I'd stop and talk, but I'm already in love

Two weeks ago, a friend of mine told me that she burst into tears on a Sunday. She had spent the entire weekend running errands and preparing for big presentations she had to make during the week. On Sunday evening, she suddenly realized that her whole life was starting to serve her work and only her work, and that thought plunged her into a minor meltdown.

I do not know if it was that feeling, or the shiv in the gut from the taxes, or just reversion to the norm, but I decided to just go on a mental holiday this weekend. No worrying, no planning, no studying. No responsible behavior whatsoever. I want to say "I did nothing, and it was everything I hoped it would be." Yet that is not really fitting in this case, because I did more than I do most weekends. It is just that it all fit under the umbrella of alcohol & laughter, instead of the usual obligations. But it was everything I hoped it would be.

The bro-seph came over on Friday to pick up some mail and eat whatever was on my kitchen table. The kid has clearly been swallowed up by the relationship gods, because he went hyperactively jubilant at my simply tolerance of him dipping a piece of dark chocolate straight into a peanut butter jar. After that, I barreled my way into the oodles commune, bottle of Charbay in tow. Let the bender begin. I was pleased as punch to sit in her kitchen, to drink without hesitation, and to babble incoherently (and that was before the alcohol had gone into effect).

After drama-free Friday, I drank a gallon of water on Saturday morning. I contend that Charbay, Pomegranate Juice and Ginger Ale should not cause dehydration. Someone needs to work on this issue. Anyway, fully hydrated, I made a torte to bring over to a dinner party. About half way through the concoction of the pecan torte, I realized: I have never actually had a torte before. This can cause some issues, because I have no clue what a torte is supposed to taste like, or look like for that matter. So how would I know if the experiment failed? In the end, I mitigated all risks in this way:

When all else fails, chocolate frosting can cover up any potential blunders pretty well. I thought this dinner party was going to be low key, but I was clearly suffering from some kind of dementia. Where JP goes, low key is not a possibility. Instead, I drank a half a bottle of wine while I was regaled by many stories about Brazil, involving communication snafus, prostitutes, and of course snow. By the way, you have to work to drink a half a bottle of Gewurtzraminer. It takes dedication and focus- oh, and a good bottle that is not sickeningly sweet. So, I got home just in time to watch Eddie Vedder standing awkwardly next to Lindsay Lohan during the closing credits on SNL. That was a very weird visual, so I was glad to be under the influence at that moment.

Sunday, reality started creeping in. But before it fully manifested, oodles, ads and I went on a real adventure. We went to Cupertino, b*tches! I would love to complain about this, because I so enjoy whining, but actually, there was nothing at all unpleasant about it. Chai was in town, so we got to meet here there, along with maisnon and Anjali. This rocked because seeing Chai always rocks, meeting new people rocks, and laughing really hard rocks too. All of this plus an Indian pizzeria. And talk of Peru and karaoke. Even the drive home was fine, because the days are getting longer now. 280 was beautifully lush, because of the very rain that I am always cursing.

Wrapping so much joy into a ball, squeezing it tight, and ingesting it is a strange pill. It might feel like too much, even slightly manic, but it was just right. All the Sunday evening have-to-do's crept in, but without the same oppressive feeling accompanying it. I need to go on benders more often.