January 08, 2006

Overachievement

It's no secret that I enjoy an occasional adult beverage. I'm a very responsible drinker, though. I usually go weeks without imbibing, and more often than not I'm fine with one beer, one glass of wine or one cocktail.

On the occasions when I have more than one, I'm excellent at pacing myself. A little too good, sometimes. When I was in culinary school I had to take a class called Bar and Beverage Management, which really should have been called How to Drink a Shitload Without Losing Control of Your Bodily Functions. I took it as a summer class and "field trips" to bars were the norm. The most useful information I got from this class, aside from the difference between Scotch whiskey, Irish whisky and American bourbon, was how the body metabolizes alcohol. I know, down to the minute, how long it takes for a standard alcoholic beverage to pass my lips, hit my stomach, absorb into my bloodstream, and be broken down by my liver so it can exit my system. Seventy-three minutes, four seconds.

On the plus side, it's highly unlikely that you'll ever see me shitfaced, puking in a Taco Bell parking lot, unable to find my foundation garments. The downside, I always pace myself so well that I barely get a buzz, but still have all the lovely effects that come with metabolizing a little too much alcohol.

This week has been a little rough. Nothing big, just readjusting to the post-holiday lull, B.'s return to work, etc. I've been tense, edgy and generally unpleasant. Since there was nothing pressing on this weekend's agenda, and there were plenty of people to pick up the parenting slack, I set a goal for myself: I'm going to spend as much of the weekend as possible with a very slight alcohol buzz. Just enough to make things a smidge blurry around the edges. Just enough to kill the tension that keeps feeding on itself.

Unfortunately, I'm an overachiever.

It started out well enough on Friday. While making a lovely dinner (Sweaty Boy Tyler Florence's sesame chicken recipe is as delectable as he is), I had a glass of wine. And by "glass" I mean what is considered a standard serving size - five ounces, about half a glass. Sipped while I cooked. Nice. Just enough to fuzzy the edges for a bit.

A few hours later, I had a second glass, followed by a third less than an hour later. A bit too soon, since my body didn't have the full seventy-three minutes, four seconds to entirely process glass #2. I was finishing #3 around 11 PM while I sat on the couch, knitting. That's when Kara and Joe showed up with a 12-pack of Rolling Rock and two bottles of wine.

They will be a recieving terse letter from my liver later today that will read something like this:

Dear Schmoop Twins:

I understand that you are both in the blinding throes of schmoop. It's a beautiful thing, really. When Robin stares at the two of you and squeals, "Oh my God! Do you have any idea how cute all of this is?!?!", she's speaking on behalf of all her internal organs, not just the emotional center of her brain, which ceased development when she was tweleve.

I also understand that being in such an excessive state of schmoop can cloud judgement. I won't even begin to tell you some of the things Robin did while in such a state, with all of her organs egging her on, her ovaries leading the way like Sherman clearing the path to Atlanta, torches ablaze.

But I digress. My point is, the schmoop can cause you to err in judgement, which you did on Friday by showing up with so much alcohol. Honestly. You've met Robin. You know she has no self-control. Have you heard some of the things that come out of that woman's mouth? It's poor impulse control, I tell you. Add to this her compulsion to be the quintessential hostess, this drive she has to be the Martha Stewart of the Redneck Jungle. It would be rude to not partake in the beverages brought by guests.

In the future, it would behoove you to remember that you're dealing with a hedonistic fool who's under the mistaken impression that I am made of the same construction as the filters at the local water treatment plant. I am not. I am but one liver. Please, be kind.

Sincerely,
Robin's Liver

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don't feed the bears. Don't bring me alcohol. Whatever.

So yes, I overdid it. I can't fully blame Kara and Joe, although they are enablers. A part of the problem is my own laziness. When they arrived, I had been sitting on the couch for about half an hour, knitting. Since I'd reached a point where the world was fuzzy enough to make knitting a bit difficult, I thought what the hey, give me a beer. And another. And another.

I was halfway through beer #3 when I realized I was making a huge mistake. My faculties where still with me, and I had the good sense to pass that beer to B. But you know how it happens. You're with friends, everyone's laughing and having a good time, and it's so easy to lose track of how much you've had to drink until you look up and, hey! the floor's covered with green bottle landmines.

Anyway, at this point I also realized that I had not stood in well over two hours, other than to get back on the couch when I was in danger of sliding off of it. I immediately began to dread standing, but since 1) it was after one a.m. and I had no intentions of sleeping on the couch, and 2) I had a bladder filled with lots of wine and beer, there was no question that I was going to have to stand, soon, and when I did I would go from everything being slightly fuzzy around the edges to everything being slightly covered in vomit. You know that situation: you've been drinking and sitting, feeling just fine, but as soon as you stand up, the alcohol rockets out of your stomach and into your bloodstream, turning your brain into a puddle of hoppy, barley-infused mush. Zero to drunk in three seconds.

Luckily, vomitting didn't happen, but damn if I didn't stand there and giggle like a fiend (do fiends really giggle?) for a good five minutes before finding my way to the bathroom, where I continued to giggle. Life was beautifully fuzzy! And funny! Oh my word, it was all deliciouslly hilarious!

That is, until I spotted the lock on the bathroom door:


Do you see something amiss? Like, perhaps the little part that sticks out so you can slide the lock back and forth? I'm not sure how I didn't notice it was missing when I locked the door. I'm guessing I didn't notice because I was drunk and only concerned with having a little privacy with no thought as to how I might get out of the bathroom. But I was certainly giving thought to how I was going to get out of the bathroom once I realized that, oh FUCK, I want out of the bathroom and I'm too drunk to figure out how to get out!!!!

I'm going to die in the bathroom. Of this, I'm sure .

Of course, I didn't die in the bathroom. At worst, I might have been forced to take a little nap in the bathroom, which would eventually be interrupted by someone banging on the door and yelling, "Hey! Are you gonna sleep in there all night?" And by then my liver would have caught up with my alcohol intake and I would have recovered enough motor skills to figure out the damn lock. But it didn't come to that. After about ten seconds of freaking out, I realized that - duh - I had it together enough to unlock a damn lock. Jesus.

I would like to reiterate: I wasn't drunk; I was an overachiever.

Posted by Robin at 10:17 AM | Comments (7)

December 18, 2005

Apres-Apres Party

1. I don't feel like someone who drank six pomegranate cocktails* last night. I feel fantastic! Not fantastic enough to compose real paragraphs, but pretty damn fantastic considering the amount of vodka and brandy that beat the hell out of my liver last night.

*A drink of my own concoting, and quite divine, I might add. Feel free to make them at your own holiday gathering. Or for breakfast. I'd be honored if you'd refer to it as the Poppy:

1 shot vodka (I prefer Ketel 1)
1 shot pomegranate juice
1 shot Kirsch (cherry brandy)
1 wedge lemon

Put ice in a martini shaker. Add shots. Give the lemon a squeeze and toss it in. Shake. Pour. Imbibe. Dance on the dining room table with your pants around your ankles. Take photos and share them with me.

2. I like cooking again. I knew I would, once I quit catering. I just didn't expect to like it again so soon. Last night's menu:


All my recipes. And it was fun. Cooking is fun again! This makes me insanely happy.

3. I really don't know what possesses me to throw holiday parties. There are just too many other things going on and it's hard to get everyone I'd like to see together at the same time. From now on, I think I need to forgo the holiday stuff and do something in, say, mid-January, when everyone's bored senseless. This isn't to say that last night wasn't great. It was. I should host more small gatherings. It was nice to be able to sit and actually converse, instead of mingling.

4. Mindy makes the most fabulous things with paper and photos. She surprised me with an amazing Clara Jane photo book. Seriously. Damn near made me cry, it was so perfect. I wish I could show it to you, I really do.

5. Although Angie couldn't make it to the party, she did leave a Starbucks gift card in the amount of a venti eggnog latte on my porch yesterday morning. I think that means I owe her a blow job. Feel free insert the "fluid pudding" joke of your liking in this space.

6. Speaking of being horrible, I was actually very well-behaved in the presence of Mr. Greenlight. He was the one who brought up sodomy. Not me.

7. My 8.5-year-old Basset hound, Chloe, finally succeeded in leaping over the back of the couch after months of trying. While I avoid giving her table scraps, I felt like she earned a bit of fresh-from-the-oven salmon for that feat. So not only is her old body feeling the brunt of the jump, but she also has a burnt tongue.

So overwhelming was Chloe's night that she slept where she dropped:


Yes, she's asleep. Yes, I'm headless. Yes, Mindy has the cutest headband and boots in the world. And yes, B.'s totally drunk.

8. This morning, my codependent little elf and I had our own little Christmas morning gift exchange. Because we're all about the schmoop, we surprised our men-folk with stockings of goodies. They both got Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas on DVD. Why yes, Kara and I are both involved with 11-year-olds.

9. Kara gives good codependent loot. There's the Vertigo 2005//U2 Live From Chicago DVD, partially filmed at one of the U2 shows we attended (new link - I originally posted the wrong one). Since Greenlight gave her the same thing, we've discussed synching the DVDs and watching them at the same time, at our respective homes, and looking for ourselves. Codependency: the gift that keeps giving.

She also gave me a big pile of porn in the form of sweet, sweet sweaty Tyler Florence's new book. You do know how much I lah-uve Tyler, right? His new book, Eat This Book (yes, SIR!), should be sold in a brown paper wrapper, because it's pure porn! I love it. I love it so. And I apologize to everyone in my house this morning who had to witness how much I love it.

As if that wasn't enough, Kara also loaded me up with goodies from Lush. I haven't tried the two bath bombs yet, but I've become intimately acquainted with their lovely Candy Fluff and Silky Underwear dusting powders. A word to the wise: when desperately trying to open the can of dusting powder, don't pound on it with the antennea of your cell phone, no matter how good of an idea it may seem. Because when the antennea finally penetrates the plastic with the use of much force, the geyser of sugar-scented powder that erupts will leave you looking like you've spent an evening in a toilet stall at Studio 54 with Liza, Bianca and a Colombian named Hernando who wants cash from you now.

10. Clara "Thank God I Missed This Soiree" Jane is visiting her grandparents and having a lovely time gorging herself on Bugles. B. is punishing himself today by hauling his hungover ass to the stores to Christmas shop for me. I'd love to see this, this, these, or this, which doesn't smell nearly as slutty as you might think. But really, I'll be thrilled with whatever he gets me. The fact that I'm home, in my pajamas, alone all day today is just about the best gift in the world.

Posted by Robin at 11:54 AM | Comments (9)