Drink. Drank. Drunk.
2005-06-05, 12:44 p.m.
Drink. Drank. Drunk.
Oh my good heavenly Lord, people. I donít know whether Iím still drunk or just hungover. Last night was a bit of a fest.
It started out innocently enough with Mexican food and one Michelob Ultra ďThe Beer That Makes You Skinny and Good Looking and SexyĒ. Thatís why Iím so skinny and good-looking and sexy. Then DW, Don and I went back to the house to watch a bit of basketball and wait for the Mighty KB to call us so that we could assemble at what is more and more commonly being called The Fag Bar among our circle of friends (itís not, itís a piano bar, but my homophobic husband supposes that if a gay person were to go out drinking around here, it would be at this bar) for a few drinks.
Which turned into 3 glasses of wine for me, chickens, and I donít metabolize my alkiehol all that well. So this morning (and itís really not technically morning anymore, is it?) I am all confused and disorientated (disorientated enough to say things like disorientated) as though my neurons are not firing together as a unified team. Itís as if my timing chain is a bit, um, off.
Some highlights of the evening include Don and I making up a system of elaborate hand signals and facial gestures to signify: Weasel, Badger and Wolverine, and the following conversation wherein DW hooted loudly at me:
Me: My mom has a woman she wants to set Don up with. She says sheís tall and slender, and very cute, and that she has a cute personality like mine-ď
DW: YOU? A CUTE personality? HA! Iíd call your personality a lot of things, but cute isnít one of them. Did you guys hear that? Lauraís mom called her personality cute??? More like mean as hell, is what Iíd call it.
Me: But Iím kind. And Iím fun and funny.
DW: Oh, yeah, youíre funny as hell. And mean as a snake.
Me: Iím mean as a badger (and here I commence to doing my Weasel, Badger, Wolverine hand and face signals, with Don joining in).
DW: What the hell are you two doing?
Me: Weíre weasels.
Don: Iím a badger.
Me: And Iím a wolverine.
Iím collapsing in a fit of giggles even as I write this. Iíll have to figure out how to get pictures on this here journal because Weasel, Badger, Wolverine is not to be missed.
There was this exchange, as well, after Don and I had made fun of DW about something or other, as we are wont to do:
DW: I hate it when you two get together. All you do is make fun of me.
Me: Baby, you know we canít help it. You set Ďem up, and we just drive Ďem home.
DW: Bend over and Iíll drive you home. Oh yeah, Iíll drive it RIGHT home.
Yíall, DW and I had sex twice yesterday. Itís amazing what going out together and having fun, and having sex twice in a day can do for a strained relationship. But if thereís one thing Iím not good at, itís drunken late night sex. I like it in the early afternoon, stone cold sober. Before the festivities. I have no drunken libido. All I wanna do is dance dance dance. Letís listen in on the sexy pillow talk that got DW laid late last night:
DW: Do you think we can do it again?
Me: Weíll need the lube. You know what Iím like.
DW: Thatís OK. I donít think I can finish anyway.
Me: Are you going to know when to stop, or are you just going to keep trying and trying and trying?
DW: I wonít try for too long.
Me; OK, when the big hand is on the 6, you have to stop.
Hee! See how sexy we are? Do not disturb the sexy.
Hereís the morning-after conversation:
Me: We had drunk sex last night, didnít we?
DW: Yes, we did.
Me: We did for a long, long time.
DW: Long for us, yeah. About ten minutes.
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