I figured, hey, I am not pregnant and taking a monthly cycle "off," so how's about I get my drink on? I had wine with dinner Thursday night. I woke up up with a headache Friday morning. But we had been at a loud concert* Thursday night so I assumed it was related to the ringing in my ears.
Saturday night we went to see my brother-in-law's band reunion gig (they were semi-famous in the 90's and haven't played together since) and packed into a crowded, smoky downtown Detroit bar. I could not resist the $3 vodka cranberries, so I helped myself to three. Oh shit. I felt fine until I woke up Sunday morning. Hell, I might still be hung over. I find the whole thing pitiful. Three drinks? My grad school self would laugh at my post-grad self. We used to make up pitchers of jungle juice with Gatorade titrated to the perfect balance of electrolytes, so you could simultaneously get wasted and remain hydrated. Beautiful. University of Michigan education dollars at work. (We're all science professionals walking undetected amongst you now, so be afraid. The same guy who tried to smuggle an entire 24-can case of beers into a football game on his person and consequently spent game day in the drunk tank is now a faculty member. At Stanford.) Where has my tolerance gone? Has my liver become so purified during this prolonged period of trying not to have a period that it chokes on a mere whiff of liquor? Sad. I can't even fall off the wagon properly anymore.
Side note on the stinky bar/brother-in-law band adventure: there were, of course, tons of old friends that my husband, sister-in-law, and brother-in-law knew once upon a time, who showed up to relive the glory days. Enter their long-lost high school classmate, Lisa. Lisa was drunk by the time we got there, and she decided that my husband and sister-in-law were her bestest buddies. When I was introduced to her, the first thing that flew out of her mouth was "Do you have any children?" -- to which I gave my usual, frowny-faced, "No, I do not." Without missing a beat, she blurted out, "Well, you don't look like the type who would." Uh, fuck you very much? She handed me her beer, turned her back to me, and took a bunch of pictures. Of my husband. Then she threw her arms around him, declared that she had always loved his face, and planted a prolonged kiss on his lips while my sister-in-law and I stared on in slack-jawed, creeped-out disgust. She said later that he was the brother she always wished she'd had. Riiiiiight. I've said it before, and I come to you with fresh proof: we are freak magnets.
* We went to see Them Crooked Vultures; check them out if you're a music geek like me. Queens of the Stone Age meets Foo Fighters meets Led Zeppelin -- no kidding -- literally a mash-up of these bands, and very good.