January 4, 2011
So…we’re all gonna pretend that I’m blogging about the New Year before I blog about my Christmas travels because I’m trying to be different and creative and stuff but in all actuality it’s because I’m kinda PMS-y and dim-witted the last few days and the Christmas stuff happened, like, a whole lotta days ago and that’s gonna take a bunch of concentration to sort out and write about. And I’m not gonna lie to you guys. Something traumatic happened. And I’m about 98.3% sure that I have that post-traumatic stress disorder thing that Oprah and Dr. Phil are always yapping about and -like most things- I never gave a crap about until it happened to me. So I think the PMS, post-holiday exhaustion, family overload and PTSD have conspired to make me even more stupid than usual. And I also gained 6 pounds. Probably almost completely alcohol-induced. So none of my regular pants fit, and I’m wearing my fat pants until things settle down. Which had better be fast. Add to all of this the fact that I’m back home, with this cat THAT NEVER SHUTS UP, and my brain is Jello. Honestly you guys, if the government heard about this cat, they’d confiscate her and use her as a torture device that would work about a million times better than water-boarding. Water-boarding would be like a day at the spa compared to being meowed at by this cat (multiply the following clip by, I don’t know, every freakin’ moment of every freakin’ day of my life?):
Anyway, this year we decided to spend New Years Eve with a couple of our friends and go out to dinner then ring the New Year in at our house with some drinks. This was a pretty major decision, since all we’ve done in the past for New Years is rent movies and totally fail to stay awake until midnight. Wait! I almost forgot! Two years or so ago we celebrated at my in-laws house, where Ethan was the party/game coordinator, and it did get pretty wild, as you can see by the photo below:
|Me (in my PJ’s w/ no make-up and a feather crown) getting ready for a major living room race with Steve’s mom.|
And this year when our friend asked Ethan if he was excited to stay up, Ethan said he gets to stay up until 9:00 on weekends, so 8:30 wasn’t any big deal. Which reminded us of a fact we had forgotten: We have been lying to Ethan all these years and telling him that New Years is at 8:30. So he’d go to bed. So we could watch grown-up movies. Alone. Not porn, though. That’s not what I mean by grown-up movies. At all. Get your minds outta the gutter. Sickos. Obviously 2010 was a very liberating year for us. We got to drop all the Santa/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy bullshit and we totally got busted in our New Years lie as well. So now one thing is clear: I obviously need to come up with some new lies. Life could get boring pretty fast if you have nothing to lie to your kids about.
Back to this New Years Eve: Long story short, I had at least 7 margaritas (that I can account for), and the last few I made myself. So they should basically be called tequila shots with a splash of lime. In a regular sized glass instead of a shot glass. And I was feeling pretty awesome. Until Saturday morning, when I had the first hangover I’ve had since college. True story.
|Number 5? Maybe 6? Practicing keeping the ‘stache dry whilst getting my drink on. In retrospect I wish I hadn’t been so good at it. Maybe the ‘stache coulda soaked up some of the tequila before I ingested it. Note to self: I hate hangovers.|
So I told Steve to never let me drink that much ever again, and he said “Why would I do that? You’re fun when you drink that much!” And I’m pretty sure he meant something dirty by that but I had at least 7 margaritas, so I’m just gonna play dumb and add that he’s obviously very, very selfish. Anyway, you know you’re old when a hangover kinda lingers all weekend. At least in college (Or high school. Sorry mom.) It was gone by noon. Or after I ate an Imo’s pizza. Whichever came first. At age 39 a hangover is brutal. And there is no Imo’s Pizza in Houston so it really double sucks.
So New Years is over. Ethan stayed up until about 1:30 and I stayed up until about 2:30. And we’re both still tired. When my alarm went off at 6:30 this morning I called it a f*ck-hole. Out loud. In a very angry voice. Like it has feelings and ears. And I could barely drag myself out of bed. And I fell down while trying to put on my pajama pants. And as I stood at the bottom of the stairs to Ethan’s bedroom I almost started to cry because they basically looked like Mount Everest to my foggy eyes and wobbly body. But then I remembered that blind dude who climbed Everest and I thought to myself “That guy must be a freakin’ moron. And he must not drink. Ever. And he must love him some Matt Lauer even more than I do to try that hard to get on The Today Show.” Then I sat on the bottom step for a minute, thinking about Matt Lauer, and all the things I could do to get on The Today Show to meet him that didn’t involve being cold or climbing anything (future blog). Then I remembered that if I get my lazy ass upstairs and wake up the boy I get to send him to school. All day. So I got that burst of energy I needed and climbed to the top, woke the boy, and went to make coffee. Then 10 minutes later I realized that Ethan never came down. So I did all of that again. Which obviously sucked balls twice as hard. But by 7:40 am when the carpool took him away (much better than Calgon has ever taken me away), it was so totally worth it.
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