The Morning After. No Biggie.

I drove my drunk neighbor home last night. She told me that she knew she could count on me. This is so depressing.

It's not so much that she and her husband got shit-faced at a school auction, and that they spent over five grand on all sorts of lucre that I won't even be able to borrow (backstage passes to concerts, artwork). And it's not even that she was an adorable drunk - happy (" I think I am very drunk"), self-effacing ("I think I am very drunk"), introspective ("I think I am very drunk") and a sparkling conversationalist ("Am I very drunk?"). I mean, God bless the young drinkers.  They are funding our locals schools, waving their auction paddles in the air, thinking they are ordering another round for the table when they are actually bidding fourteen hundred dollars for a one-day zoo pass and pizza lunch.

Someone at my table offered two grand for my unfinished salad. There's just nothing wrong with heavy drinking at school auctions. In fact, the NEA might want to take note of this post when PBS funding is up for a vote again. Cheap booze, readily available. The paddles practically raise themselves.  I'm just saying.

My issue is that Heather called me at 8 fucking thirty this morning to thank me for driving her home. 

I was asleep, of course, drooling into my bite guard and dreaming about strong coffee and hip replacement surgery. I squinted at the Caller ID, saw it was Heather and picked up because I was worried she and her husband were too sick or something to care for their kids. Instead, I hear this chipper, "good morning!" and that same adorable laughter that rang out of my car window all the way down the 205 freeway last night, singing out, "I was only supposed to spent two HUNDRED dollars tonight!"

I croaked to her, "you sound good this morning. How are you feeling?"

She didn't even understand the question. Evidently, drinking your weight in alcohol and falling asleep on the living room floor does not necessarily preclude a restful sleep and the ability to pop up at seven o'clock with your kids, make them breakfast and then go for a run.

And that just pisses me the fuck off.

I drank very little last night, got eight hours of sleep and I am the one dragging my fat old ass around the house this morning - limping (I have no idea why), burping, headache and no recollection of how a dollar bill got into my bra. I am sitting at my desk this morning, rubbing my forehead and trying to decide whether I should take my nap before or after lunch.

Heather just went jogging by. If she waves to me I will give her the finger. Just for being young.

So, with my 57th birthday just around the corner, I am making a resolution. Starting today, I am not going to go gently into this good morning. No reason that I should be shuffling around, popping Advil, watching the world go jogging by. I am not going to be the old biddy who has one champagne cocktail, wears sensible shoes and drives the life of the party home.

The world is my (kosher) oyster. I can whip myself up into shape; exercise, lay off the hooch and the carbs, shower regularly and not try to pretend the blood dried to my toes from last week's toenail accident is red nail polish.

Or I can stop answering my phone at 8:30 on a Sunday morning and carry on as before.

I'll let you know after my nap.

Comments

[Madge]

Don't answer the phone ever again at that hour. Oh and the say time is wasted on the youth. Not so sure when they seem to spend so much more time than I do doing just about everything I hate like exercising and being so chipper. I used to be like them but gave it up for staying in my pj's until the late afternoon when I shower and actually run some errands or going out early and coming back to get back in my jammies and 3 in the afternoon. What a great life I have. Now back to the sleeve of thin mints.

[yochi]

i have an answering machine...

jenchi

[Irene Dawn Davenport]

This pisses me the fuck off too, or it would if I hadn't already been Heather in an earlier life..I'm pretty sure you were too. It's just Heather's turn to be young and chipper. Let's just wait and see
if she can keep it up. I'm filing her under bad friend for calling so damn early though. Hey Ann, you're hilarious.

[Colin Summers]

The last school auction I went to I was battling a migraine and was on Vicodin. I spent $1,800 including $400 for $600 worth of hot chocolate and pastries at my favorite bakery. And cello lessons. And, man, just about everything. But I am not allowed to go to those anymore. It was a silent auction. At one point I was copying a bidding number from one item to another and a parent said, "Is that your number? Can't you remember it?" and I said, "It's not my number, but this seems like a harmless prank and it helps the school, who can complain?"

I have not, however, ever left the school auction with a puppy I didn't plan to buy. Claire?

[Patsy]

I just got back from taking two bags of baked goods and eight gallons of water to my kids' school for their annual fundraiser, a 5K "Fun Run". I have no idea whose idea of fun this is (Heather's?) but I would rather spend $13.50 and two hours on the above supplies than four grand on an open bar auction, especially since drinking at home is cheaper and makes the baking so much more enjoyable. Granted, I wouldn't eat what I baked, but I wouldn't run five kilometers on a perfectly good Saturday morning, either.

Years ago my husband went off with a group of reprobates -- I mean, pals -- to a sporting banquet with said open bar. After spending thousands of dollars collectively on gosling oil paintings and other necessaries, their designated driver decided he'd suffered enough and drove them all to Hooter's. The next day, disgruntled wives swapped stories of being awakened at 2a.m. by the sound of their husbands being thrown in the door by giggling reprobates, followed by gooey declarations of love and bedside show-and-tells of limited edition bear prints and pamphlets for the dude ranch they'll be going to instead of Puerto Vallarta.