While on vacation, I spent a little time as a super hero who poses as Norma Desmond from Sunset Boulevard during the early evening, but who is actually Ninja Drunk by night.
On St. Paddy’s Day, I was inspired by my Irish side, and all the stereotypes that implies. I felt perfectly fine the entire day, and then, without warning, I was struck *gasp* — Very Very Drunk. There were some early warning signs I suppose:
- when I knocked the beer over at the Dunedin Brewery
- when I stumbled down the hill on the way TO the Dunedin Brewery
- when I tried to cut my veal parmigiana at dinner and, instead, shot it onto my bread plate
- when I continued to eat said veal off the bread plate like it was supposed to be there
These things might have been clues to my deteriorating state.
After dinner it was time to go home. I fuzzily remember a cab ride back to the house.
Upon arriving home, this is how I remember the rest of the evening:
I walked toward the bedroom, pausing to look back at my husband Mike and our two hosts who were sitting on the sofa in front of the television. I wished I could join them there, but knew it would be best if I went to bed. I went to bed. Mike came in to say goodnight, made me laugh about something, and then I went sleep.
What actually happened:
I walked into the house and stood staring at absolutely nothing in the living room for a while. When asked what I was doing, I struck a pose, leaning against the wall on one outstretched arm, and announced with much dramatic flair “I am going to the bathroom!”
I made it half-way to the bathroom, before putting my hand on my hip, spinning to face the room again and saying in old Hollywood style: “I would like some water!”
I went to the bathroom and then went to bed. Mike came in and didn’t just make me laugh –I fell into a giggle fit that lasted well after Mike went back out into the living room. They could hear me cackling for several minutes afterward. I must have gotten up in an aborted attempt to join the group after that, because I didn’t stand in the hallway and look wistfully at them as I’d remembered. I cracked open the door and stared at them, like a Psycho Ninja Drunk. All they could see was my little eye peeping through the crack in the door.
All and all, a damn good St. Patrick’s Day, as far as I know. I must have been drinking Ninja cocktails, because they certainly did sneak up on me.
I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. Demille.
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