Party like it's my birfday
I have a stomach ache today. [that sentence played in my head to the tune of Green Day's Restless Heart Syndrome] I can't decide if it's due to the aftermath of a massive Italian food overload, or due to certain indiscretions taken with concoctions of ethyl alcohol, sugar, and esters (this is my fantasmogoric misuse of chemical terminology that underlines my ignorance of the whole science, but I think I seem to remember "esters" were responsible for perfumes, smells and flavors? I'm trying to say, I had many artificially flavored alcoholic beverages last night).
Dinner was decadence with tomatoes, olive oil, and a rich creamy sauce. We waited for a while, and worked up quite a cranky appetite, which, as we all know, leads to the eyes-bigger-that-gizzard phenomenon, plus, the owner, feeling guilty for making us wait, sent over more FREE food - basically, we all packed it in like it was our job.
After dinner, where I had already downed a few glasses of fermented grape beverage (fancy for wine), we made our way to Wonderbar, a regular hangout of yore, which I had not visited in, probably, years. Back in the day, when I was young and hot, and so were my friends, and Wonderbar was actually a good bar, and had tables, a chill atmosphere and a jazz band, we used to go there, sit at a hightop, order the platter of hot cookies and coffee, and dish about boys and sex. Compare notes on technique and experiences, if you will. Those of us who HAD technique or experiences, that is; back in the day, technique and experience were not a given. Now, though, the place changed ownership, and the tables have been cleared out; giant flat screens decorate the walls, and they've got some loser spinning bad music up in the "VIP" section. The crowd is interesting too; great for people watching and snarkiness.
But anyway - that is where we ended up. There was an intial warmup period of just sitting on the sidelines, making snarky comments about everyone else. We discussed how young people these days don't know how to dress and are shockingly overweight. Also, the cheesy laser discoball thing they've got makes everyone look like they have multi-colored measles. We got into the spirit of things, and ended up dancing and jumping around like mad, to the point where there were earrings lost, underpants seen, and promisees of vehicular sex made (but probably not fulfilled, I don't think). The rest is a blur.
I woke up this morning and, after allowing the 2 glasses of water and 4 advils to take effect on my battered body, took to assessing the overall damage. I found the following: a) my wedding rings and other jewelry were scattered in no particular pattern around the bathroom; b) my coat, jeans, and shoes were in an orgy-some pile on the floor; c) I had slept in my bra and the shirt from last night; d) there was a melted room-temperature remnant of a Burger King milk shake on the kitchen counter.
Then I proceeded to prostrate said battered body on couch, getting up only to get into bed for my second nap of the day.
The irony is, my husband, who is X number of years older than I, was spritely and spirited like a boy this morning, despite hammering away in the same way I did the night before. WTF?
OH- and did I mention how I spent yesterday afternoon? I spent it at Nip/Tuck. I'm serious. Remember, I got that skin treatment as a birthday gift? I was getting my face abraded by a very injected cosmetician. Injected, but great looking! It was totally awesome, momentary terror at a transient erythematous purpuric reaction of my sensitive face to the diamond sandpaper massage notwithstanding. Now I'm beauty product obsessed, if anyone is looking for a gift for me (coughskinceuticalscough).
What made me think the whole bar/martini/bootybumping/milkshake thing was still doable? I think it was my newly rejuvenated face, my immature mind, and my young heart that incorrectly thought that my body would follow suit and act younger than stated age. But you really can't fool mother nature.
Dinner was decadence with tomatoes, olive oil, and a rich creamy sauce. We waited for a while, and worked up quite a cranky appetite, which, as we all know, leads to the eyes-bigger-that-gizzard phenomenon, plus, the owner, feeling guilty for making us wait, sent over more FREE food - basically, we all packed it in like it was our job.
After dinner, where I had already downed a few glasses of fermented grape beverage (fancy for wine), we made our way to Wonderbar, a regular hangout of yore, which I had not visited in, probably, years. Back in the day, when I was young and hot, and so were my friends, and Wonderbar was actually a good bar, and had tables, a chill atmosphere and a jazz band, we used to go there, sit at a hightop, order the platter of hot cookies and coffee, and dish about boys and sex. Compare notes on technique and experiences, if you will. Those of us who HAD technique or experiences, that is; back in the day, technique and experience were not a given. Now, though, the place changed ownership, and the tables have been cleared out; giant flat screens decorate the walls, and they've got some loser spinning bad music up in the "VIP" section. The crowd is interesting too; great for people watching and snarkiness.
But anyway - that is where we ended up. There was an intial warmup period of just sitting on the sidelines, making snarky comments about everyone else. We discussed how young people these days don't know how to dress and are shockingly overweight. Also, the cheesy laser discoball thing they've got makes everyone look like they have multi-colored measles. We got into the spirit of things, and ended up dancing and jumping around like mad, to the point where there were earrings lost, underpants seen, and promisees of vehicular sex made (but probably not fulfilled, I don't think). The rest is a blur.
I woke up this morning and, after allowing the 2 glasses of water and 4 advils to take effect on my battered body, took to assessing the overall damage. I found the following: a) my wedding rings and other jewelry were scattered in no particular pattern around the bathroom; b) my coat, jeans, and shoes were in an orgy-some pile on the floor; c) I had slept in my bra and the shirt from last night; d) there was a melted room-temperature remnant of a Burger King milk shake on the kitchen counter.
Then I proceeded to prostrate said battered body on couch, getting up only to get into bed for my second nap of the day.
The irony is, my husband, who is X number of years older than I, was spritely and spirited like a boy this morning, despite hammering away in the same way I did the night before. WTF?
OH- and did I mention how I spent yesterday afternoon? I spent it at Nip/Tuck. I'm serious. Remember, I got that skin treatment as a birthday gift? I was getting my face abraded by a very injected cosmetician. Injected, but great looking! It was totally awesome, momentary terror at a transient erythematous purpuric reaction of my sensitive face to the diamond sandpaper massage notwithstanding. Now I'm beauty product obsessed, if anyone is looking for a gift for me (coughskinceuticalscough).
What made me think the whole bar/martini/bootybumping/milkshake thing was still doable? I think it was my newly rejuvenated face, my immature mind, and my young heart that incorrectly thought that my body would follow suit and act younger than stated age. But you really can't fool mother nature.
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