What the Stampede taught me this year

My body is failing me. I've been watching it grow and shrivel and sag and do all sorts of weird shit since I turned 30. I'm wearing padded bras, sometimes when I sleep because I so desperately want to keep the twins away from my gut. I have a mass of spider veins on my calf and apply thick layers of cream to my heels. I choose full booty panties over thongs. I'm growing a second chin. I think I even mentioned on accident awhile back that I found nipple hair. And on Wednesday, I went Stampeding, and my body reached a new low. Stampeding is what party animals do during the 2nd week of July here in Calgary ... or what is called Cowtown this week. The rodeo and the chuck wagons and the carnies and the entertainment come to town. And everyone takes their stetsons, cowboy boots, and plaid shirts out of storage. Corporate offices not only allow, but encourage western wear for the week. The party and  the drinking begins. Married men and women put their wedding rings in the little pocket in their wranglers and they go stampeding. CEO's, VP's and everyone beneath them come to work hungover, maybe even still drunk. Sometimes even sleep (or fuck) in their office if a party was close enough and they can't find a cab. Anything goes during Stampede week. For kids and people with no sense of drunken adventure, the Stampede is about rides and cotton candy. But since turning 18, it's been a shit show. A fun, rowdy, crazy, shit show. Like most, over the years, I've slowed down. When I once was able to go hard for at least half the party, I've just been reduced to one day. And even this one almost killed me. Or did something funky my ass at least. What!? Wednesday, I started drinking at noon with about 200 others from my company, and about 10,000 others around the city. It was late compared to some years when we'd start drinking at some pancake breakfast in a beer tent by the office. It was my company Stampede party and I was in a Go Big or Go Home situation. After a few hours at that party, I joined Silly Sally, some friends, and random co-workers to a rocking outdoor concert. It was a frigging blast. John Fogerty is fantastic, his voice hasn't aged at all. Unlike my hands. We drank, danced, smoked, sang, drank, smoked, drank, then hopped onto school bus shuttles to an after party, where, yes, we drank some more. Nobody we were with puked, fell down, got beat up, took a random dude home, or got lost, so it was a good time. No .... it was a great time. Even though I was on the couch the following 24 hours it was a fun. fun. fun. hammered. hammered. hammered. However .... After 14 years of Stampeding like a grown up, I learned a pretty important lesson and am suffering miserably. Drinking for 12 hours straight can, and in my case did, lead to a case of hemorrhoids. Literally, my second attempt at Stampeding just ended with me standing in the drug store with a drunk dude buying munchies and slutty looking thing buying condoms. Then there was me, hunched over the isle at the back, trying to decide between Preparation H and Anusol.