Happy Hours = Unhappy Fridays
Well, it happened again. Another Thursday night, another harmless happy hour. That ended in a complete blackout. With cheese con queso all over my dress. Funny how that happens.
My office did a happy hour at a bar around the corner from 4-6 last night. I planned on only going for one drink. Seriously, guys, ONE DRINK. Mingle with some coworkers, have a glass of wine, and peace out.
Things got off track when I ordered my drink. I’m a beer girl. Always have been, always will be. Wine and hard liquor come and go, but beer is forever. So obviously, last night, I ordered a Riesling. In hopes of coming off classy to some of my coworkers, I hyped up the many proven benefits of red wine. Until my Riesling arrived and appeared to be white. First fail of the night.
I got to talking with a new hire who I had a lot in common with, so one drink turned into three, which turned into six, which turned into us heading to another bar after everyone else left. I mean, I need a friend at work, so this is perfect. As long as I didn’t turn her off by being a sloppy mess. TBD on that one.
I woke up this morning in the middle of the bed and my first thought was, I’m smushing B! I got up in a panic and was relieved to see that B wasn’t in the bed with me. So then I was panicking that I was in the wrong house or something. I whispered B’s name over and over until I mustered up all my courage and ventured out into the living room of what was, in fact, the right condo. Phew.
I went in the guest room to find B asleep on the bed. Yikes. Did we get in a fight or something? I curled up next to him to get the scoop.
Disclaimer: some of the things he said are not pretty. Since I don’t remember, I’d like to believe that many of them he just made up. It’s false logic like this that gets me through the day.
“It’s like you were possessed by a demon.”
“You went straight for the queso dip. First you couldn’t open the jar, and then you couldn’t get it out. I heated it up for you, but I guess I wasn’t fast enough, b/c by the time I turned around, you had salsa all over your dress.”
“You bit my face.”
“I woke up in the middle of the night to you hunching over me all creepy. I asked you what you were doing and you said peeing. I couldn’t hear anything, so I was seriously nervous that you went on the carpet. I yelled at you to go to the bathroom and you yelled, Well I wasn’t really going to pee in here, but now I am!”
“You said that your dress was made of the finest silk and were screaming that the salsa stains wouldn’t come out. I asked if you wanted to take it off and treat it, but you just comforted yourself w/ more chips.”
Beer would never play me like that. Which is why I’ll be sticking to Bud Light this Labor Day weekend. With the exception of a wine slushy orfive two. It is a holiday, after all.
My office did a happy hour at a bar around the corner from 4-6 last night. I planned on only going for one drink. Seriously, guys, ONE DRINK. Mingle with some coworkers, have a glass of wine, and peace out.
Things got off track when I ordered my drink. I’m a beer girl. Always have been, always will be. Wine and hard liquor come and go, but beer is forever. So obviously, last night, I ordered a Riesling. In hopes of coming off classy to some of my coworkers, I hyped up the many proven benefits of red wine. Until my Riesling arrived and appeared to be white. First fail of the night.
I got to talking with a new hire who I had a lot in common with, so one drink turned into three, which turned into six, which turned into us heading to another bar after everyone else left. I mean, I need a friend at work, so this is perfect. As long as I didn’t turn her off by being a sloppy mess. TBD on that one.
I woke up this morning in the middle of the bed and my first thought was, I’m smushing B! I got up in a panic and was relieved to see that B wasn’t in the bed with me. So then I was panicking that I was in the wrong house or something. I whispered B’s name over and over until I mustered up all my courage and ventured out into the living room of what was, in fact, the right condo. Phew.
I went in the guest room to find B asleep on the bed. Yikes. Did we get in a fight or something? I curled up next to him to get the scoop.
Disclaimer: some of the things he said are not pretty. Since I don’t remember, I’d like to believe that many of them he just made up. It’s false logic like this that gets me through the day.
“It’s like you were possessed by a demon.”
“You went straight for the queso dip. First you couldn’t open the jar, and then you couldn’t get it out. I heated it up for you, but I guess I wasn’t fast enough, b/c by the time I turned around, you had salsa all over your dress.”
“You bit my face.”
“I woke up in the middle of the night to you hunching over me all creepy. I asked you what you were doing and you said peeing. I couldn’t hear anything, so I was seriously nervous that you went on the carpet. I yelled at you to go to the bathroom and you yelled, Well I wasn’t really going to pee in here, but now I am!”
“You said that your dress was made of the finest silk and were screaming that the salsa stains wouldn’t come out. I asked if you wanted to take it off and treat it, but you just comforted yourself w/ more chips.”
Beer would never play me like that. Which is why I’ll be sticking to Bud Light this Labor Day weekend. With the exception of a wine slushy or
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If only I could get my boyfriend to see the humor in situations like these...