Okay, so Friday night we went to a Christmas party with the kids. Parental and all that, even in a dressed-up state.
So there we are, dressed up, for a kids party, and my work party, Saturday night, was a casual, jeans affair. What's up with that?
It was outdoors, um, in an orchard. We had space heaters around our tables, but I couldn't help but conjure up images of all of us gathered around garbage can fires, warming our hands. And considering the neighborhood we were in, I wasn't that far off imagining that.
It didn't matter for long; location nor weather, because we had liquor. Lots and lots of liquor,and that'll go far in the warmth department, and further in making you forget that perhaps Kevlar under the sweater might have been a good idea.
Who cares if it was just wine and beer, hey, it's free, and there is no limit. Just imagine, a bucolic setting, with clear glass Dixie cups filled to the brim each time you went for a refill. So deceptive, so innocuous, the Dixie cup--you feel like you are just holding a glass of punch.
One coworker, who is a bartender on the side, teased me that four glasses was equivalent to a bottle of wine. Really? <giggle> I think I'll have another.
I know I had at least four, but I am certain there may have been as many as six. When the bartender remembers what you are having, and you don't have to remind her, that can only be a sign that perhaps you have been back maybe one too many times for a refill. What can I say? I'm an overachiever.
As always with these things, there were a couple of glitches...the food--not that great; the bathrooms--unbelievably, there were no lights in them the first time I made the trek. My friend and I took turns clicking on my cell phone to illuminate the area enough such that we could use it. I'd have gone in the field, but flashbacks to the first time I ever got drunk, and did that, prevented me from doing so. I didn't bring a change of clothes, afterall.
Did I mention the food?
This is important. I'd not eaten much that day. Dinner--was bbq. I'm not against bbq, I like it just fine, but it was so disappointing. Even dessert was not impressive. The bottom line, if you haven't made this connection already, is that there was not a lot of food in me, but a lot of drink.
Man, was I ever hammered.
I have to say, I haven't tied one on in well over 10 years. I've always been pregnant or nursing someone, and Mr W rarely drinks. I swear, he can nurse one beer over the course of a week.
I made up for lost time.
I didn't grab any asses (that I know of) and I didn't dance on any tables (I am certain of that) but I was, according to Mr W, quite talkative. I recall some blatantly flirtatious behavior that I am sure I will be blushing about at some point.
But I was having fun! Even if it was frustrating to me, because I kept trying to act normal, instead of just going with it.
That's ok. I wasn't acting as normally as I'd imagined. I mean, who compliments another woman on her hair, as they touch it with their hand at the same time? Oy. Sorry, S. It did look nice.
My big line of the evening was something I told Mr W. See, I'm sure he was kinda having fun, but not that much fun... So I wanted to make him laugh: "Dude, I'm waaay past "I love you, man" and well on my way to the sorority girls' mating call." <no offense to you delta delta tri gamma pis out there>
Tilt head from side to side: "I'm soooo dru-uunk!" He laughed.
All in all, the evening was a good time. Even when someone decided to have a 'sexy legs' competition, and lined up five of the guys to dance around to the roars of the crowd. I have to hand it to a couple of them. It takes a special kind of man to go out there and perform moves better seen around a pole in front of all their coworkers, and slapping your own ass under the influence--well, you know, that's just not something you usually see in the chem prep room.
Mr W dragged me away at a decent hour. We had to relieve Jane, who was our babysitter for the evening. We know that a few hours with our crew is plenty.
This is where the real fun began. It took me forever to wash my face. The kids were thankfully asleep when I got done. Heeyyy, where's my man? Oh, honeeeey.... ;p
Things are a little hazier here, but I have to say, my husband is a saint. I stopped being cooperative at this point, because he wanted me to go to sleep, and well, I had other ideas. And I spewed forth all kinds of talk to let him know them.
Whoo, boy. Yeah. It was bad.
I'm thinking: Why does he want me to go to bed? It's early! I'm so awake! I am fantastic! I'm a sexy beast! I'm not sleepy! No. I won't put the pjs on...hmphf, fine. I'll put the pjs on. <glare, more insanity coming out of my lips>
And my head hit the pillow.
I slept poorly (of course) and when I woke up, I felt a little buzzed still, with a slight headache.
Tylenol is a wonder drug.
Hot water is a godsend.
And caffeine... I was so happy with my cup of espresso-laced hot chocolate, I probably frightened the coffee guy with my profuse thanks.
I moved on, but not without worrying about Mr W. I had a feeling I was not going to be in his good graces.
And I'm not. He says he's not mad at me, but I was definately (and still am, kinda) feeling a chill on Sunday.
So, what did I learn?
A new mantra: Stay away from the cabernet.
Because that first step, it's a killer.