I'm winding up a weekend in Chicago, lying around on my bed of (really-only-a-slight-twinge-now) pain. I've followed everyone's advice about getting better, especially the extremely sound recommendations to drink a lot. Unfortunately, That Stud Muffin I Married has been traveling a lot this summer, so my general consumption for the past two months has gone way down, making me an extremely cheap date.
For example, Friday night was supposed to be an evening devoted to cocktails, take-out Thai food, and Netflix DVDs. But I had a Manhattan, plus a watery refill from the shaker, plus a beer with the Thai food, and whoops, the DVDs stayed in their sleeves because there was no way I was going to be able follow the narrative complexities of Sullivan's Travels.
Saturday I was co-hosting a baby shower that started at 11:30. That Stud Muffin I Married thought it would be kind to let me sleep off the Thai food, so he kept the chiddren quiet and far away from our bedroom. Which means I woke up at 10:20. And had to be bathed, dressed, made up, and pedicured with wrapped presents in tow and arriving promptly at the shower site five miles away so as not to diss my guests. HAHAHAHAHA. So I sent TSMIM to the store to buy wrapping paper, gifts boxes, bows, and gift cards, while I showered, did the world's fastest polish job on the toes, blew my hair dry, slapped on some spackle and got dressed. And I was at the shower at 11:38, which personally, I find damned impressive.
But naturally I had to have a glass of wine to celebrate not having made a complete dildo out of myself. (By the way, that was a free gift to anyone weird enough to do a search for "baby shower dildo." You're welcome.)
So the wine and the boredom that results from being in rather la-di-dah surroundings surrounded by ladylike women watching someone else open presents--and the honoree was extremely sweet and enthusiastic about each. and. every. present--and there were 30 women there, many of whom gave more than one gift--brought out the most obnoxious (unless you're Joke and like that sort of thing) aspects of my behavior. So I was all kinds of funny. I am not making this up. The honoree's mother actually asked me if I was always this funny. Another woman told me I should do stand-up.
Sorry, ladies, but it was just the ethanol.
Oh, and that bizarre personality quirk that tells me it's better to act like a retard than be bored out of my mind.
Then I had a cocktail party to get to. My hosts had taken over the roof deck of their building on Lake Shore Drive and had hired a steel band and a full bar featuring Mai Tais.
I'm sure you have already figured out how I reacted to that. The only thing I have to say in my favor is that I wasn't bored, so I didn't feel the need to be hilarious. Anyway I was too busy guzzling Mai Tais.
Then I went out to dinner with TSMIM and my BFC (Best Friend in Chicago) Liz and her husband. Where I had another Manhattan. So don't bother to ask how dinner was, because I don't remember.
Now for the irony.
It turns out that even though I spent the weekend celebrating the ratification of the 21st amendment, when my car was in an accident, I wasn't responsible. It seems that the valet guy in our garage were befuddled by the sheer size of Stampy the Sienna, so he backed Stampy into some kind of vent coming out of the wall and smashed the rear window. Call the National Enquirer, because this is drunk-driving by association or some other paranormal happening.
I know this is true because I don't have a hangover, when by rights I should. I'm guessing that right now, the drunk-by-association valet parking guy is in severe pain and is wishing he were dead. And that's OK by me, because I wish he were dead, too.
--P
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