Sunday, September 15, 2013

too many shadows, whispering voices, faces on posters, too many choices

Apologies for not blogging last night; usually I blog no matter how much alcohol I've consumed, but by the time I got home (sometime after two a.m.), I was a total wreck. We celebrated Terry's birthday yesterday (happy birthday, Terry!), which meant I capped off a week of sin and iniquity with one last rollercoaster binge before I got back to my regularly scheduled days of working nonstop. In fact, today was supposed to be one of those days, but since I was too wrecked to do anything, I had to settle for sitting on the couch and staring at the television (lame).

Yesterday started off tame; I got up at 7:30 (shocking), puttered around the house, and then did a bit of work before showering - I cleaned my room, printed out a clean copy of Alex and Prudence's story so I can read it and start editing, and did some financial tings. Then I showered, put on a dress, and accompanied Terry to a festive birthday brunch at the fancy French bistro where I sometimes write. Chandlord and Katrina met us there, and it turns out the breakfast food there is fantastic - I'd never had brunch there, but my omelette forestiere was fantastic. I usually don't like omelettes because they can be dry, but these eggs were perfectly cooked, and the bacon/mushrooms/onions on top were also excellent. We split a bottle of champagne with orange juice for mimosas, and generally had a v. lovely time catching up. Unfortunately, I made a mistake adding up my meal + gratuity and was off by a dollar, which wasn't a big deal obvi, but it kind of became a big deal because Chandlord called me on it and then it became clear that I am known for an almost robotic tendency to always be correct about stuff. So that was both hilarious and vaguely terrifying. But if that was my one mistake for the year, I'll take it.

After brunch, we walked Chandlord to Van Ness so she could meet up with Tom Foolery, and then Terry and I came home to recuperate. She watched football and took a nap, but I slogged on with my financial stuff (I'm trying to get Sara Ramsey's house in order - it may be time to set up a business, but I've been avoiding it thus far and am debating how long I can continue without incorporating her). At six, though, I threw in the towel, and Terry and I had a drink at a wine bar on Fillmore, which was an excellent spot. Then we met up with Lauren (aka Subz) for what was supposed to be a v. quiet and sedate birthday dinner.

And it started quiet and sedate; we ordered a bottle of wine and a couple of appetizers (the plantains were to die for), and continued to imbibe over dinner (which, for me, was also to die for - I had a churrasco steak that was out of this world good, grilled perfectly and served with plantains and a fried egg on top, which was shockingly good). Then we ordered another bottle of wine. Why, when there were only three of us, I'm not quite sure, but it seemed like a great idea at the time. And since I think we all expected we'd call it a night shortly after that, it would have been entirely reasonable to drink that much with dinner.

But then as we were leaving, we walked by a fortune teller's sign, and Lauren and I decided to make Terry get her fortune read. So we went up and bought her a palm reading, which we got to sit and observe, which was quite hysterical. The fortune teller told her to avoid Irishmen (because they are awful) and to look for an Italian or Persian guy, or possibly an Armenian or a Spaniard. And then she told Terry that she should go to the W Hotel bar to meet someone (this is relevant later).

So we dragged Terry down the street to another bar, where I had 2.5 cocktails (I believe Lauren did too, but Terry was v. cleverly avoiding her drinks, which is where my .5 cocktail came from) and interacted briefly with some very douchey guys. Then we decided that the W bar was in Terry's destiny, so we cabbed over there and had another drink or two there while chatting to some dudes who were v. entertaining (but also married, so tanks for nothing, fortune teller!). It should be clear to you by now that I was approximately ten drinks in at this point, which explains why I was such a mess today. We finally left there, came home, I somehow miraculously made it into bed, and I slept the sleep of the intoxicated (made slightly less lovely because I forgot to tell my fitness bracelet that I was going to sleep, so it buzzed me every 45 minutes to tell me to get up and walk around).

This morning, needless to say, was a nightmare, and I felt extremely ill (although I wasn't actually sick). Terry ordered me a pizza since I was too hungover to even contemplate walking down the street for my usual huevos rancheros hangover cure, and I sat on the couch and watched football, which is a sign of how messy I was. Then I eventually showered, took care of a couple of minor things, talked to my parents, talked to Terry's brothers (who came over), watched some "Drunk History" with them (I would be a fabulous narrator for that show), and then talked to [censored]. And now, I must sleep; I have to work tomorrow, which should not surprise you, but I also want to get out early so that I can hole up in a coffeeshop and read Alex and Prudence. Goodnight!

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