I Need A Drink

I really do.

And not just one drink. Lots of drinks. Copious amounts of drinks.

I’ve done the obligatory one glass of wine with dinner or maybe even a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale while watching my Fantasy Football team dominate on Sundays (although, Shaun Alexander, breaking the foot is not cool. NOT. COOL. And, um, did I just hear you say that prayer healed your foot in less than a week? Because if so, Praise Sweet Jebus. Amen.) Of course, I always have my one drink directly after nursing so it can work it’s way through my body before feeding again. So responsible, I know.

But lately I have been waxing nostalgic about the good ol’ days of being blatantly over-served and ending the night either 1) passed out, 2) crying, 3) eating something viciously old from the refrigerator and waking up surrounded by the remnants in my bed, 4) attempting roundhouse kicks on large houseplants or 5) shooting holes in my wall with a pellet gun.

Now, don’t get your pantaloons in a wad. You don’t need to stage an intervention. I just think some people need a little inebriated fun now and again.

Like me.

Right now.

As I laid in bed this morning with the Keflex wreaking havoc on my gastrointestinal system, I reminded myself of drunken times in the past. Before the sleep deprivation. Before the fevers and antibiotics. Before the red hot potato boobies. Oh so long ago…

Like my trip to Montana. The night before we rocked the Ponderosa Saloon, my family enjoyed multiple libations at my grandparents’ home that led to my interpretive dance session to the vocal stylings of Louis Prima while my grandparents watched in utter delight and/or disgust. I’m not quite sure- they were very blurry at the time. I’m pretty sure it was delight, as they had tied on a couple themselves. After all, it was my grandmother who passed down her immense love of vodka to yours truly. Gotta love genetics.

Later that evening, my sister Lala and I decided to perfect a duet of Endless Love. We hooked up the dual headphone jack to the iPod (yes, Endless Love is on my iPod, suckas)- I took Diana, Lala took Lionel, and we sang the shit out of that song for probably 2 hours. It was messy, people. Singing along to a song on a stereo system is one thing, but singing at the top of your lungs while listening to headphones is entirely different. Innocent bystanders can’t hear the music. They can only hear your drunken feeble attempts of mastering what people might call “harmony”.

Oh, but we were so serious. I do believe we both were doing the Christina-Aguilera-holding-the-eardrum-closed to find that perfect pitch (which was nowhere, and I mean NO WHERE, to be found) with our eyes squeezed shut and clenched fists. I think I recall looking at Lala, grabbing her hand (borderline tears in the eyes), and said in a hushed tone, “We are really good. Really good.”

We then called the rest of the family members into the bedroom, performed our duet (keep in mind HEADPHONES PEOPLE, THEY COULDN’T HEAR THE MUSIC), and I do hazily recall looks of concern from most of the audience. When we were finished, they suggested we should keep on perfecting the song, but maybe outside in the cool air. We were so drunk we had no clue they were trying desperately to get us the hell out of the house. So outside we went, singing the same song over and fucking over, while the coyotes howled and bears flung themselves from trees trying to commit suicide. Ah, good times.

Little did I know that Endless Love would find it’s way back to me later on that year during a visit from my parents. D and I took them to The Royal Hawaiian, which is famous for their Lapu drinks. These drinks are served in large fishbowl glasses and are rumored to have 9 shots in each one. I’m not sure about the 9 shots, but LSD? Maybe…because, God as my witness, they make you completely batshit insane.

Well, we each had one, and then decided it would be fun to split two more between the four of us.

Bad idea. Very bad idea.

We ended up back at my home, smoking 80 trillion cigarettes (none of us smoke) while dancing to Motown hits from the 1960’s. Well, the inevitable happened, and it was time for duets. My father and I chose Endless Love.

I don’t even want to begin discussing how sick and wrong a father/daughter duet of Endless Love is, but hey remember, DRUNK! And possibly on LSD!

Well, we sang it. Over and over, we sang Endless Love while the neighbors cursed our name and hurled tomatoes at our porch (that might have been the LSD working it’s magic). But we had no actual audience! Both D and my mom had passed out on the couch…what party poopers.

Anyhoo, that night ended with a mostly one-sided conversation between my father and I in which I explained (in pain-staking detail complete with sobbing dramatics) why the world would never be the same without the genius that was Jeff Buckley.

Oh, as a side note, my father later found out the pesky lingering sore throat he experienced since that fateful night of duets was actual damage to his vocal chords. What can we say? We’re non-discriminatory drinkers. It’s not just brain cells we destroy; we welcome any body part to join in the destruction!

Ahhh, livin’ la vida loca. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my boob just exploded.

  1. bishOp stu tu

    September 29, 2006 at 11:59 am

    Dearest whOOl gOOrl,

    I am coming to take you to the bOOze. There we will find the answers to all you need.

    It is beautiful there…all cares are lost and pitch is relative.

    vOdka and rUm…endless, brainless love.

    yo, da bishOp stu tu

  2. Alicat

    September 29, 2006 at 1:11 pm

    WHAT! You were in Montana and I never knew?? For shame! That makes me sad. Oi.

  3. lainey

    September 29, 2006 at 2:01 pm

    This post is too funny.

  4. Mrs. S

    September 29, 2006 at 7:22 pm

    But now you have the problem of having to TOP the permanent vocal cord damage!! How are you going to do that?!…

    If you ever figure out how, you’ve got to let us know. Please.

  5. Kiki

    September 29, 2006 at 7:26 pm

    Um, Seattle native here, you are telling me about Alexanders injury. We were crying, now we’re praying… you gotta have a drink just for him!!

  6. lyndsay

    September 29, 2006 at 9:00 pm

    God your family is fun. Lala stopped by my house to hold the Bean today. We’ve gotta talk her in to having one of these little guys (or gals, I’m not choosy).

  7. Amy

    September 29, 2006 at 3:42 pm

    one mention of the lapu drinks and my head starts to do a little happy happy drunk dance. love those things.
    gotta love and miss that drunk out of control, anything seems rational, worries away feeling. i feel the breast feeding pain…i mean not really b/c it sounds really awful but you know…i feel your non drinking pain…b/c, well that would just suck. but you got wito and oh how damn yummy he is!

  8. R*belle

    September 29, 2006 at 5:05 pm

    You have many more wild and crazy fun times in your future, this is just a brief hiatus!

  9. cocodrie

    September 30, 2006 at 1:12 pm

    I’m so very proud that the waxing poetic portion, I was around for numbers 1 through 3. And maybe 5. I can’t remember. (ha!) But I’m sad, very sad, to have missed your and Lala’s serenade. I’ve no doubt it was epic!

    I’ll try drinking double tonight in honor of you. You know, pore a little champagne on the cement for my sistah.

  10. am'ti b

    September 30, 2006 at 2:31 pm

    last night we had a few and some chicas and i played a dance game called add on, it is the perfect game for you me lala and leelee to play over the holidays. it is best done with folks like yourselves who know how to DANCE and DRINK!

  11. rachel

    September 30, 2006 at 4:00 pm

    I’ll be sure to pour a little out for you tonight. Then again, that would be wasteful, wouldn’t it? OK, I’ll just drink a little extra in honor of you.

    p.s. I heard booze + Keflex makes a wicked buzz. Just sayin’.

  12. kimmer

    September 30, 2006 at 10:23 am

    okay – day 5 of wiot’s future gal pal’s life, and I need a get drunk moment with you right now. A total and complete, I DON’T CARE WHEN I HAVE TO GET UP NEXT wastoid go of it. Meet me at Mulligans and let’s drink Bully Porters/Rasberry Wheats and go f things up. My right nipple is half hanging off my boob like raw hamburger meat. I totally feel for you, and I need the push past a responsible drink to the entirely stupid land!

  13. Meepers

    October 1, 2006 at 8:00 pm

    I have to say this: The Montana story is the first of your entries I ever read….and I thought to myself, “Now THERE is a girl who I wish I knew in real life….oh, wait, she’s in Southern California too! How cool!” I raised a glass (or….mmmrph…) for you last night, if it makes you feel any better. Which I’m sure it doesn’t. But when the mastitus is done and you can pump and store/dump…and you’re up here, the martinis are on me. Cheers!

  14. Jurgen Nation

    October 1, 2006 at 5:31 pm

    Thankfully your boob is not exploding alcohol.

    Mad props for the Endless Love. My old standards are Air Supply, Chicago and REO Speedwagon. Possibly Journey, depending on what was over served.

    I can’t wait to be just a few hours from you!

  15. Jessie

    October 2, 2006 at 5:32 am

    Sounds like good times! I’m sure you’ll get to have one of those nights again sometime soon – just now you’ll have to employ an overnight babysitter.