Day 152

Is the day after the day that you cant quite remember.

Let me tell you something about Army Wives.

We may be housewives, moms, care package makers, endless support systems, ect.

But Ill be damned if we dont know how to party.

I wish I could explain last night in detail. However after the champagne was uncorked and flowing .... it all gets a little fuzzy.

Hands down my favorite part of the night (besides the part where I got to meet some fantastic new people!) was figuring out the next day all the things that happened when you were too involved with your drink to pay attention.

As detailed in this text conversation from this morning:

Me: Thats pretty amazing. I woke up this morning and had nooooo idea how I got home

R:Didnt Jessica take you?

Me: Thats what I hear. I cant confirm or deny that.

R: I should stop fibbing when I drink. I told thse girls that I was out of jail on probabtion for assault and they better watch out.

Me: What girls????

R:The ones who took pictures of us and wouldnt stop saying they were going to tell the commander what we were doing. So I told her that I didnt give a shit who she was, and to get her own rank and to stop wearing her husbands.

R: I also offered to introduce her face to the pavement.

Me: Holy shit! I missed all of this!

R: Then she told the bartender and got me into trouble. I called her a tattletale and said that if I saw her in the streets Id run her over.

R: Yeah I was pissed. I felt like Brad on RR/RW. I was "flexing down".

R: I should have known better than to drink whiskey. So from now on Im sticking to vodka. The soviets had it right.

The night consisted of a lot of (really terrible, at least in my case) drunken kareoke, running through the bar as if we ran that shit (oh wait ... we did), and I do believe that on the way out I hugged about 14 people. That I didnt know.

Im a super happy drunk.

The rest of this is not meant for the faint of heart, nor is it meant for my mother, God Forbid shell ever read this.

So anyways. I come home and let the dogs out. I apparently decide that this is as good of a time as any to have a little .... quality time with myself, lets say.

I dont know what the hell happened, because I woke up the next morning with my "quality time instrument" no where to be found, no pants on, and the dogs (who had apparently gotten fed up with my bullshit and put themselves to bed beside me) both looking at me with more doggie disgust than I had ever seen.

It took a good five minutes to figure out A) where I was (home! Yay me!), B) How I got there (apparently, Slago. But this is all hearsay), and C) Where all my shit was (in the next room, and nothing seemed to be missing. Another major score!).

Later today, I limped out to the car .... a result of one too many lunges. Not, as the Jessica's helpfully suggested, the aftermath of me being too drunk to figure out what hole to put it in.

Bitches.