I feel the need to stress that my friends and I are not entirely deranged alcoholics. While I do tend to go out of my way on this blog to make us sound entirely mentally unstable... the truth of the matter is that we all tend to process our emotions in ridiculous ways... which most often leads to absurdity and hilarity...and also binge drinking. So...we are actually deranged binge drinkers... 'cause, you know, alcoholics go to meetings and stuff.
There has been a shit storm of epic proportions around here lately. Life? Is all kinds of fucked up right now. Since I am all about healthy expression of emotions, I have been bottling all of these things up inside of me until they have reached critical mass and I am forced to deal with them... generally through tequila.
M? Was in a state of emotional crisis. She almost mostly cried and then didn't. I think it was that commercial that got to her.. you know the starving foreign kids? Or possibly the one with the saddest animal faces you have ever seen, set to Sarah McLaughlin music. In any case, M was working on not processing any of her feelings as well. Only with Jager because M hates tequila.
This is where the story generally goes a bit..er..wrong. If you are my grandma or my mom? Stop reading this right now.
We begin the evening with pool games, At some point we generally forget that we are playing pool at all and move on to playing the jukebox as a sport. This is usually where D steals the remote for the jukebox.
I don't know why or how this tradition began...but a remote-less D?
Is all kinds of crabby.
So he holds the remote...to everything. And he also hold the phone.
D is a control freak.
During this particular evening, where I am bordering on a nervous breakdown and M is determined to make me giggle, a sad song comes on.
So we slow dance.
M then feels that the next logical course of action for the evening is to ask me to marry her. Touched, I tell her that of course I will marry her. She attempts to dip me.
She is maybe just trying to get a whiff of my armpit before committing though.
There is a small dispute about which one of us is going to wear the dress, which is, of course going to be white. This is settled by leg wrestling on the pool table.
Because there are things on the floor of that bar that can not be killed with any known anti-biotic/bacterial/fungal yet known to man. There are things growing on that floor that probably can not be killed through nuclear fall-out.
So, of course we leg wrestle on the pool table.
|It is entirely possible that the hot ash I maybe dropped in my eye caused my leg-wrestling defeat.|
Or? M cheats.
And then I lose. Because mostly?
I don't know how one could possibly cheat at leg wrestling, but that is probably why I lost.
I demand a rematch, because I look ridiculous in tuxedos. First, I have to give M another roofie though, because she is obviously developing a tolerance for the damn things.
I am distracted, however, by the next song on the jukebox which almost demands that I dance on the bar with M and A...until I spy Superman come in the building.
I jump off the bar, sort of like a ninja, if ninjas were mostly intoxicated women with severe emotional issues, and run up to give him a hug and then demand that he allow me to give him a piggyback ride to...somewhere.
Superman declines politely and it is decided that he should instead give me a shoulder ride.
|If there are no trees available to climb? Shoulder rides for absolutely no reason are also great for distracting oneself from emotions.|
To the bar.
That is probably ten feet away from us.
No one else in the bar wants to play chicken with me, so I get down and of course, drink more tequila. Unless my grandma and mom are still reading, in which case I got down and drank more sparkling grape juice, and went home to bed before 9pm.
Then, I make it a point to tell every single person that I see how much I love them, whether I actually know them or not. I also hug them. I am all kinds of loving. Mostly to random strangers. And also to H. repeatedly.
This is about the time in these evening that my car keys disappear. There is a mysterious link between me loving strangers and my keys removing themselves from my ignition and wandering away into one of my friends pockets.
Since I am all happy and loving? I do not mind.
M remembers that we are supposed to have a rematch... but the way she is looking at me? I think her intention is to kiss me.
It may not have been, but when I inform her that I will not make out with her in public? It becomes her intention. I yell that I need a grown up and something about bad touch and something about saving myself for marriage while M tries to tackle me and we end up on the pool table again, somehow.
Someone takes a picture. Both of us look absolutely hammered, although I think that was simply the timing of the flash and the shutter and probably had something to do with the planetary alignment, because being responsible adults we wouldn't have been over-indulging ourselves.
And then? H feeds us and gets us home.
Which is sort of anti-climatic for this story I guess... but the scrambled eggs out of the microwave?
Were all kinds of awesome.