We Laughed, We Cried, We Got Drunk, We Were Happy

There are many things I refuse to accept about getting older.  Most of the time that works out well, sometimes I get my ass kicked.  The title of this blog might lead you to believe that I am going to write about parenting or babysitting but alas, the title is merely a synopsis of approximately 24 hours in my life.  I unfortunately did all the laughing, crying, and drinking but there is a happy ending.  I feel no shame. I might, however, need adult supervision.

The day started out with heaviness in my heart as I was on my way to attend the memorial service for a man that I had known since I was a child, Uncle Jack.  We were gathering to pay homage to a man who cannot be explained in mere words.  Jack, had the biggest heart, the heartiest laugh, loved everyone and was full of shenanigans.  The memorial service was a mixture of laughing and crying. Everyone shared stories (and there were many) about Jack and expressed their love for him.  It was the definition of bittersweet.  The tears flowed freely, both tears of sadness and tears of joy.  Makeup was ruined.  Raccoon eyes were prevalent.  No tissue was left in the box.

After the service and lunch, I headed over to my cousin Theresa’s house.  We decided that wine was the priority after the emotional free-for-all that we had just experienced.  She deserved it more than me but letting her drink alone would have just been rude.  I’m a classy broad after all.  I think tragedy makes you more susceptible to altered states and less susceptible to good judgment.  We drank most of the bottle.

The plan was to then head over to Uncle Jacks favorite bar and hang out and drink, of course.  They had closed the place down to pay tribute to him and his family.  There were dirty martini’s available.  I could not resist.  Dirty Martini chaser to half a bottle of wine coming up!  As the first drops of vodka hit my stomach, I heard a tiny revolt begin somewhere in the recesses of my brain where my common sense and survival instinct hang out.  They are soooo annoying.  I ignored them.  I will pay for this later.

I can’t remember how many martinis; at least I think they were all martini’s, I had that night.  It was A LOT.  Common sense and survival instinct were forming a protest in my frontal lobe.  I vaguely remember an echo of thought that sounded like “this is going to hurt tomorrow”.  I drowned that thought with vodka and three olives.  What I do remember is that familiar feeling of my veins having more alcohol and less blood in them than was probably healthy.  I also remember having dinner, which I think was delicious, and talking to a former Navy Seal who was injured falling off a ladder.  The last thing I remember is being driven to my cousins and suddenly getting the direct message from my brain that I must lie down immediately, if not sooner.

And so I did.  I lay down, clothes, shoes, jewelry and all on a nice comfy couch that my cousin so graciously made up for me.  I woke up around 2 am with what can only be described as my brain screaming.  It hurt, oh how it hurt.  There was yelling and pounding and dry mouth and then there was heaving and my stomach contents were no longer in my stomach.  It was not pretty.

I collapsed back on to the couch and slept until 6 am when I awoke to the sound of coffee being made.  I knew I was going to need a freighter of that to get through the rest of the day, so I got up and thankfully accepted manna from God.  I pulled myself together, which really isn’t saying much, and got on the road to drive.

Unfortunately I had two problems, the first was that I needed gas; the second was that I needed something to replace the contents of my stomach.  This led me to doing my own walk of shame at the downtown gas station in a disheveled, hung over state followed by ordering pancakes at the McDonald’s drive-thru.  Not one of my proudest moments.

After finally and safely reaching my house, I showered which felt beyond amazing and did some work but only so that I could do the one thing that was absolutely necessary to my survival – sleep.

My boyfriend, who had been lovely and supportive, seemed to be concerned about our plans for the evening.  We were going to a birthday party in the town where we grew up and I was seriously considering blowing it off.  Because, well, sleep.  The only thing that stopped me was that he told me that his Mom had asked that we stop by.  I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I fought my overwhelming urge to cuddle into sheets and blankets and made myself presentable.

The drive down was an hour away and my boyfriend seemed a bit nervous.  I had no idea why but maybe dealing with a hung over girlfriend was giving him the jitters.  Apparently me being highly intoxicated just a few hours before made me oblivious because I had no idea what was going on when he pulled into the school parking lot where we met.  At the school, not in the parking lot, I’m not that kind of girl.

He led me to the courtyard and there he had set up (with lots of help from his sisters and family), what looked like a sidewalk café table complete with flowers, candles and rose petals.  This was where we had met over 30 years before.  I was overwhelmed.  And again with the crying.  He proposed, I said yes.  There was laughing and crying and only a little drinking and there was happiness.

He knows what he’s getting himself into but I always tell him – you have been warned.

BB