Sunday, May 1, 2011

Vodka and the Morning After

I  survived.  I'm awake and coherent.  I've had my coffee, some white toast, and my morning dose of dog slobber.  It was a rough night and by that I mean, the party was a hoot but getting myself home and around the block, upstairs, and into bed was not so easy.  Details to follow.

Oh Vodka.  It is a sneaky awful liquor when mixed into Peach Martinis.  I drank four perhaps five double shot drinks with another one mixed and waiting for me.  Nope, I couldn't do it.  My butt was kicked.  I was down for the count.  I don't start out with the notion that I'll be lying face down on the carpet by night's end but it's fun as Hell getting there.

I made several new friends one of which I can't for the life of me remember her name.  We were dropping the F-bomb and discussing the difficulty of determining gay men from straight in the days of our youth.  I think every young woman ready to jump into the dating pool needs a lesson in this; however, maybe the girls today are more well versed than we were twenty some years ago.  It sure would have saved me a little heartache.  We laughed until we cried.  The band Village People gay?  Impossible.  Queen?  Really?  Freddie Mercury's buck teeth and his tight t-shirts - totally hot!

I was concerned that the six foot inflatable penis I placed in the hostess' bedroom might have been a little over the top.  Not so.  I left my tube of bright red lipstick on the bed and those who were interested gave him a big smooch.  There were many kisses on him by the end of the evening.  Nice.  We should have given him a name.  No penis should be left used and abandoned like that without having been dignified with a name.

People often ask me why I end up on the floor when I've had a lot to drink.  My answer is always the same, because it's safer than standing up.  There is only one danger; other drunk people.  This morning when I carefully and slowly stood up to check if anything was amiss, I noticed several incoming bruises on my feet from where someone must have danced on me.  It's all good.  I'm glad we were asked to remove our heels before entering otherwise the bruises could have been so much worse. 

My husband and hero walked around the corner to rescue me after I placed a desperate 911 call to him on my cell phone.  I don't remember too much after that.  I do recall a trash bag and having to use it.  Damn!  I'd really hoped to avoid that it I could.  Eric gently escorted me upstairs where I passed out on my back with the pink plastic vomit bowl next to me, water, and a bottle of Tylenol at the ready.  

It's mid morning and so far so good.  Unfortunately for me though, my hangovers are sneaky bastards.  They like to wait until after 10:00am to hit.  So, with this said, I'm taking another drink of water, a couple of Tylenol, putting on my night goggles, and calling it a morning.  I will not be taking calls until well into the afternoon.  And, by the way, if you happened to be the gal who danced on me, I'm sorry about kicking you in the shin.   




2 comments:

Pat said...

It's probably a good thing I wasn't there. :P

Bri Potts said...

I'm thinkin'. LOL!