Mama don't preach

Grayer and I got drunk emailed this weekend. And no, it wasn't from an ex or a friend having a good time. It was from our mother.

Our parents don't drink. At all. It's not like they have a glass of wine at dinner or have a cocktail every now and again, but never get drunk. They never drink. Period. If someone gives them a bottle of wine as a gift, they will wait until we come home for Christmas to open it. Before we were of drinking age, bottles of wine would remain in the cupboard for years, just going to waste. Therefore, they are completely clueless about all things alcoholic. A few years ago, after a trip to Curacao, famous for their rum, they thought they would be super-cool and send me and Grayer some rum-filled care packages. While Grayer got some delicious flavors, I received a bottle of rum raisin rum, because as my mom said, "you like raisins." Thank you mother, but just because I tolerate raisins in trail mix, oatmeal cookies, and bagels doesn't mean that I'm passionate about raisins (who is?) and want a raisin flavored adult beverage.

The alcohol ban isn't because of a religious belief or anything. They just don't like alcohol. Unless it comes in the form of a sugary, sweet concoction, which brings us back to the drunken email. My parents are yet again on a Caribbean vacation. They have been known to order fancy drinks on these types of trips, but they are usually of the virgin variety, and seriously, is there anything more lame than a virgin daiquiri? This time, however, they (or at least mom) isn't skipping out on the alcohol. The main topic of the email was what cocktails she had yesterday. And she didn't call them drinks, or cocktails, or even booze (which is what she usually does, a vocabulary preference that has always baffled Grayer and me). No, she called them "My drinkie-poos." Drinkie-poos! Then she rated each of her "drinkie-poos" on a scale from "OK" to "yummy." 3 out of the 4 drinks received a "yummy" rating. I had to read it twice before I said out loud, "Holy shit, Batman! My mother is smashed!"

I quickly contacted Grayer, who not only agreed with me, but had already responded by telling her she sounded wasted. I mean, this is a woman who doesn't drink at all. One mixed drink would leave her completely hammered, but 3 in one day? Yes, the woman is blitzed.

At least, I hope she is. Because if there is anything more pathetic than a woman in her mid-50s getting drunk from a fruity tropical drink, it's a woman in her mid-50s not getting drunk from virgin daiquiris, then using the word "drinkie-poos" in an email to her adult children while completely sober.

Either way, she has just received a new family nickname: Boozer.

Solution, Thy Name is Alcohol!

The cute neighbor has been out of town all week at a conference. After the conference is over, a few of his friends decided to rent a cabin in the mountains for the weekend before going home. The cute neighbor asked me to come along awhile ago, which of course, I was very excited to hear, because it's always, always good news when a guy wants you to meet all his friends. At the same time, however, I was very, very nervous.

First of all, it's intimidating enough to meet The Friends. Especially several at once. And for some reason, when I meet new people in groups, I do one thing: clam up. I get quiet. I'm not my usual delightful self, but instead barely contribute to the conversation more than one word answers. I don't know why, but that's how I work. But don't worry, I have a solution for that this weekend, and it's name is alcohol. On my way home from work, I stopped at Trader Joe's and bought 6 bottles of two-buck chuck. Obviously, I don't think I'll need all 6 bottles, but I want to be able to offer it to others (can't be rude), and I'm sure the house beverage of choice will be beer, and I don't drink beer. Can't take any chances of being sober while everyone else is not. There is nothing fun about that.

Second, all of these people are PhDs. And until last Friday, I was a professional baby-sitter. I know that this doesn't really matter, and last week my roommate lectured me on how smart I am, and if I wanted a PhD I could have one, and what a great teacher I am, so don't worry about something silly like that. She's right, but it does up the imtimidation factor. Especially because their PhDs came from a top-notch school and they're now all professors or post-docs. Again, I was a professional baby-sitter.

Keep your fingers crossed, and I'll give you the rundown on Sunday or Monday!

The power of cleavage

I would like to finally share with you a story of my weekend.

A friend from school was visiting me for the night. We settled in at a bar in which we approved of the atmosphere, the music, not to mention the median age of the clientele (very important!). We had two drinks while sitting at the bar, minding our own business, and talking exclusively to ourselves. We were considering heading home for the night when fresh drinks are placed in front of us and the bartender introduces himself and his coworker. These guys were not bad looking. They were also not young. I'd guess they were pushing 40. And one of them was married. But the liver wants what the liver wants, so we chatted and flirted our way into more free drinks and into the hearts of our 40-year-old bartenders. I have finally realized my lifelong dream of befriending bartenders! And this could never happen if you actually tried to make it happen!

At closing time they started kicking everyone out. Everyone but us. That's right, we stayed after hours with the bartenders. They let me behind the bar to sloppily replenish drinks. By 3:30 in the morning my friend couldn't stop giggling and I was getting bossy (FYI, I'm a bossy drunk). And then we did, probably the stupidest thing we could have done (no, not that). We let them drive us home. Rule #1 of any female: Never willingly get into a vehicle with strange men! Especially strange men that have spent the past 3 hours getting you wasted! Luckily, they dropped us off on my street, having no clue to which house was actually mine. We stumbled in, laughing, ridiculously proud of ourselves, and me holding a demo cd of one of the bartender's band (I'm attracting musicians like mad!). We had a blast! And then we promptly passed out.

While nursing hangovers the next morning we decided on two things. 1. Never willingly get into a vehicle with strange men ever again. And 2. I need to keep going to that bar and maintain a healthy relationship with those bartenders. Because these are two men that I really see myself having a future with.