In which I use chemicals to make myself feel like shit. And quite by accident, too.

When Corby and I sat at the bar a few weeks ago and discussed the world at large, we spent quite some time on the topic of drunkard’s remorse: that feeling you have the day after drinking of extreme shame and embarassment, even if you know you didn’t do anything unacceptable.

Corby’d never heard the phrase before, but he knew the feeling. I don’t remember where I learned it, maybe from Joe, but it fits. I know they go over it in AA and Al-Anon, in terms of chemical balance in the brain and endorphins and why drunks feel compelled to drink, blah blah blah.

Anyway, Monday I woke up with a horrible case of drunkard’s remorse. I felt stupid and ugly and provincial and obnoxious. I could remember all my interactions with people, so I know I didn’t actually do anything horrible at the reception besides offer a few sloppy kisses to people, but I still felt like they could all have easily been looking at me thinking, “Damn. She’s so stupid and provincial, so obnoxious. And why the hell does she keep repeating herself? I heard her the first time, for chrissakes.”

Note to self: don’t drink on an empty stomach. You’re simply too old for that shit any more.

After waking up feeling like an asshole, I was ready for grease. Brett and I went out to breakfast with Bo at Fairfield Family Restaurant. Then we went back to Bo’s place to watch football. I took a nap on one of his couches.

Brett and I got home around three, I think, and I spent more time messing with my computer and reading Ilium and thinking about knitting. I tried not to dwell on how stupid and ugly and provincial I was feeling. I also didn’t dwell on the dirty dishes so much that they didn’t get done. At 7:30 I made cabbage and noodles and a massive salad, and we ate it from a TV tray in our dark living room in front of Titanic, which, inexplicably, was what Brett was watching. I went to bed early. Today, I merely feel awkward and unattractive. Tomorrow I should be fine. One hopes.

In which I cut the sleeves off an old bride’s maid’s dress – eggplant, floorlength, strappy, six-paneled, and synthetic – and wear it to a party.

Elisabeth and Nathan were married at a quarter to four on Sunday, but we didn’t go to the wedding. I was napping, and Brett was probably sitting on the couch watching TV.

As I was getting dressed to go to the reception though, Brett, who’d said he didn’t want to go, changed his mind and hopped in the shower. When he was clean and dressed, and I had done my hair and make up, we hopped in his truck and left for town. I had a moment of thinking, “This isn’t a good idea, us going together. He’ll want to leave early. Damn.” But on we went.

We were half an hour late, but the reception was just getting into full swing. The dance floor was filled with a gaggle of screaming, dancing, flailing children, some in their wedding finery and the rest dressed as superheroes. One toddler climbed the dais and was heading hand-out straight for the cake but a dad, seemingly materializing out of nowhere, swooped her up before the cake could have a handful of frosting removed from it. “Now that’s good parenting,” I said to the person standing next to me.

I wandered around seeing the wonderful out-of-town people, and gave lots of hugs and kisses to old friends. Eventually I found the bar and got a glass of cabernet, then I sat with Kevin & Aimee for the toasts. Bijan came to sit with us.

Bijan gave the funniest toast I’ve ever heard about eating mystery-meat-on-a-stick in Chinatown and spending the night in the couple’s guest room emitting horrible flatulence. I think Aimee thought it was crass, which it certainly was, but I laughed my ass off. It was a nice counterpoint to the sweet, lovey-dovey toasts that had gone before. I like a lovey-dovey toast as much as anyone, but a wedding celebration should encompass both the estoteric and the profane, just as a marriage does.

I don’t know about yours, but my marriage certainly seems to involve a great deal of farting.

I was found by my beloved Eliana and hung out with her for awhile, missing the cake cutting and the throwing of the bouquet. I kept drinking cabernet. Eventually Eliana and I parted and I wandered around accosting people, having no idea how drunk I’d gotten. Every time I went to get my glass refilled, I asked Eli if anyone had told him in the last twenty minutes that he was adorable. I told Tammy that her kids were gorgeous and that she was a saint. I noticed myself repeating things for emphasis – a horrible habit I have, but one I can’t seem to break – and I started kissing people on the lips.

Eventually my path crossed Brett’s again and of course he wanted to leave. I went to see if I could crash with Hattie & Joe, and they said I could, so I went back and told Brett that. Inexplicably, it pissed him off so I left with him. At eleven. All those cool people in town and a big dress-up party to see them at, but he wanted to go home at eleven!

I hate him.

On the other hand, when we were driving home I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, and realized I was totally shitfaced and probably would have gotten (even more) obnoxious if I’d stayed there. So it worked out for the best, even though I was hurt and pissed we had to leave when I was having so much fun. And I’d just discovered the hors d’ouvres, and hadn’t had as much time to munch on them as I’d wanted. Goat cheese and pesto – yum!
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In which I work my ass off for, well, for fun. Apparently.

Last night I went to Elisabeth’s bachelorette party, which did not involve male strippers and booze.

It was a scavenger hunt.

It started at the Farmer’s Market at six PM sharp, wended its way through Oby Nelson park, the graveyard, Chatauqua Park, and all of the open businesses on the town square, and it ended at Chloe’s house at about ten-thirty for pizza and beer.

We had to ask the Farmer’s Market vendors embarassing questions to get clues to give to Farmer Doug to get additional clues. We had to kiss Adam Perkins on the lips, throw watermelon at each other…

…pour water out of cups attached to our heads into cups attached to our teammate’s head, break water balloons with a Bic pen while blindfolded…

…collect flora in the dark, take headstone tracings in the dark, collect things like BBQ sauce and pickled ginger from various vendors on the square, buy produce and light bulbs and matches, go to the fire station, record various sounds, take various pictures, and in general accost strangers for weird things.

It was actually kinda stressful. It felt more like working than relaxing, what with the hurrying and the talking to strangers and the running around feeling stupid, but it was my first scavenger hunt so I may not have had exactly the right attitude.

I can’t express my admiration for the amount of work Chloe did setting it up, though. She’d gotten all of the Farmer’s Market vendors in on the game, she’d gotten four or five people to go to the various locations and run our little tasks (she’d even collected Pabst Blue Ribbon racing jackets for them to wear, so we could find them at each place), she’d made up the lists and made copies and devised a point system. She’d set it up so that each team ended up with bags of produce from the market, which she and her boyfriend then used to make pizzas and salad. She’d gone, in a nutshell, totally overboard designing this scavenger hunt and it rocked.

If you like that sort of thing.

I really didn’t enjoy knocking on a stranger’s door at 10:21 pm to ask them to come out on the porch for the “photo of the team with an unfamiliar family on their porch” picture, worth 100 points. I didn’t mind kissing Adam (50 points), nor did kissing the blue room bother me (100 points), but interacting with strangers at their door weirds me out. (It was too much like canvassing for OSPIRG, which I only did for a month one summer but I truly hated it.) It was just our luck we got some International MIU students who didn’t really seem to know what a scavenger hunt was, but they were nice enough to pose for a picture with us.

I did like visiting the fire house, though. Who doesn’t adore firemen! My favorite part of that was watching Ali jump six inches when the guy started the siren up. She’s so cute.

Oh, yeah – I was on a team with Ali and Rachel Black. Those chicks rock. And Elisabeth apparently loved the scavenger hunt, and that was the whole point. Best wishes, e!

In which I prepare to hang out in a room full of women.

I’m going to Chloe’s to celebrate Elisabeth’s bridal shower. Yay! I do not have a camera with me to record this event, not even my cell phone (I don’t know where it is; I hope it’s at home on the laundry table).

Good thing Chloe’s a photographer.

I just saw Penny and Enzo in the parking lot. Enzo’s getting big.

In other news, I got a brand-new computer at work! It rawks. I’m so happy.

In which a superior woman serves me superior pizza.

I went to Christina’s for lunch today. She made awesome pizzas and salad. Her kids are aweome. Prasada was in a mood because she was starving and I was late, and she totally cracked me up about five times.

Christina and I talked about going to visit the nuns in Atchison with Tahmi the last weekend in September. I’m really stoked about the trip.

After a too-leisurely meal, I started making noises about having to go back to work. Christina said, “No, no, no! That clock’s slow!”

I told her I was leaving right then, even as she handed me a paper cup full of strawberry/raspberry smoothie she’d just whipped up in her Vitamix, “because otherwise I’ll get trapped here in your vortex of fun and I’ll never be able to leave! Now stop being more fun that work right now!”

They even followed me out to the car, trying to trap me in their vortex of fun. Those Wadsworths, they’re dangerous.