Appropriateness and Alcohol

U guys, I made the switch from red wine to white wine for two weeks and now I can’t stand red wine. Not even my beloved and inexpensive Canonico Salernto Rosso! K that’s all I got bye
Wait does no one care about my wine journey? Mary? Is this thing on?

“Let’s go bike riding along the East coast,” Sean suggested. “I kinda like your style, player,” I conceded.

Did I kinda really?

Before Saturday’s cycling, he invited me to watch Interstellar with him when his housemate bailed. Don’t hate me but I’m about to reveal a major spoiler: IT’S NOT VERY GOOD!!!!!! It was a cool movie with pretty impressive visuals, but we walked out of the theater slightly past midnight feeling a bit uneasy about what had just happened. We were literally and figuratively seeing stars. Big mistake not buying the popcorn, I think. Then he stuck me into a cab and sent me on my way home.

The night began replaying in my mind as the cab pulled away. (Spoiler alert: my brain can be quite quick in certain situations.) The time bending kind of felt like Interstellar all over again but a bit more Gravity, now that I was in a cab and felt an element of motion sickness as well. Had my hands been too clammy? Was it because I ate significantly more of the crème brûlée that we’d meant to share 50/50?

At a red light, I spotted a tabby grooming itself next to a trash bin and felt a twinge of envy as I thought about the chillness of most cats. Then my focus shifted to the trash bin, which seemed unfazed by the cat. Oh, to be a trash bin... What could’ve possessed him to put me in a cab and wave goodbye like a decent man? I’m sure we all like propriety, but I definitely wasn’t used to it or very comfortable with it when it involved the opposite gender.

Further complicating matters was the alcohol ban that Sean had imposed on himself, which according to the man was more “a conscious decision to improve his (my) health briefly” than an attempt to “get fit and look super hot for his (my) next Asian girlfriend.” Not having whisky or wine to lubricate our hangouts – dates, if I may be so bold – was yet another foreign concept to me, which I reckoned was going to be a pain in the arse. For both of us. Oops!

Note to self – Cc: Secretary of Dates aforementioned paragraphs when I find one.

Note to Sean – the only thing we’re gonna be getting drunk on is love, hon. Amirite?

Note to all – I’m currently in the middle of a (alcohol and non-alcohol) cabinet reshuffle. Will someone please hide the Patrón behind the Grey Goose? I’m getting a hangover just looking at it. Also on the hunt for a Secretary of State of My Mind and Secretary of Hair and Makeup, since I fired myself from all three positions. Email CV to sssssomegirl@gmail.com. Republicans and fans of The Jonas Brothers need not apply, thank you.

In truth though, with alcohol now out of the equation, there was one thing less to worry about. Gaining perspective and reaching happy epiphanies about life were undoubtedly going to be a lot harder hereinafter. But I’d already managed to scare Sean off a bit (understatement) by simply being myself, so if we could just keep Viola, my drunken alter ego, in the closet for, maybe… ever?? That would be so helpful and imperative to our union. She just needs one and a half glasses of wine before she’s bouncing off sofas, frantically and uncoordinatedly waving her limbs at the DJ and screaming at the bartender for shots. “Make it extra strong, I’m really feeling it tonight!” (Attn: Chief of Staff)

A lot of us – myself included – find comfort in being able to use the excuse of intoxication to explain our otherwise unexplainable behavior. Luckily for Viola, she’s never actually committed anything that she’s woken up regretting big time. It’s both a blessing and a curse that there’s only a small window of opportunity for drunken fun and mishap to occur. Some say it’s a good 15 minutes from the time she starts climbing on elevated surfaces before she discreetly creeps to a corner to curl up and die. Others have argued it’s 3 minutes, at most. Everyone is drunk, nobody really knows.

Also unresolved and currently unstudied, are the inebriated tendencies of Viola such as binging on McDonald’s fries, which she would never lay a sober finger on. Or reapplying her eyeliner and lipstick with trembling hands and only half a mind, to re-emerge from the ladies’ looking like the Joker in The Dark Knight. Or slamming her bedroom door and tearing her own dress off as though she was suddenly allergic to it. Or the loss of foresight and nimbleness in enforcing protective latex legislations in bed.

As long as we learn from our boozy booboos and make a conscious (see what I did there) effort to steer clear of them in future, it’s fine – I think. There’s nothing worse than getting into bed with a hard nine after a hazy night and waking up next to a soft five the following morning, except getting into bed with a hard nine after a hazy night and waking up next to a soft five the following morning again. Actually, worse still, is making such mistakes under the influence of nothing but yourself. Guilty as charged.

You're all right, Liz. I think.