I’m Up, I’m Down, I’m Over It

Ugh, I drank way too much wine last night (and somehow got talked into doing a big shot of rootbeer flavored vodka? ew. ew.) I feel like half the time when I am social these days, it results in me doing something I later regret, like barfing up and down the wall of someone’s bathroom.

But let me back up. [Warning: gross story ahead]

I was really psyched to hang out with a friend of mine, his twin brother, and brother’s girlfriend last night. But I had planned to shower at the yoga studio after class, then head down to the burbs where they live. Unfortunately, when I stepped out of the shower at the studio, I realized I’d forgotten to pack a pair of pants. I’d remembered everything else. Just not a change of pants. Since I do yoga in a heated studio (not quite “hot yoga”- Baptiste Power Yoga), my yoga pants were absolutely soaked. And I’d just gotten clean. I made up my mind that I would put the clammy pants back on, because what choice did I have? and then buy pants somewhere close to my friends’ house.

Turns out they live on the other end of Pearland from the Target, and by the time I got to the store it was already 40 minutes after the time I’d have liked to have been at my friend’s house. But I couldn’t spend the evening in wet pants. I just couldn’t. So I ran into the Target. Pants are tricky to buy at the best of times, but to grab a pair of jeans and hope for the best is near crazy-talk. I told myself that I could return the blasted things the next day, and fled with the closest-to-my size skinny jeans that I saw on the shelf, a bottle of wine, something passing for a sandwich, a banana, and a Ritter Sport marzipan chocolate bar (oh man.. marzipan).

I had to slither into the skinny jeans in the car. And oh my were they skinny. They looked a bit painted on, but they also made my ass look fantastic. Hey, I thought, I’m in the best shape of my adult life. I can pull these off. (They still want back to the Target today though- this divorcee has no money for extra pants right now.)

By then I was late late late. But we all sat around and drank wine, and chatted, and I was honestly feeling fine when the twins asked if they could practice massages on the girls (one is already a professional masseuse, the other is in school for it right now). They have a professional setup in the studio behind their house. In other words, pretty nice opportunity. So I lay down, hoping to get the tension worked out of my shoulders, and all of a sudden I had the spins like crazy.

“Stop thrashing and stay still”, T scolded.

I told him I’m usually a good massage patient, but that I thought I might barf. Nonsense, he insisted. But the room was still spinning. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, but seemed to be okay. Fine, back to the massage table. About 10 minutes into it the room was spinning viciously again and I knew I was going to be sick.

I rapidly lurched upwards, and tried to articulate that I needed the bathroom, but I was already throwing up in my mouth. I stumbled for the door, choked a bit and sprayed a touch of red vomit upon the door.

From there, I ran to the bathroom and essentially exploded. Wine everywhere. The room looked like a crime scene, and when I was finished being violently ill (stupid box wine), I realized I had to do a massive cleanup. I must have been in the bathroom rubbing at the walls for 20 minutes. The walls, the toilet, the plunger, the garbage can. Ugh.

I stumbled back into the living room, only to realize that I had thrown up down one of my shirts as well. I wound up forgetting my shirt at their house…

I cannot hold my alcohol anymore. And I’m 35, dammit. I’m too old for these shenanigans. Thing is, I really wasn’t trying to drink much- and T got similarly and accidentally blitzed (haven’t talked to the others), so I’m not sure what was up. I blame that evil root beer liquor.

Don’t know that I’ll be invited back there anytime soon.

I had to wait until 3AM to drive home so that I was sober enough to do so. And I still lay in bed like a zombie all morning popping ibuprofen.

I do think post-divorce I’m entitled to act out a bit, but I think I need to make sure it doesn’t involve much booze in the future. Wine sick is the worst for me. The most violently ill, and the most wretched hangovers.

My mood swings have also been violent lately, and I’m dealing with a lot of difficult brain stuff. So I’ll write a bit about that soon. And the wonderful boy I’m falling for- long distance, alas.

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