I am currently awaiting service for a restraining order. Yet another unfortunate event occurred during my trip to Florida. I drunk-dialed many, many people. Which is kind 0f cute and funny when one is twenty years old, but thirty-two -- not so much.
In my defense, I have a strong argument for involuntary intoxication, which negates mens rea, thereby providing a defense to virtually all serious crimes, such as overage drunk dialing (citation: Legally Blonde, The Movie). It was my first night in Florida. My brother, his better half and I headed out to dinner. I was still pretty mellow from the tiny taste of Ativan I had on the flight. Since I white-knuckle it on planes, I am not above purchasing some pharmaceutical cojones to make my travel a sunnier experience. The prescribing doc assured me that wine with dinner would not be a problem, if enjoyed in moderation. Moderation - got it. No problem. I can do moderate!
Dinner was enchanting - a little seafood, a little Chardonnay. After dinner, we all headed back to bro's place to continue the conversation over a little more Chardonnay. My brother retreated to his kitchen and returned with a glass of wine for me. Such chivalry! It tasted a bit off, but I just assumed that little bro buys the cheap stuff -- perhaps even my old college friend, the delectably portable wine in a box. I politely drank what I presumed to be my glass of Boone's Farm while we sat and chatted. Turns out -- little bro had pulled a funny and filled my glass with 3/4 tequila topped with just a splosh of wine -- he later claimed he thought I would spit it out and not drink it. Since I DID drink it, he and his girlfriend sat there while I consumed God knows how many shots of tequila and then laughed and laughed and laughed at the drunkity, drunk-drunk older sister. I assume this is payback for all those times growing up when my best friend and I would make him eat things like cat food mixed with playground sand topped with wood shaving sprinkles. In any event, he did not confess his backroom bartending until the next morning when I called him to ask why my head felt like it had been turned inside out. And what is with the fifteen voice mails on my phone?! Who the hell did I call?! It was like college hangover bad; except now I am old, so it was a hundred times worse.
So ... I went back to my room and was bored and lonely. My husband was not answering the phone and I felt like chatting, so first I went down my cell phone list. Once I had exhausted that directory, I called 411 for some reinforcements. At some point during this process, I called my college ex who now lives in Atlanta - I cannot recall whether I left a message or not - and then I feel asleep.
Later that night, I awoke to my cell phone ringing. I answer in confusion to a stern-sounding female voice demanding to know who I was and why I was calling her house!? Somehow I deduce who it is, introduce myself and ask (nicely, but sloppily) to talk to my ex. She asks WHY I want to talk to him and I think I manage something coherent like, "I have a brain tumor and just want to apologize to him." This does not go over well as the implied meaning behind my statement is: "I am sorry I ruined his life, left him distraught and therefore he had to marry you as a back-up plan. Now I am calling, ten years later, to atone for my horribleness."
Which is not really what I was getting at. At all. I have no delusions that he is not now fine or that he is harboring any smoldering feelings from a relationship that ended ten years ago. I have heard lovely things about his now-wife and have heard he is very happy; which is fabulous. He was (and I assume - still is?) a wonderful person and I cannot think of a single un-nice thing to say about him. Except perhaps that he now, in our respective thirties, does not enjoy drunken phone calls from slurring women he used to date.
Her response is to tell me that they heard about the brain tumor from one of my college sorority sisters. [Yes, I was in a sorority in college. Dear Internet, Don't let that fact get out. I will be disbarred.] But they heard I am now OK. I tried to explain that, in fact, I may NOT be OK and that is why I am now calling in the middle of the night! Don't you see? Very Important Discussion. So could I please talk to him now? At this point, deep in some vestige of my tequila-soaked brain, I realize that I was mortified and this should be over. Wife told me - none too warmly - that "she trusts I will not be calling there again." Seriously. So that ruined my fun.
You may be wondering what my husband's response to this debacle was. Most husbands would not be psyched about booze-soaked telephone calls to long-ago paramours. However, MY husband found it hysterical. He could not stop laughing when I reported the entire, humiliating transcript of events. He has put up with me for going on ten years now, so he gets an A+++++ for being the most patient person ever, with the possible exception of Gandhi.
So ... I went back to my room and was bored and lonely. My husband was not answering the phone and I felt like chatting, so first I went down my cell phone list. Once I had exhausted that directory, I called 411 for some reinforcements. At some point during this process, I called my college ex who now lives in Atlanta - I cannot recall whether I left a message or not - and then I feel asleep.
Later that night, I awoke to my cell phone ringing. I answer in confusion to a stern-sounding female voice demanding to know who I was and why I was calling her house!? Somehow I deduce who it is, introduce myself and ask (nicely, but sloppily) to talk to my ex. She asks WHY I want to talk to him and I think I manage something coherent like, "I have a brain tumor and just want to apologize to him." This does not go over well as the implied meaning behind my statement is: "I am sorry I ruined his life, left him distraught and therefore he had to marry you as a back-up plan. Now I am calling, ten years later, to atone for my horribleness."
Which is not really what I was getting at. At all. I have no delusions that he is not now fine or that he is harboring any smoldering feelings from a relationship that ended ten years ago. I have heard lovely things about his now-wife and have heard he is very happy; which is fabulous. He was (and I assume - still is?) a wonderful person and I cannot think of a single un-nice thing to say about him. Except perhaps that he now, in our respective thirties, does not enjoy drunken phone calls from slurring women he used to date.
Her response is to tell me that they heard about the brain tumor from one of my college sorority sisters. [Yes, I was in a sorority in college. Dear Internet, Don't let that fact get out. I will be disbarred.] But they heard I am now OK. I tried to explain that, in fact, I may NOT be OK and that is why I am now calling in the middle of the night! Don't you see? Very Important Discussion. So could I please talk to him now? At this point, deep in some vestige of my tequila-soaked brain, I realize that I was mortified and this should be over. Wife told me - none too warmly - that "she trusts I will not be calling there again." Seriously. So that ruined my fun.
You may be wondering what my husband's response to this debacle was. Most husbands would not be psyched about booze-soaked telephone calls to long-ago paramours. However, MY husband found it hysterical. He could not stop laughing when I reported the entire, humiliating transcript of events. He has put up with me for going on ten years now, so he gets an A+++++ for being the most patient person ever, with the possible exception of Gandhi.
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