Nine Days Sober......Not!

Where to begin? With Gilligan and Stripey? With bacon wrapped around dates? With a strange (albeit cute) man on my couch?

We'll start where all good stories start. With the buttery nipples.

Actually, I probably need to give a little background. When I first moved to Richmond, I lived with a bunch of people. It was kind of like having the entire cast of Friends living in one apartment. But break-ups happen, people buy houses, and suddenly the (not even yet contemplating a career as a) Rev and I were on our own -- with a $1000 rent payment. So we advertised and interviewed for potential roommates. I was leaning towards the young, impressionable boys from VCU -- hopefully with a steady stream of equally impressionable friends.

But then we interviewed M. M stood out during her interview because she brought a peppy friend and tried to stab me with a knife. O.K. it was some sort of sleight of hand trick, but the knife did point at and then touch my stomach. Anywho, with this type of entrance, how could we resist? So M moved in with her owl and all was well on Stuart Ave. Peppy girl became DFF, so there you have the players.

Friday night, M came to town and DFF left the West End and we essentially recreated a night from our first year of acquaintance. Some of the trappings are different -- we buy more expensive beer now, we snack on hummus instead of chips, we wear clothes that don't need to be drycleaned to get the smoky bar smell out. But the essentials? That remains the same. We do the girly stuff like use hairspray and assure each other that we are in fact, quite hot -- no "still" about it. We listen to music, we catch up, and we drink buttery nipples.

Well lubricated, we walked over to the bar -- the same bar we always used to go to -- to see a group we always used to see. It was kind of dead at first but it picked up. Helped in no small part by my commitment to dancing, even when nobody else does. Besides, standing up allowed me to meet Gilligan -- an odd man in a Gilligan hat who touched my back every time he passed me. It was kind of creepy, but he looked a little off, so I let it go.

More beer, more dancing. I was thrilled to not be the one who spotted a long-forgotten FWB -- DFF had that honor. His girlfriend was Stripey. It was funny if you were there. Then we found the possibly only normal and good-looking male in the bar and convinced him to dance with us. This being Richmond, he was a friend of a friend of DFF. Richmond is 2 degrees of separation, in case you didn't know.

Lights came up, nobody was ready to stop, so we hot-stepped it over to another bar who firmly refused to serve us. I will attribute this to the late hour as we were clearly a fine looking bunch. Not to be deterred we lurched homeward with the promise of more buttery nipples on our lips. And they were good, although in the morning it appears I had a heavy hand with the schnapps as there is still some Bailey's left. Irksome. There may have been some Morgan and coke. There was definitely some beer.

And just when I was thinking this strange man might warrant a closer look, I slipped. I mixed my party favors. And as M did point out the next morning, "you can't do that, Smitten."

So a short time later, I was on the back porch trying desperately not to coat my Docs with the 3 cherry tomatoes, 5 tostitos, and 4 brownie bites. Thank goodness I don't eat meat, because the bacon-wrapped dates from our first party stop of the night would not have helped anyone in the immediate vicinity of my regurgitation. Thankfully, M lived with me long enough to know that once they dry heaves were done, I could be safely sent to bed. With this on the floor next to me:

When we woke up the next morning, the strange man was gone from the couch, his bedding neatly folded. Well, the bedding and the shower curtain that M had thoughtfully provided as a blanket. Deluxe accommodations, I tell you.

"I totally thought you were going to hook up with him." Sigh. The sad refrain of my life.

I gathered up the empties and carried them out to the recycling bin, where I found a dead bird. I told DFF and she said, "Maybe he ate your puke and it killed him."

Maybe it did.

Everyone was recovered by 2-ish. And I bet we do it again before the year is out. But this time, I'm not mixing my party favors and I'm getting some.

Tell all your single friends, old friends and buttery nipples, don't knock it until you've tried it.

XO, JamieSmitten