Ass, Kicked!
It was shameful really. I still can't believe it happened. And my intentions, my intentions were good. It was supposed to be my night off, no Friday night work related event to attend, no lack of car excuses not to meet up with the girls, and no boys to get in the way. I brought a bottle of wine to contribute and by the time I arrived, just a little before seven, the queso was made and the shoes were already off.
This is the part where I attempt to blame it on the glass, it was a larger than normal wine goblet, deceiving in it's gorgeous pinkish hue. I poured the first glass and laughed and gossiped with the girls. By glass two I was sharing intimate details about my life that no one ever gets out of me. By the thrid glass, and the recognized end of the bottle, I couldn't feel my teeth. By nine I had drunk dialed a couple of friends and by eleven I had drunk text-messaged my boss. I layed on the floor for a while and drank some water to try and stop the brain from hurting. When I finally made it to bed at midnight my body was angry with me.
When the alarm went off at six, after five restful hours, I awoke to the red wine still pumping through my veins. I popped a few Advil and started my long day. Three hours in the car, four hours in a meeting, three more hours back. Pain the whole time. Back to work at eight for an event followed by a big greasy cheese burger to help with the uneasy-queasy feeling that had been nagging at me all day. When my phone rang a little after midnight I was thankful that Rachel had woken me up from my bed where I landed with my jeans and shoes still on.
When I finally fell asleep all nestled in my pajamas under the covers and drowing in water and more Advil, I could barely remember the last time I had a hangover that hung on quite so well. Then I figured out that the last time it happened, I was a junior in college and I haven't touched tequilla since. I don't think I am giving up the red wine but I am well aware that I am no match for an entire bottle of the stuff, no matter how good it tastes going down.
It was shameful really. I still can't believe it happened. And my intentions, my intentions were good. It was supposed to be my night off, no Friday night work related event to attend, no lack of car excuses not to meet up with the girls, and no boys to get in the way. I brought a bottle of wine to contribute and by the time I arrived, just a little before seven, the queso was made and the shoes were already off.
This is the part where I attempt to blame it on the glass, it was a larger than normal wine goblet, deceiving in it's gorgeous pinkish hue. I poured the first glass and laughed and gossiped with the girls. By glass two I was sharing intimate details about my life that no one ever gets out of me. By the thrid glass, and the recognized end of the bottle, I couldn't feel my teeth. By nine I had drunk dialed a couple of friends and by eleven I had drunk text-messaged my boss. I layed on the floor for a while and drank some water to try and stop the brain from hurting. When I finally made it to bed at midnight my body was angry with me.
When the alarm went off at six, after five restful hours, I awoke to the red wine still pumping through my veins. I popped a few Advil and started my long day. Three hours in the car, four hours in a meeting, three more hours back. Pain the whole time. Back to work at eight for an event followed by a big greasy cheese burger to help with the uneasy-queasy feeling that had been nagging at me all day. When my phone rang a little after midnight I was thankful that Rachel had woken me up from my bed where I landed with my jeans and shoes still on.
When I finally fell asleep all nestled in my pajamas under the covers and drowing in water and more Advil, I could barely remember the last time I had a hangover that hung on quite so well. Then I figured out that the last time it happened, I was a junior in college and I haven't touched tequilla since. I don't think I am giving up the red wine but I am well aware that I am no match for an entire bottle of the stuff, no matter how good it tastes going down.
posted by Ebony @ 11:09 AM
3 Comments:
At 3:22 PM,
Anonymous said…
As one of those drunk-dialed friends, may I just say that I wish I had been there! Why'd you have to work on a Saturday anyways?
~Lindsey
At 10:25 AM,
Ebony said…
If we're keeping tabs, I don't remember that drunk dial at all which raises the tally to three dials and one text message. I do believe that is a new record for me. And shame on the girls present for not taking my phone away!
At 10:35 AM,
Stephanie said…
Hey, no one took MY phone away in New Orleans where I called a professor I was semi dating, and made about 100 calls for legal advice to TJ, Robi, and York. Drunk dialing isn't all that bad :o)
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