Round 2

Writers Write

Yappy Hew Near’s!

on January 1, 2015

I mean, Happy New Year’s. And thank gods there are no more obligatory family holidays for a long-ass while!

In a family full of casual drinkers, I’m the lightweight. Always have been, although it takes more than half a glass of wine to get tipsy now. Still, I’m am basically the anti-drinker. Once a year, maybe. Fine, perhaps twice if there’s a really good reason. But since moving back to the states, I’ve realized two major things – and one was just a reminder. First, the reminder: my family is nuts. Second, the realization: They think it’s hilarious when I drink.

Last night was family night. My kiddo, niece, great-niece, and I went to an outdoor party and then settled over at mom’s house to chill for a while and let her spoil us since she lives for that. My mom came up to me last night after handing me my second glass of champagne, hugged me when I giggled over having to lick the flute because the contents sloshed, and then said “I love seeing you relax. You of all people deserve to once in a while”. Really, ma? Once in a while? Every time I’ve seen that woman since moving back, I’ve ended up with either a drink in my hand or one offered. Last night’s poison?

Brandy Alexander

Brandy Alexander. Tastes like a milkshake. Makes the walls move. It honestly just took the edge off.. at first. Until a second was offered. I was sure I passed on that, but someone said I drank half of it. I think they’re full of shit. But then the champagne popped and I do remember drinking that. Well, some anyway. Good gods. I don’t like champagne – until the middle of the second glass. But then I really like champagne. However, mixing brandy and champagne causes a strange reaction. I forget I have a left foot. Apparently, I kept walking around in circles in my mom’s living room while asking people why I couldn’t feel my foot? I’m pretty sure I only completed a spin or two, if that.

Somehow I ended up on the couch babbling something that made TOTAL sense to me. But my niece’s fiance/designated driver looked at my son and said, “I wanna be HER drunk in a few hours so I get to say whatever the hell I’m thinking at any given time without judgement.” Kiddo looked at the dude and said, “Oh, that’s not HER drunk.. that’s just HER. And she’s not really the type of person to give a rat’s ass over judgmental bullshit anyway.” Pretty much. And so I drank to that.

*Note: I was SURE I had 2.5 glasses of champagne. Turns out I had closer to 5. Why the discrepancy? Well, because apparently draining other glasses when they hand them over and say “Hey, O, I don’t want this. Care to finish it for me?” counts as part of the total amount of alcohol consumed. Whoops.

We left a little after 2 am because the wall kept moving and someone told me we were out of champagne. After I got home, good kiddo helped me upstairs and made me promise not to go back downstairs for ANY reason until I slept at least 8 hours. But just before bed, I realized I only had a few hours to accept a work assignment. So I set my alarm for 3 hours, crashed, and awoke to an extra day added to my work timer.. because my clients love me and totally understand that people here like it when I drink. And it’s a good thing my client adjusted the timer, because the alcohol must have convinced my fingers at 2:30 in the morning that “Yo! These are really good shoes, y’all!” was a good way to begin the next shoe description. The words were staring me in the face when I got up for real at 11:30-ish or so. Yeah, they’re not surviving the final edit. Sorry.

I was supposed to go back today for more family fun, but I opted out using work as an excuse. This afternoon I got texted that two more bottles of champagne were hidden in the house, and if I could find them they’re mine. Fuckers. All of ’em. And for that, they’re waiting another ten years to see me run into walls again. Or at least another year. ‘Tis a plan! Repeat after me: Ona will NOT become a lush. Sorry, ma.

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