I Maybe Also Puked in a Kitty Litter Box

I’m sure you are all just DYING to know how my high school reunion went. “Strange” and “awkward” are two words that leap to mind. It was like being in the cafeteria (“The West Commons” for those in the know) only the lights were dimmer, everyone was a little older, I had a glass of wine in my hand, and the food was worse. For $40 I expected a little more excitement than domestic beers, mozzarella sticks and boring conversations with people I didn’t care about five years ago and care about even less now. Where were the scandalous hook-ups, the outrageous transformations, the alcohol-fueled confrontations? Yeah, the reunion was lame so I got drunk and then everything was a lot funnier. Like when I fell over while getting carded at the next bar we went to and then the bouncer wouldn’t let me in because, well, I was fall-down drunk – uproarious!

If I had my wits about me I might have argued with the bouncer that really, I fall down sober all the time. Mere hours earlier SisterOh and I went for a run on a nearby nature trail and it got very dark very quickly which made avoiding tree roots nearly impossible. I tripped and hit the ground hard with my right shoulder and hip. The fall on the track still takes the cake, but I had the wind knocked out of me and needed to walk for a minute to catch my breath. So you see, Mr. Bouncer dude, you may have been right and I may have had about three too many glasses of wine, but falling down will never be a good indicator of my sobriety.

This inability to hold my liquor is a very disturbing development. Am I…getting old? Saturday night was really the only drinking I did all holiday weekend. Screw that, I just need to build my tolerance back up and maybe I can get back to drinking shape by New Years. Older, more responsible Jackie isn’t scheduled to show up until at least 2012.

GAH I am the sorriest excuse for a female! Here I am, trying to be all cute and wintery and office appropriate by wearing pantyhose, and I can’t even make it to noon before getting a run in them. I need to find a job where I can wear gym shorts and sneakers to the office - I suck at this heels-and-skirt thing.

So JDate is having some big meeting this week, and invitees are calling to RSVP. One lady just called from a company called Jewcy. She spelled it for me, or else I would have assumed it was Juicy, famed overpriced velour sweatsuit peddler and not some terrible pun on religion. Still, nothing compares to He’Brew, the Chosen Beer. Anyway, I emailed him the names with the subject line: Jewcy (really?), and he responded with: Hilarious. Can you tell he’s totally my favorite?