Every year the hubby and I head to Oktoberfest to celebrate life but mostly as a perfect cover for him to drink copious amounts of beer. This past weekend was no exception. We hadn’t been out and about in a couple of months (refer to previous entry on how he is now a holy being who can do no wrong with his over-packed schedule of work and law school,) and we gathered a few friends to celebrate with us.
After frantically searching for and securing a sitter, flat ironing my hair, and putting on wedges (yeah, bad choices were on sale apparently,) we were headed out! We got into the Suburban, which is clearly the vehicle of choice for a couple’s night out (aka smallest car we own,) and drove the short distance to the German American club. In which time, my oldest managed to FaceTime me 3 times to update me on her fights with her siblings. I may or may not have ignored the last call. I should have known the Gods were working against me when it started to pour as soon as we arrived. Goodbye silky-smooth hair.
Now see, in my 20’s going out was the norm. Like a Monday through Monday thing. No biggie. I would go out with friends, stay out till 4 am, drink like an Irish fish, and get up the next day at 7 am and head to work as if NOTHING had happened. One of my favorite places to head to was Hooligans (RIP, I heard it was shut down due to numerous drug-related incidents.) It was a nasty, dark, smoke-infested dungeon I spent hundreds of hours at. Ladies night, karaoke night, whatever the heck night, I was there! Skimpy outfit on, strong liver in! Rum and cokes, endless shots, anything would go! My first drunk night in my life started (and ended) there, where I swore off liquor and promised the Gods I would never over indulge again. Oh boy. And little secret, it is where hubby and I met. I know, I know, not exactly the romantic story you wanna tell your grandkids.
Back to my thirties… Four kids…. Very little to no time to myself… My liver has retired and is living somewhere nice I imagine, sipping on pina coladas under the sun.
Oktoberfest is pumpin’; the average age in that joint was 68 so I am feeling like the spring chicken that I am (not.) Dear husband starts the night by buying jagger shots for our group, along with a couple pitchers of beer. Yay! We down the shots, and memories of previous Patty B.C. (before children; see previous post) come to the surface. We are laughing, dancing, more shots are here! Woohoo! Life is great and the night is young! Then you realize it’s only 9:15. Patty in her 20’s would be waking up from her pre-party nap to start getting ready. Can you say lame?
At this point your 8 year-old I-Pod owner has FaceTimed you 12 times. She is crying. Someone slapped her in the face. The babysitter is nowhere to be found. You are freaking out a little, but damn it, you are turnt (I hear that’s what the kids are saying these days) and she is killing your vibe. Your attention span is shorter than your liquor tolerance, so you go back to taking shots and taking bites of that enormous, juicy, German sausage.
A flashback of your twenties emerges – you are at Wet Willies, a clearly high-end joint of frozen beverages. It’s your 25th birthday. You have 5 drinks. Everyone there has bought you a ONE DOLLAR vodka shot (we are talking quality here.) And you walked away unscathed. Well, almost. You made it home pantless, but nothing major to report. Quickly reality reels you back in when you realize you cannot walk. You wedges are long gone, you have put on the flats you stashed in your mom purse before leaving the house. Suddenly you are acutely aware that you should have denied the last 3 shots of jagger but now it is too late. Vision is blurry, bad decisions are all around you, and your other mom friend is grabbing your boob.
Fast forward to 12:30am. Yes, luckily I was sober enough to realize coming home at a decent time would ensure the babysitter wouldn’t kill me and return for business. We are headed home. Dread is in the air. How long will the baby sleep? How many hours will I get to recover? Will I sleep through the hangover part? The answer is NO. Your kids will cry all night, wake up at 6 am, and you will wish sudden death because the hangover part is just around the corner. Then your 8 year old will shame you for staying out “all night long” and “how could you leave us all night to hang out with your friends?”
It is now Monday. The worst is over, since I am 48 hours PP (post party.) But here is the news my friends – I. AM. STILL. HUNGOVER. How the hell is this happening? Why do I still have a headache? Feel nauseous? WHAT THE HECK! Patty from her 20’s would be on her second hangover, maybe third given the right circumstances. Patty in her 30’s is dying a slow death, highly medicated by Tylenol and essential oils, coupled with a dash of regret and sadness. When did my liver quit on me?
Until next Oktober,
Patty