Archive for the 'Just Add Alcohol' Category

I’m kind of a big deal

July 16, 2007 | Filed under: Just Add Alcohol, Oh The Stupidity You'll See, The District Of Columbia

“A sense of humor… is needed armor. Joy in one’s heart and some laughter on one’s lips is a sign that the person down deep has a pretty good grasp of life.” ~Hugh Sidey

Now is as good a time as any to admit that I am perpetually late. I always have been and always will be. It’s chronic and I probably should get help with my procrastination tactics and yet it just continues and manifests itself as rather flaky behavior. Thus I look like a lame ass who is easily distracted by shiny objects and is unable to tell time.

I had excellent intentions to impress Abi. Because, I presumed her to be classy and witty and she once promised to send me Trader Joe’s products, so I was hoping that if I impressed her then maybe she’d send me my beloved Macaroni and Cheese. Of course upon my ridiculously late arrival to meet her, I had to first stop and grope my best friend’s sister and then turned around and lo’ there was Abi and lo, I had failed miserably at retaining any cool points that I may have previously had with her. Truth be told I was late, I obviously am big on groping and I can’t play shuffleboard for shit.

To make matters worse, as we were departing the bar, I just HAD to stop and say hello to someone else, because I’m super important* and I generally flit my way about the city meeting and greeting and schmoozing. With a general ‘look at me! I’m fucking fantastic’ demeanor**. Actually, the person that I HAD to say hello to was Zandria. And it was on of those odd, I’ve had two beers and perhaps I’m still drunk from the night before but I swear to God, I KNOW that woman, kind of moments. I swaggered up to say hello with an abrupt “Hi, I’m Heather”. Because OBVIOUSLY, she should know who I am just by that statement. She did. We shook hands and then I saw my reflection and noted that the first impression both Zandria and Abi would have of me is a girl who wears brown tops with black flip flops and keeps her hair in some odd bird’s nest type fashion on top of her head.

So to recap: I’m late, I’m flaky, I can’t dress myself and my lord, THE HAIR.

Thankfully, some deity was looking down at me on Friday night and both Abi – who is lovely, classy and witty as hell and Zandria – who is taller than in pictures and seemed nice in the 20 seconds that I spoke to her– appreciated my oft randomness and well noted lush like qualities. And perhaps I am a fun person to meet…and you know, modest as hell.

The way I see it, despite the above faux pas, I was rather tame around these class act ladies, as opposed to the end of the evening, when left to my own devices and friends who enjoy a Miller light or Seven. Which kind of looked like this:

And that? That is what many of you have to look forward to in Chicago. I’m just going to apologize in advance.

*Borrowed from Schnozz
**For the record, I fucking can’t stand schmoozing and I’m pretty bad about it. And in addition to being perpetually late, I’m perpetually socially awkward.

Intolerance

June 4, 2007 | Filed under: Just Add Alcohol, Oh The Stupidity You'll See, The District Of Columbia

“Drunkenness is nothing but voluntary madness.” ~Seneca

A few weeks ago I received a phone call from a parent saying that someone had read on my evil little blog that I walked through the streets of Georgetown drunk. I had to correct said parent and say not only have I walked through the streets of Georgetown drunk, but also Chinatown, Gallery Place, Capitol Hill (both the House and Senate sides), Bethesda, Chevy Chase, AU Park, and up and down Connecticut Avenue from 17th street to practically Rockville. All of which doesn’t necessarily make me a raging alcoholic, but a person who has spent a good part of her young adult hood without a stick up my ass.

It hasn’t always been pretty or something that I’m really proud of and I can discuss some really ugly moments with hilarity, but only in hindsight. I am not necessarily proud of myself, but I am a girl who enjoys her wine and when I’ve had too much, I am very well aware and then I make the rather smart and logical decision to umm, not drink, because I enjoy being semi-functional in the mornings and being able to remember where I left my keys.

That said, moving to Upstate NY is a naturally slower pace of life where I’m not rushing around from Happy Hour to events each and every night. Which means that in the last three weeks, I’ve had exactly one bottle of wine and like four beers. No more of this overly priced vodka and club soda, shit. It’s just been straight up Magic Hat and the very last of my Trader Joe’s wine that I smuggled into my mother’s house underneath my sweatshirt.

The lack of drinking has boded well for my mind and given that I’m on some heavy prescriptions, I get up every morning ready and willing and able and not once, feeling like I shoved my head under a tire.

This week I returned to DC for a business trip and Saturday night, I found out the really, really hard way, that I am no longer 19 or 21 for that matter. That perhaps I should stop at three drinks and leave the fourth through sixth drink for the patrons waiting in line behind me. Maybe I needed to move to a place where drinking a bottle of wine an evening isn’t the norm. Maybe I needed the change of pace and my body rejecting vodka so very violently is its way of apprising me of it’s opinion.

This perspective has been carefully considered and duly noted for future reference. And I hope that my liver and I have a more amicable relationship from this point forward.

The time has come

May 7, 2007 | Filed under: Just Add Alcohol, The Great Moving Caper

“And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.” – Max Ehrmann

Last night after a whirlwind tour of Georgetown that included Café Bonaparte, Paolo’s and Café Milano, I cried. No, I sobbed. I sobbed in such a way that the girl walking in front of me down M Street, turned around while I was on the phone with my mother, to ask if I was OK. Because apparently someone bawling outside Sephora is unusual. I should have told her that they didn’t have my blush color and that just pissed me off a bit.

The good thing about mothers is that they know just the right things to say and to do, even if you are doing the whole shoulder shake sob thing from 400 miles away. As my mother gently reminded me that I don’t do change well. I actually find change to be some awful act of God in retaliation for all of those times I lied about who stole all the quarters out of the family ‘treat jar’. Or perhaps it’s because of that time I drove to the mall, well before I got my license. I lied about that too.

I thought I was badass and deciding to quit my job in search for something else was taken rather lightly. An outer body experience or something that told me that it was perfectly OK to uproot my life from my best friends and move to a place where it snows from October to April. A place where no one knows what the fuck ‘table service’ means and the closest Trader Joe’s is in Scarsdale. But really, I was handling it all quite well. And my mother even said that I could live with her forever so that I could keep my apartment down here. I really think that tears are the best way to a mother’s soul or at least the best way to get my mother to say something that she’ll find really regrettable by next Tuesday.

I needed a good cry. That’s all. It’s a lot – more than a lot and in combination with other huge changes – to take in and absorb and to be OK with. One of those changes, though not nearly as monumental is this site. It has moved. To here: www.nopasanada.org

It’s .org because .com and .net were taken. And much like I treat people who tell me that it snows in Albany, if you tell me that I am not an organization, I’ll punch you in the baby maker. Obviously there hasn’t been too much change.

The long goodbye

May 4, 2007 | Filed under: Humdrum, Just Add Alcohol, The Great Moving Caper

Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.” ~Garrison Keillor

I’m currently holed up in my house drinking fruit punch out of a plastic Front Page mug. I swear that each and everyday I get more and more classy and this, ladies and gentlemen, is the reason for why the boys are falling all over me.

Slowly I’m preparing myself for the inevitable and yet it doesn’t seem all that real yet. I’ll be seeing friends up until my departure. And thus far my friends – nay, family – have wined and dined me and plan to do so until my departure. It’s amazing what suddenly leaving can do. Everyone wants to do drinks and dinners. I’ll even be imbibing the fermented drink on the Lord’s day, that’s what my schedule has become. Thus I’ve woken up every morning of the past week with a hangover.

My only question is why no one wants to come over midday and sit and watch Little Children while I fold my laundry and find bills from 2004?

Another question, how does one show sincerest apologies to their liver? Do flowers work? A nice and well thought out card with masterful prose as to the wonder and lovely thing that it is? Or shall I just appreciate it a little better and be kinder? That always helps.

Good news

April 15, 2007 | Filed under: Just Add Alcohol, Whoopdie Doo

“The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be only the beginning.” ~Ivy Baker Priest

How 99% of the population reacts to fucking fantastic, mind
blowing news:

- gracious thanks
- a good old fashioned BJ
- equally mind blowing sex
- giving thanks to jesus/buddah/moses
- veuve cliquot or Cristal

How I react to fucking fantastic, mind blowing news (short of Random House calling):

- deep sobbing shoulder shaking tears, in which my mother offers a paper bag of some sort so that I do not completely hyperventilate
- xanax
- movie popcorn with extra salt and butter
- xanax
- two Blue Moons
- two glasses of 365 Merlot (mmm, tastes like ass with a hint of fruit. Goes best with chipotle burritos and xanax)
- three ketel one and tonics
- crying
- xanax
- told Andrea no less than 4 times that I have a linebacker neck so my necklace would have to be like 21″ (I may have said “I’m built like a SF 49er.” She may have wanted to drop kick me from 3000 miles away)
- the fetal position
-sticking my head between my knees
- cuticle removal courtesy of my incisors
- xanax