Everybody loves getting drunk phone calls and drunk texts, right? So a blog post after I’ve had a fair amount of red wine should be a freaking blast. I make no promises as to coherency.
(Stop worrying so much, I’m not drinking at work. I’m writing this Wednesday evening and it happens to be my only night free this week.)
(Harrison’s here with me. So I’m not drinking alone.)
This seems like the time to tell the story of the bottle-and-a-half of red wine.
So about a year ago, Alex and I decided that we’d been drinking too often and we were going to go sober for two weeks. Except to kick off this fortnight of sobriety we were each going to have a bottle of wine. And before we started this evening, Cari, who was my roommate, and I watched “Drunk Histories.”
I don’t know if you know what this is, but basically it’s a YouTube series where they get people drunk, ask them to explain part of history, and get famous actors to act out the drunk person’s account of the historical event. The one we watched was about George Washington and his slaves, and the woman telling the story had had a bottle and a half of red wine. Paul Giamatti played Washington, hiccups and all. It was very funny, and I recommend you watch it.
Anyway, we went over to Alex and Brendan’s apartment, Alex and I each had a bottle of red wine, and then he said that he had another bottle and he dared me to split it with him. He DARED me, folks. I am not so far removed from fifth grade that I didn’t take that seriously, after a bottle of wine. A certain vision of the scene from “Raiders of the Lost Ark” popped into my head, where Karen Allen goes head-to-head with a huge Tibetan man drinking some kind of fermented yak milk (I assume) and beats him in a drinking contest. I am just as cool as Marion. I accepted.
You know, I’ve always been a pretty healthy drinker. I know my limits. I’d never blacked out before this night. Had thrown up maybe once from alcohol, which is saying something, as those of you who have recently been to college know. But never had I had a bottle and a half of red wine.
I don’t remember much of the rest of the night. The next morning was the first time I had the joy of learning from other people what I’d done the night before. Apparently this is how it went:
I started to talk about how I’d had as much to drink as the woman in that YouTube video. Cari asked me to tell the story of George Washington. I said: “I can’t tell you the story of George Washington, but I can tell you the story of my elementary school.”
At this point Cari thinks I’m just being myself, which is to say: strange.
Me: “When I was little, in elementary school, all the other kids made fun of me. They bullied me on the playground, and I was very sad. So I went into the forest.”
Cari: “Wait, what?”
Me: “I went into the forest, and I met Shakespeare.”
Cari: “William Shakespeare.”
Me: “Of course. Pay attention. So I met Shakespeare. And I asked him to write a play for me. So that they wouldn’t bully me anymore. And so he wrote ‘Hamlet.'”
Cari: “Uh huh.”
Me: “And I went back to the playground with this play, and I performed ‘Hamlet’ for all of the other kids. And then they were scared of me! And they never bothered me again.”
Me: (We pass a 7-11) “And then a 7-11 rose from the ground…”
We made it home safely, seeing as there were only seven blocks to walk, and that Cari thought I was much more sober than I was. I came down with a bad case of the hiccups. Cari had the brilliant idea to pull out my video camera for this part, but unfortunately it wasn’t very entertaining, since all I did was hiccup and then use my mom’s patented anti-hiccup strategy of drinking a glass of water upside-down to get rid of the hiccups. So she turned the camera off.
Just in time for me to throw up pure red wine over basically every corner of my very-recently-furnished room.
That’s the story, folks. A 23-year-old woman making a fool out of herself in her own apartment and having to do some creative baking soda work the day after, as she listened to her friends tell her things she didn’t remember she’d done from the night before. I’m not proud, but I am amused. Rest assured that my room stopped smelling of especially-acidic wine by the time the next month rolled around, and that the two weeks of sobriety was an almost-success, except that I went to a White Sox/Red Sox game a couple of days from the end of the two-week period and decided to splurge on some MGD. And never again have I had a bottle and a half of red wine to myself, nor have I blacked out telling stories of my childhood encounters with long-dead playwrights.
Although I do have two bottles of wine right here tonight. It’s been about a year, and I have an audience of one–maybe it’s time for Laura’s Drunken Histories, Part II.*
*Hi Mom and Dad!