Just add liquor.....
Mood:  party time!
Now Playing: New Order
So Friday night I was in DC Ranch (AKA BFE) for an evening out with a dear friend from college who I adore, Inga. Now, Inga is a darling Scandanavian gal who doesn’t get out all that much as she is married and is a stay at home mom with 3 kids: a 3 year old and one year old twins. Yeah—she’s a pretty busy broad on a daily basis to say the least. So it’s a rather big treat for Inga to get out of the house for a girl’s evening out.

When we met up at the bar we were ‘starting’ at, she was all shades of excited as she could actually stay out until 11pm! “Can you believe it?!” she squealed in happiness, “11pm!” I’m psyched as we will have a longer evening to hang out and gab.

So we plopped ourselves down, chattering incessantly the whole time. Our waitress came up and informed us that their monster Kettle One martinis (yum!) are half price for the next hour so we decided to order martinis. We ended up with appletinis…and I know better! You NEVER drink a smooth, quality liquor like Kettle One with fruity and sweet stuff added. It becomes a ‘stealth drink’ as the fruity covers the almost non-existent taste of the premium liquor and the sugar enhances the effect. Bad, bad combination.

I am yakking, telling her a story when she interrupts me to tell me I need to “hurry up” and she wants to order two more. What? I haven’t been flapping my lips that long have I? Quelle horror! I surreptitiously check my watch, only to find it’s been about 5 minutes. EEEK!!!! So she orders another one and continues to steadily drink. After about our 3rd martini, in less than an hour mind you, I tell her that we need to slow down. Just because the drinks are half off, doesn’t mean we need to schlog through them at a rate similar to a frat boy on nickel beer night. We also need to order some food to try to gum down the booze’s effect. An order of asiago dip and two more martinis later, sweet Inga is talking about ordering a 5th one! OMG! Now, I drink on a semi regular basis (one would have to with my job) and I have even been known to quaff back a stellar amount at times on par with a redneck spending the day tubing down the Salt River. The difference between me and the tiny blond Inga? I can hold my liquor—I’ve had shloads more practice in the recent past you see.

Pretty soon, Inga has decided that I need to hook up so she can live vicariously through me. Oh boy…

I come back from the bathroom. As I walk back to the table, I notice Inga has developed ‘glassy eyes’. Oy! Never a good sign. As I sit down, she says, “Hey, that guy’s pretty cute.” I’m like “What cute guy? I don’t see one.” She says “The one up at the bar eating the salad.” I replied “You mean the one that looks like Frank Sinatra?” And she says “Yeah”. To which I responded “Too bad he looks like Frank Sinatra….at 60! EWWWWW!” To be totally fair, I have to say though, the place had serious mood lighting. I kept grabbing the candle off our table and holding under my chin and saying “I am so scared!” in my best Blair Witch impression.

So then she’s all “Hey that guy’s cute. You should go for it.” I looked up and was all oh no! I like shaved heads, but that was about all this dude had going on for him even in the darkest of mood lighting! I look up to see this narfy looking guy ensconced in a pair of way too tight Wranglers (think male camel toe), a cotton Fair Island sweater and a pair of black, hi-top Reeboks tennis shoes. UGH! Can you say late/early for days?! This guy was stuck in a truly hideous 80’s fashion time warp!

Unfortunately, there’s no stopping Inga and she says “Sit down! Join us!” Ok, anyone can tell she is slam-dammered if not totally slam dunked as she has just asked him to basically sit down on our purses which is basically what I said to him with a smile. This guy acts like a total ass and is like “Yeah, I’m not sitting with you.” WHAT? What kind of asshole a) doesn’t want to sit with 2 cute girls and b) responds like a total dillhole to a clearly intoxicated and polite little blond? LOSER!

Soon, we find out the reason why he was such a total cheese ass. Captain fashion disaster is meeting a horsey looking farm broad. More power to him. More his style than us anyway. They decide to sit down behind us. Directly behind us. After they sit he starts telling her some wildly ‘enhanced’ version of what happened. How we were "totally hitting on him" and "that girl grabbed my ass" (As if! Besides, wouldn't I have gotten his narfy camel toe instead if I tried that?) I start chuckling and shaking my head in amusement whereas Inga starts getting indignant. I tell her to look at his shoes—PUHLEEZE! 'Nuff said! So she, very obviously in her stellar liquor haze, flips around to look at his shoes and lets loose with peals of laughter. FD gets all shades of pissy and says “Is there a problem? I saw you looking at my shoes.” Before I can censor myself, I snap back “Yeah, they’re lame just like you.” EEEEK! I can’t believe I just did that! I am usually beyond non-confrontational unless physically accosted, but I was seriously irritated that he would be that much of a shitbag to Inga and then lie about it to his hag chick. Apparently, my staring him down with major stink eye did the trick as FD sputtered for a minute and then left us the Hell alone.

Inga then spots a hotty blond and his entourage/posse enter. “Oh, he’s hot! You should definitely go for him!” To which I again started laughing and say “Yeah that would be Scotty McAlister, the Channel 24 weather guy. (NOTE: The broadcaster's name, appearance, job title, channel, etc. have all been changed to protect the innocent or the not so innocent....in this case, me.)He’s VERY married and has several darling kids that he dotes on.” As in beyond off limits in my book and with good reason.

She goes to order another ‘martooni’ and I frantically motion to our waitress with a slashing “cut off’ motion which sweet Inga notices. I managed to turn it into a casual hair flip. She’s tanked and having a blast. I do not want to rain on that parade, but I also know when to it’s a good idea to open an umbrella prior to a serious soaking.

The scarier part? It’s only 6:30pm. So much for that highly anticipated 11pm curfew. There is no way the tiny cuteness is going to make it that long. Her bright and hotly burning night out star has crashed and burned to earth like a fabulous, yet short lived, meteor.

I encourage her to head home. She didn’t want me to drive her, follow her or call her a cab. I was worried, but she assured me she was ok for the 10 minute toodle home and sometimes you can only push it so much. So after many hugs and a virtual “you’re the best!” love fest in the parking lot, we part ways. Inga to head home and me to head off for a ‘pick up’ date who I had contacted when I realized the evening was going to be rather short lived.

I’m proud of Inga for her all out, no prisoners willingness to tie one on….and hard. Willingness is half the battle or so says G.I. Joe. Next time, I just think she needs to treat it like a training for a marathon. Start small at first and work yourself up to the entire demanding distance. It’s all about endurance babe!

Hopefully, in two weeks when we go out again, we’ll start slowly and pace ourselves…I am SO looking forward to our next attempt!