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Waiting for the stories


Last night, Doyle hosted a cocktail party at Assgard. For some reason I'm unable to fully understand, I decided before we went over that I was going to drink until I was completely and totally fall-on-my-face drunk. I haven't been that drunk for a long, long time. I'm thinking New Year's 1994 when I tried to match Yosufi drink for drink, starting three drinks down.

When I arrived at the party, after changing clothes in the lower parking spots of Keith and Katie's house, in full view of anyone looking out the windows, and shocked a whole lot of friends. I wore the sheath dress and pearls from, oh, circa that last drinking binge. I also wore makeup, which I hadn't done since about our wedding in 2004. Yeah, me, the girlie girl.

At least I had the foresight to wear flats.

I started the night with a Godfather from Shirley. When I was going for my second, Ben handed me a lovely new bottle of JW Gold as a thanks for loaning them our car for their visit. Shocked, I immediately opened the bottle and poured a (somewhat large) shot.


I already had a Godfather in my hand, so I had two glasses for a while. At some point Andy Fisher commented he was on glass three. I had forgotten about the whisky, thinking I was still on glass two, and went to pour myself another. Tragically, I raced Andy to the end of that glass, and everything went downhill from there. We poured ourselves another glass each, when I realized that I was pouring about 75% alcohol into the glass, to Andy's 40% alcohol.

No wonder I didn't make it much past that point.

I remember throwing up, with Kris helping me out. I managed to make it to the bathroom, and apparently in such a hurry that others alerted Kris to the fact and he came over to help. I remembered to shut the bathroom door. I hadn't remembered to lock it. A fact I didn't notice for far too long.

I remember that I kept asking Mark to get me glasses of water. He helped me out, but I have no idea why the other 52 people there wouldn't have worked out justfine.

I remember asking to go see Kyle Smith, and Heather gently guiding me away from the thought, "I don't think that's a good idea."

She was right, as I started throwing up again, with Heather helping me out, shortly after that. She helped me get to the bathroom, and thankfully flushed the toliet after each heave-ho. Heather's awesome.

I remember sitting next to Doyle somewhere. I vaguely recall asking him, um, well now, recall I was completely drunk at this point, how long he is. Apparently, from Heather, I also told him that I look at him at work and wonder this, too. Fortunately, that part isn't completely true.

I recall falling over and thinking, hmmmmm, this floor is completely comfortable. I'll just stay here. Apparently, also from Heather, I missed the rose bushes by not a lot.

I remember Kyle Schleifer, the other person who doesn't drink either, commenting hey, I hear you're getting plastered tonight, just as I stumbled past him, too drunk to acknowledge the comment.

I remember thinking Astrid is really tall, and if I stop to talk to her, I'd probably fall over backwards, so best to keep walking.

And the last thing I remember of the evening was being between Andy and Doyle as we walked down some stairs.

I don't recall the car, the car ride home, or how I managed to arrive in my bed.

This morning, I talked to Heather, excited to hear the various stories that I'm sure would make me laugh at what retarded feats I managed the night before. I woke without a headache, which surprised me a lot. I was expecting to have to take lots of drugs and move very slowly. Nope, felt fine. Yay, Mark and the water!

Well, and the puking, probably.

Heather started in with the stories, elaborating on my time spent talking to Doyle near the rose bushes. According to Heather, I hugged him a lot, a complained that you just can't hug coworkers. I also asked Shirley how long Doyle was, which cracks me up. There may, or may not, also be a photo of me in a large, pink, fuzzy hat.

Kris commented that I need to learn to pace myself, as from arrival to departure through drunk was less than 3.5 hours. Yay me!

The only part I'm actually embarrassed about was breathing on everyone with puke breath. I mean, that's the most disgusting thing ever.

The rest of the stories, well, I'm sure they'll be good.


Oh yeah, blame the responsible guy. Thanks a lot! Next time we race, either I make drinks or we both drink whiskey.

btw, you're a remarkably stable drunk.