Starting Off With a Bang ...

... followed by a crash.

As previously mentioned, I spent New Year's Eve at home, with my dogs. The Offspring were off at various friends' houses or parties. My Seattle friend (aka My Bitch, the Cynical Sicilian, from past posts) came by, and we went out to rent movies. Wheee! Yeah, well, like I said, my suburb isn't exactly Funky Town. Anyway, we ran into one of the women from my parent advocacy group, doing the same thing. She came over as well - we didn't exactly have to twist her arm. I mean, come on, who could say no to partying babes and bitches in the suburbs?

Plus, we had liquor.

Boy did we.

I, it turns out, am sadly out of practice when it comes to anything beyond the powers of beer and wine. We had Absolut (currant and vanilla), Jose Cuervo (he is a friend of mine), rum (which we didn't drink), grenadine, sweet vermouth, and all kinds of mixers. Plus, we had a shitload of food. I invented a new drink, which sounds much better with my real life name, but which will be referred to here as the Cowbell Tingle. Doesn't have quite the same ring, but whatever. Some of you will be able to read between the lines. (I actually wanted to name it the Pom-Nilla, but my friends didn't think it was as witty and amusing as I did. The next day, I could see why. )

"Cowbell" Tingle

Absolute Vanilla (probably about 1/3 of the drink?)
Pomegranate 7-Up
Pomegranate/Cranberry juice
Ginger Ale

I can't give you exact amounts, because drink mixing has to come from the heart and soul. Plus, I can't really remember.

Anyway, with that, the aforementioned shitload of food, Monsta Jams in the CD player (can I get a woot-woot!), we were getting our party on. Whoo-eee, our little slice of suburb did turn into Funky Town for a few hours. At least in our minds. Mason kind of had a minor freakout at the stroke of midnight, what with the fireworks and all, and startled my friends, who were not expecting a crazed round of barking and banging around my tiny living room, but he calmed down. He's not a fireworks kind of dog. Now, My Bitch isn't much one for drinking. She's beyond lightweight. Like featherweight. Bantam weight. You get the idea. My other friend and I, however, were drinking our juicy tasting drinks, and of course, they didn't taste that strong, so we sort of forgot to take the usual precautions like checking one's bodily reactions for a while between drinks.

I think it was the shot of tequila that kicked things over the edge. Yeah. Jose is a dangerous lover, y'all.

Suffice it to say no one drove home. We all crashed, probably around 3 or 4am. So out of practice am I, that I forgot to drink a bucket of water with 2 Excedrin before crashing. The next morning, I woke up to find My Bitch gone, and my other friend feeling much the same as I did. Which is to say, basically like shit. When you wake up wondering what the hell crawled into your mouth and died, that means you screwed up.

It's never worth it the next day, people. Gawd.

But damn was that a good mini-party while it lasted. I think we've got plans for the next Federal Holiday, even though I'm pretty sure it's honoring the requisite Dead White Men. Presidents Day, isn't that the next day the working stiffs are off work? Given the current administration, it really puts a bad taste in my mouth to honor the presidents. But, no worse than the taste I woke up with on the first morning of 2008, so party on, Garth.

Next time, I'm pacing myself with those Tingles.