Let's see how fast the ol' fingers can fly this morning. I have been editing one of the biggest messes this morning that I have ever seen. I have been working on it for two and a half hours, and I am on page 14 out of 62. Sigh.
Don scored an 80 on the nerd quiz, just so you know. I asked him if I could post that here, and he said, "If you want to."
He and Ellie are coming over tomorrow so we can take apart our old computer with the kids and put it back together and then order something in for dinner. Linda wisely decided to stay home and enjoy her time to herself.
Last night, we went out. It was so much like college-- I bathed before ER, then sat with a towel on my head in my bathrobe, and then did my hair and makeup and got dressed at 10:00 p.m. We were going to the opening of a new club in town (well, okay, the ONLY club in town; Toons does NOT count, Karl, because it is just too icky for words).
I was nervous about going because I was just sure we wouldn't know anyone (hahahahahahahahaha, but I really did think that!) and that I would feel like this old, fat woman around all the students.
We saw people we knew right away, and went and sat with them. We got a free well drink with our admission fee, and it was the crappiest gin and tonic I've ever had (well=bottom shelf alcohol that sucks). I actually went back and ingratiated myself in with the barmaid (who served us in a tube top with a $20 bill sticking out of her cleavage, and I thought, "Are there strippers here?") by saying, "I don't think there is actually any gin in this."
She said, "Well, I know there is because I made it," but she added some gin all the same, and then later refused to serve me, ignoring me three times and then finally passing me off to a guy, whom I tipped generously. Bitch.
But there wasn't any gin in it.
When I had to start paying for my drinks, I was standing there (being ignored) with Royce, who had a $100 bill (ha, in your face, Bitch, that will teach you) and so I got the TOP shelf gin-- Kendricks.
Halfway through that gin and tonic, I was talking to Robin, who had come (Robin is one of the only people in this town who really knows how to go to an opening. She had dressed up and her entourage had dressed up as well: slinky halter dress, makeup, tights (she tucked her wallet into her crotch), and moon boots), and a woman we knew came over and told us she was drunk, so she was just going to stand there. I teased her-- she is about 1/3 of me-- that I was not drunk and we'd had the same amount to drink.
That always comes back to bite me.
The dance floor was great with terrific light shows and smoke that smelled like vanilla and laser shows on the ceiling and very good music. I was wearing my black cashmere sweater with nothing underneath but my bra, and next time I go, I will wear a tank top. I was slick under my sweater, and it was a little nasty, but I just had such a good time dancing-- Yaz, New Order-- ahh, my college days came hurtling back to me, and I danced my ass off!
Dereck went and got me a drink when I'd drained the second g and t ("Surprise me," said I) and brought me back a Cosmopolitan.
By the time we left at 1:00 a.m. (How in hell did that happen?), I was certifiably, Vonnegut-dialing, drunk.
Naturally, I had to call someone. Who would be up?
"Karl, I think I am drunk."
"I know you are."
"How can you tell?"
"Voice pitched three octives higher and slurring."
Then I started laughing and apologizing, my drunken MO. As soon as I got home, I started instant messaging him and doing some drunken commenting (sorry!), and then drank copious amounts of water and headed off to bed.
I am not hungover today, and surprisingly, not addled or very tired. My body just knows its routine, when it should wake, and when it should sit in this chair for eight hours.
I will surely crash later.
I told Sam he could invite a friend over to play Halo2, so hopefully the boy will be able to come, and we are ordering pizza and buffalo wings (Christian requests it daily, and he is lucky to get it once every couple of weeks). I imagine that when I put the small fry to bed, I will fall asleep with them.
What are you doing this weekend?
Here is to three-day weekends. Thank you for your great accomplishments, Dr. King.
Oh that reminds me. Did you hear about that stupid Royal Twit, Harry?