Wild Game Night

The aforementioned church had their annual “Wild Game Night” this evening, and as I am a foodie, I wanted to attend despite whatever churchiness was included.

People spoke of having eaten lion, bison, and bear — none of which I’ve had before. I love to try new foods. Although I’m not a big fan of meat, I still like to eat adventurously.


The closer it came to the time of our departure, the more I debated going. I was terribly comfy in my sweat pants, with my hair in a crazy bun…
I debated whether this feeling I had was an instinct, or perhaps just laziness…
I realized it might be a touch of social anxiety, and I loathe to have anxiety control me, so I bucked-up, showered, and went.

I shoulda stayed my ass home.

Boar, venison, and duck — all of which I’ve had countless times.

I did win a pack of tennis balls, and someone brought yummy chocolate with chocolate cookies..


I prolly don’t wanna know why grocery store cookies are so soft and luscious. It’s prolly some vile ingredient like lead paint combined with extract of genetically-modified lizard tail. But it’s freakin tasty, so don’t tell me.

After the eating, we were herded into the sanctuary for the speaker.  Well, the “speaker” ended up being a guy who sings and plays mandolin. And he was quite talented. Sorta folksy and whatnot. But the accompaniment of the background music was so loud, my head almost exploded. He stopped performing, then spoke for a bit. The pastor spoke, and then I’ll be damned if he didn’t start singing again.

I was underneath a plethora of enormous Bose speakers and my head was pounding.

I had to go. I sat in the vestibule, through a few more songs, and then the preacher’s calling. Seriously, I thought it would never end.

By the time The Mister and Father-in-Law came out, I was in the throes of a full-throttle migraine.

I’ve had a hot bath, a Tylenol-3, and a hot cuppa tea. MIL brought me a hot compress. I’ve come down from the peak of pain and nausea and look forward to sleeping the rest of it off.

I think it’s the barometric pressure. I kinda hope.
If my hands don’t tell me when it’s gonna rain, the spot behind my right eye sure will.

We are sensitive to the rest of our environment, if we pay close enough attention. That’s why I shoulda listened to my instincts and stayed my ass home.





About joey

Neurotic Bitch, Mother, Wife, Writer, Word Whore, Foodie and General Go-To-Girl
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1 Response to Wild Game Night

  1. gothhicgoddess says:

    I don’t like the pain involved. But the listening of instincts, mmhm.


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