OOPS, I Did it Again

There were giant ray gun beams firing all around me Thursday morning as I drove to work in a downpour. I was terrified. I was not at my best.

The night before I had a lot of wine. A lot of wine. Did I already say that?

Wednesday started out the usual way with oatmeal, a bunch of coffee, and more work than I can handle piled on my desk. But Wednesday was not to be usual. I had applied for a chance to be on a peer review panel. I had no idea what it was. My main concern was that the company would not make me use my PTO if I participated.

I can’t tell you what we did in the peer review meeting or they would have to kill me. We were sequestered in a room from 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. I was allowed to pee occasionally and lunch was provided at noon. Within the room. I had lunch within the room. I was allowed to pee in the bathroom.
 We were supposed to be done at five. We deliberated until seven. I like that word. Deliberated. It makes me sound smart. Every part of my body hurt from sitting at a table in a hard wooden chair. We were instructed to stay as still as we could and make as few facial expressions as possible. No body language allowed. But there was a part of me that wanted to talk loudly and at any moment. I was suffering from terrible gas. My face felt like an oil slick. I couldn’t wait to go home and take my bra off.

But wait. There’s more.

This was not a night to go home and get comfy and watch the season finale of Top Chef. My friends, who are also my neighbors, had a concert on their Gazebo which started at 7:30. They always have good house concerts and Wednesday night proved to be no different. I knew I would be late.

What I have not mentioned yet is the storm that was gathering around us. Torrential downpours, scary as hell lightening that looked more like Spielberg special effects than real life, and lots of wind were in our very near future. So I was amazed when I heard music wafting up the street as I returned home. Cars were parked everywhere. Including my driveway. I had a few seconds to feed Lester, brush my teeth, and re-apply the spackle and plaster that is my make-up. I grabbed a bottle of wine and rushed next door.

My friends were already a tiny-bit buzzed. I had to catch up.

They’ve partaken of the I-Phone cool-aide. They are I-Girls. I totally think it’s a cult.  Heather would announce periodically, “The red’s almost on us! It’s traveling 65 miles an hour!” She was watching the weather on her I-phone. It has better reception than my TV. I have a little play cell-phone that costs 30 bucks every three months and adds 300 minutes when you renew. When people send pictures to me I watch a little hourglass roll over and over until the battery dies. Then I still don’t see the pictures.

So we killed my bottle of wine. And the music was awesome. It would have been awesome even without the wine. Joe Craven plays everything from a fiddle, to a 1968 hors d'œuvres tray, to a plastic waste basket that was a gift from a maid at Marriott. He’s a cool guy.

I was so excited to be out. I didn’t have to sit still and be quiet anymore!

THAT’S when all hell broke loose. When a person doesn’t go out much, this same person may lack social skills. This person may SEVERELY lack social skills.I drank wine as though it was the last thing I was allowed to do before dieing.
　
After the concert I guess I felt like it was perfectly ok to talk over people and yell really loud. I think I insulted someone who was telling a story about how she and her husband went on a safari in Africa for their honeymoon. I believe I announced that I would be jetting off to OHIO in June. I’m such a reverse snob sometimes...

Joe Craven, who is a lovely and kind man… I doubt that he drinks…was looking at me the way people look at the town drunk at the end of the bar. So I knew it was time to go home. At least I knew that.

I stood up from the floor where I’d been issuing forth bull-shit, and as I said my good byes to quite a few people gathered in the room, I tripped. I tripped a big, awkward, goofy-assed trip. I blamed my recently healed foot. I pointed to it like it had a life of its own and actively TRIED to trip me. In my own defense, it does give out on me from time-to-time. It tends to flop over unexpectedly when I’m walking, causing me to appear to be falling off of high heels, except I don’t wear high heels. It’s very strange.

So I made it home and passed out in my clothes. The alarm woke me at the usual 5:30 a.m.  I’m working overtime, so I was looking at a 10 or 11 hour day.

As I brushed my teeth, bits and pieces of the night before came back to me.  I blushed furiously. OMG. Now I would have to stay inside for another year. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I do “stay-in” far better than I do “go-out.”

But I’m not narcissistic enough to think that people will give it much thought. The torturous ridicule is what I do to myself. I save others the time and effort. I do need to practice my social skills. I’ve become like a mountain man who decides to walk down in to town once a year. I’m just glad I didn’t belch and fart Wednesday night. I hope I didn’t. Shit, I don’t know. Maybe I did. But it was good practice to converse, no matter how badly.

And music is always good for the soul.