That is paraphrasing a quote from a book by Heather Lende of Haines, which was actually a quote from another author, I believe... I can't remember the name. It was in a chapter of her book, If You Lived Here, I'd Know Your Name, and it was about learning that she had something in common with a right leaning journalist for a rival weekly paper.
What I was initially going to title it was something about drinking, how I drink being a metaphor for how I live. Eh. It would have fallen flat and this paraphrase of a quote of a quote sounds so much nicer. Maybe it would have been a comment on how so many small factors affect the outcome when drinking (or just in living).
Anyway, last night I got blackout drunk. Completely by accident. Okay, maybe I've never done this purposefully, but this was about as accidental as it gets. I only had about 3.5 drinks (that I can remember) and I was previously a total lush.
So, Wednesday I was super excited to go to a club meeting - not the usual Wednesday night meeting, but a new meeting for me. Newish, at least. It was at my favorite bar, where I can apparently be found more nights a week than is really healthy (if I were drinking every night).
First though, I went and saw Sweeney Todd with my roommate. The cinematography was aesthetically pleasing (I have a somewhat dark aesthetic taste) and certain parts of the movie were really brilliant, but I didn't like the movie as much as I thought I would. That doesn't mean it was bad - it probably wasn't - it just wasn't as amazing as I had hoped.
After Sweeney Todd, Miss L and I walked over to my favorite bar and began chatting with our many friends and acquaintances. I had initially not intended to drink but for some reason decided that it would be a good idea to have one or two (maybe because someone was missing whom I had hoped to see and someone was talking to some other girl who may or may not be cuter than me). I was drinking greyhounds and after one and a half or two my decision making skills were already compromised enough that I thought drinking a half shot of whiskey and a third greyhound was a good idea. After this amount, I had reached patchy memory phase. I remember bits and pieces: like smoking a hand rolled cigarette with Mr. J, who later wiped a piece of tobacco from my lips (how tender), and tottering home on heels, despite ice and intoxication. In Haines, I had imbibed about 6 or so drinks and remember every detail of the night, here I had 3.5 and could have murdered someone and not known (were I not such a pleasant drunk, that is). It goes to show that it is a number of factors that affect an outcome. Major factor here: 3 pieces of pizza v. half a grapefruit and half a medium bag of movie theater popcorn.
I seriously thought my roommate was going to hate me forever and kick me out of the house today. I had convinced her last night that we should take the car (because I wanted to wear heels) and then I got way to drunk too drive home, we had gone our separate ways, and the car was left parked in that space at Wells Fargo. This morning before I clocked in at work I went to check if the car was still there (I didn't know for sure) and had to move it to avoid getting a ticket. I knew this was bad news, but at least no ticket. Then I go to work and my roommate shows up and knocks on the door and asks where the car is (it's not either of ours, and its owner needed it that day) I search for the key, which I nearly thought I had locked in the car - alas, it was hidden in a tricky pocket within the purse - and give them to her (she's got the flu bad by this point) and she goes to retrieve it and drive it home. I then dreaded going home all day, knowing that as soon as I got home I'd be confronted and most likely lectured. I don't know if it was a mild hangover or if it was merely stress, but I felt terrible all day! It was an accident, it was better than the alternative, I did move the car to avoid ticketing, and so on and so forth - I have no defense that will make my irresponsibility irrelevant. I decided that I'd just have to say something first. I went home after work, paced a bit, and then apologized and declared my irresponsibility as irrefutable and terrible, and hoped that I had punished myself enough. She didn't lecture me at all. Maybe it was due to her weakened and sickly state, maybe it was because of my impassioned speech, or maybe it was because she had never planned on being a bitch and I have the guilt complex of a catholic but without the belief that I'll go to heaven someday. God damn atheism.
Other things to note: I forgot to pay my tab. Luckily I know the bartender and she and her boyfriend took my card home (I trust them enough for that to be a relief). I had forgotten my phone at work (and though I have the ability to go in on my own, it is against policy, so I don't) which meant that I was unreachable and without an alarm. I woke up once at 6:20am, still wearing my coat, as I had given up on untying the string I had tied around the collar. I removed my coat at this point and decided (probably still drunk) to go back to sleep for a few minutes, assuming (drunkenly, I suppose) that I would actually wake up on time. I woke up 15 minutes before I was meant to walk out the door. Brilliant. When I actually got to work, after moving the car and getting a coffee from Heritage, I found my phone with its 5 missed calls and two unread text messages - most likely all from Miss L about the car except for the one from Mr. K telling me that he and Miss R had my card. I was in a rather wretched mood most of the day and I think I have a food allergy for which I had previously developed a tolerance. Yet another reason why this diet and detox thing was a terrible/wonderful idea.
This evening I behaved myself, so well in fact, that I spent the whole evening taking care of my roommate. We also watched a movie - The Negotiator which I liked much more than I had anticipated. Tomorrow is Friday and I think that instead of doing something wild and crazy, I will be well behaved, not drink, and attend a benefit for couple I know. The husband of the pair has been suffering from cancer for years and the medical costs alone must be obscene. I don't know him that well, but I talk to his wife pretty regularly, and I continue to learn more and I find myself becoming invested in their story, their happiness (or sadness), and their struggle to be strong. I learned a bit about how they met the other day, it is a sweet and romantic story - each one of these memories shared makes me really sad that his life will inevitably be cut short.
And, to not end on such a sad note, I received an e-mail today from my friend Mr. S in the Netherlands. I miss him a lot and his messages always brighten my day. I hope I can afford to visit him soon!