And that's when it fell apart...

I did something last night that I haven't done in years. Got rip-roaring, full-on, praying to the porcelin Gods drunk.

And it's not as though I planned it. My plan was to go home and take my husband to dinner. I was waylaid in the parking lot by Seb and Steve who were headed to Mafiaoza's for a drink. I figured I could use an Amstel and a laugh, so what the hell? Matt bowed out because he was tired and I promised I'd bring a pie home for dinner.

So I found a great parking space and Seb was waiting on the patio of the place. When Steve arrived, he started talking pitchers, and that's when it fell apart. We drank either 4 or 5 pitchers between me, Seb, Steve, Alex - and eventually Matt, who they called to come pick up his drunk wife. Which is always the call you want to get at 7:30 on a Friday.

I arrived home without incident and ended up on the floor in the front room for a bit. Then I got sick, took a hot bath, and called my parents. Why? I don't know -I just felt like talking, I guess.

True to form, I woke up at 3AM with a screaming headache and insomnia. Came upstairs, noodled on the computer for a few minutes, took another hot bath, and went back to bed.

Today, I feel fine. A bit tired, sure, but otherwise, AOK. I texted Alex and Seb to let them know.

So, special thanks to Steve for the pitchers (I offered to pick up 2 of them, but that didn't happen), to all three guys for their company, and to Matt for keeping me from either driving impaired or attempting to walk home. And for unselfishly driving me back to the scene of the crime to get my car this morning.

It's not something I'll do again soon, or, ever - but it's a good reminder that you're never that far from your misspent youth.