music down this morning."

"OK" she says. There's no argument. "You go back to da bed? Yer want me to bring da water or da empanada?"

I tell her yes. Water good. Greasy food, good. I turn my back and begin to slip my way across the freshly mopped landing towards the stairs. The smell of pine scented cleaner begins to burn my eyes and my nausea has seeped into my bones. I place one hand on the bottom step like a wounded dog; and slowly slink my way back to my cave -- to rest for just a little while longer.