Don't drink and text!...or should you?

Here's an equation sure to get you a lot of regret:

Alcohol+boredom+a cell phone

Last night, I was out with the cute neighbor on a S.A.D. bar crawl. We were supposed to be meeting up with other single friends, but that didn't end up working out. (Although I realized that I really need to make some local female friends. I was planning on spending the evening with the cute neighbor, McNerdy, and the umpire. Those are the three friends I hang out with most frequently. Kind of hard to meet other men when with men.) The cute neighbor and I were having a good time, however, drinking too much and telling people that we were indeed Olympic ice dancers. We won gold in Torino, you see, but failed to qualify for Vancouver, apparently because I showed up to the qualifier hungover. Drunk people will believe anything. ANYTHING.

Later on in the evening, I wrapped up a conversation with an accountant who lives on my street and apparently goes to my gym. He left, and we ordered another round, and the cute neighbor started chatting up a girl. I looked around for someone to talk to, but by that time of night, everyone was either too far gone, or had already found their evening hook-up. I was full of vodka, I was bored, I whipped out my phone. I texted the Dark Horse. Something along the lines of my being an undisputed twister champion, and being extremely bendy, and shouldn't we take advantage of that?

It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, but when I woke up this morning, I thought: Undo! Undo! Undo! That sounds that I heard was my status at having achieved ice queen nirvana flying- no, whooshing- out the window. I know that on the drunk-text scale (which we should really establish) of 1-10, 1 being "Haha, that was funny" and 10 being "I want to die, I want to die, I want to DIE," this one would probably fall on the lower end of the scale. But still. After consulting with both Grayer and Fenella, I sent my retraction: "Apologies. Must learn to never drink and text." Within a few minutes, a response: "No, it was funny!"

Whew.

Hours later, while I was watching actual figure skating on tv, a text dings: It was the Dark Horse, apologizing for not sending much of a response earlier, followed by "sooo... you're bendy, eh??? ;)"

Huh.

I responded that I am in fact bendy, and that I won 5 straight games of Twister while wearing a figure skating costume. Impressive?

Indeed. Then he asked if I still had the costume.

It was most unexpected. And very interesting. Apparently when there is no pressure of an actual relationship, you have nothing to lose and throw all the rules out, "going rogue" can work out well.

But just to be on the safe side, I think I'll hand my phone over to a responsible adult next time.

Twister Champion

Last night, a friend of mine had a birthday party. And since her birthday fell on the same day as the Opening Ceremonies, she had an Olympic-themed party, and requested that she see a lot of spandex and sequins. As soon as I got the invite, I texted the cute neighbor, and told him we should go as ice dancers. He not only responded with a yes, but suggested that we go tanning and choreograph a routine. And that is why we are friends.

We went all out. I managed to find a sparkly leotard (with snaps in the crotch!) and a ruffly black skirt to go over it. I bought shiny pantyhose, French braided my hair, wore waaaay too much make-up: rouge, lipstick, eyeshadow, the works. Cute neighbor wore my black pants, so they were a bit shiny and super-snug (didn't leave much to the imagination), and a billowy-white shirt, ala Brian Boitano. I put some blush on him too, and then the kicker: We wore matching sparkly headbands. He looked like something straight out of Riverdance, but our costumes were excellent. We even practiced our bows.

The party was in jeopardy, as it was snowing an actual, legitimate snowfall, and it never does that here. They don't even have snowplows, so it's best to stay inside when that happens, but I had purchased a sparkly leotard, dammit! I was going even if I had to cross-country ski there!

We made it safely, but when we walked in the door, I noticed an extreme lack of spandex and sequins. Everyone was wearing jeans and sweaters. Not a single speed-skater or hockey player in sight. I mean, shouldn't there at least be a couple of snowboarders? That's simple enough. Had it not been for the cute neighbor, it would have been exactly like Bridget Jones when she walked into the tarts and vicars party dressed as a playboy bunny only to find out they had canceled the theme and everyone is wearing country casuals.

But the cute neighbor and I were not about to sulk in the corner in a borrowed floral print dress. We embraced it. We posed for goofy pictures. We owned it. I even played Twister in my skating costume, and was the undisputed gold-medalist, as I won all 5 games we played. (I'm incredibly bendy. How is it that I'm so single?) The cute neighbor and I made an excellent team off the ice as well, and dominated Cranium. It was a good time.

However, the party was not all gold medals and congratulatory bouquets. There was a couple there who were way too affectionate with each other. Like nuzzling her neck kind of affectionate. The kind that make you feel incredibly awkward to be in the same room. But the most jaw-dropping moment came when they left the party. He got her coat. Fine. He helped her put it on. Old-school, but fine. Then he ZIPPED IT UP FOR HER. WTF? Is this woman incapable of zipping up her own coat? I zipped up Eloise's coat before we went outside to play in the snow, but she's 5! I made eyes at the cute neighbor and jerked my head in their direction so he could witness it too. He burst out laughing. Then he said something to me in a far-too-loud whisper, asking me if I needed him to help me button up my coat when it was time to leave. I mean, seriously. Seriously?

And now I'm the owner of a sparkly leotard. Perhaps the cute neighbor and I will be Torvill and Dean for Halloween?