What am I doing?
It's the question I've asked myself several times throughout this past week of vacation. As in, what am I doing drinking myself into a blackout oblivion?
I was so productive all week - cleaning, laundry, organizing - and then my friend Kendall won a happy hour in a drawing at McFadden's Thursday night and productivity and drinking got in a fight...drinking won.
To top it off, she knew the VIP coordinator at Mosaic ("Mah" stick nose in air and act like you're better than everybody else) Lounge and we got bottle service for FREE. Four mixers and a bottle of P.I.N.K. Vodka, a.k.a. Satan's elixir, were delivered to the table and all hell broke loose. Apparently this shit is infused with caffeine and guarana and then I was also mixing it with Monster because I was about a vat of regular vodka and a couple of beers in from happy hour and didn't realize what I was actually doing. I'm a pretty energetic person as it is - add "energy" drinks and I resemble a goddamn back flipping, hoop jumping terrier.
After my fill of poison, we dove into Rock Bar where I ran into my childhood friend Colin, who I knew was a bartender there, but hadn't run into yet. I haven't seen him for a couple of years and while he used to be a Marine, he now has the largest and pointiest blond mohawk I have ever seen.
A few more beers and I vaguely remember pouring down the stairs at P & L to have Baron drive Smash and me home, but then I ran into the 37-year-old mimosa guzzling bartender from the bar tour and my crazy night out that was supposed to be a chill night out, along with his some of his co-workers.
Apparently I made the executive decision to stay longer because all three of us ended up at 37's table inside Tengo Sed. Conversation? Don't recall. I just remember thinking, 'god, everything's all squiggly,' which didn't stop me from drinking more vodka.
The next thing I knew, I was collapsing on my futon. I woke up in my living the next morning in all my clothes, walked into my bedroom and screamed because Smash was in my bed and I had no recollection of her staying at my apartment, then I crawled in bed with her without bothering to change out of my clothes and fell back to sleep. I woke up a few hours later to roll around and moan about "the worst hangover ever" and crawl to the bathroom to do the morning after puke - that's the worst.
What the HELL am I doing? PINK vodka is a dick...and I'm a dumbass.
Friday, the day of "the worst hangover ever" was Halloween and I started to feel human again just in time to transform myself into old school Gwen Stefani and start drinking again. Seriously, I may need an intervention.
I got a trial run of the Gwen costume last Friday for a friend's costume party, so putting it all together again for the real thing was fairly painless. My first mission was to try to catch Gina and Remi "the bumble bee" trick-or-treating since my drunkard ass decided to be hungover that morning and missed the family Halloween "oh my god she's so adorable" costume viewing. I pulled up in my car and they didn't even recognize Auntie Harn in my blond wig in the dark. Check out Miss Thang and her hot aunt:
Cutest. Child. EVER.
She knocked on a couple of doors with her tiny fist and squeaked out "trick-or-treat!" and I pretty much almost died.
Then I went inside and caught a glimpse of her daddy Scott and "Uncle" Joe:
Hottest. Costumes. EVER.
Then it was off to the annual Terror Party, which never seems to go without a hitch whether it be a car puker, an asshole boyfriend or a booze shortage, the fun is always mixed with a touch of bullshit. This year, my third year to attend, seemed promising. It was moved from Union Station to the Midland Theater, the tickets were a little bit cheaper, the party was longer, free booze promised until 11 p.m....and it was pretty amazing when we first walked in...until they promptly ran out of "free" booze at 9:30 and several free bars were reduced to three cash bars to serve 3,000 people. We decided to leave before the mob of "not quite drunk enough" costumed 20-somethings rioted. There will be hate mail sent and I believe we'll be taking a hiatus next year.
But both P & L and Westport were hoppin' so we had nothing to complain about. The most popular costumes were Sarah Palin, the Joker, Michael Phelps and the assorted ho bags dressed as "sexy" whatevers. When will this trend end? There was a time my senior year in college when I won $250 in a sexiest costume contest as Little Red Riding Whore, but those days have passed. I'm just waiting for others to follow suite because I'm sick of seeing chicks' butt cheeks. Let's try a little creativity next year ladies. I didn't see any other Gwens and while there were a few other Amy Winehouses, Kate's was by far the best.
I think these two were my favorite. An innocent childhood icon and a priest with a boner. A boy scout was also seen lurking around.
37 also came out of the shadows at Vinino that night...and that's all I'm going to say.
Aaaand third time's a charm I guess because I decided it was a good idea to answer 37's text Saturday night with "Come here!" As in, come to the Brooksider! What am I DOING? He's a 37-year-old waiter that smokes like a chimney yet I'm strangely attracted...but I'm not...but I am...I try desperately to take Bridget Jones' advice:
"...will find nice sensible boyfriend and stop forming romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workoholics, sexaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits, or perverts."
...or a certain 37-year-old waiter that smokes like chimney and embodies all of these things.