The Life of A Batty Broad

Good Intentions, Flawed Results

You Can’t Party Like Girls from Pennsylvania

The Batty Broad has lived in a few places and by a few I mean 29.  Yeah, I get around.  When you “get around” as much as I do you meet a lot of people.  When you meet a lot of people you go out and party with said people.  So let’s just say I’ve been to a few parties – you can do the math.  Needless to say, given my life and my track record, the odds of party moments going awry are pretty high.  So you would think I would learn or be more prepared or just stay the hell home.  But I live by the words of Doris Day – que sera sera (whatever will be, will be).  Unfortunately something gets lost in translation and the end result is more along the lines of “whatever! let’s do this!”.

So when I headed out the door to have a “goodbye Pennsylvania” dinner with my best girlfriends, you would think that maybe I would have been prepared for what was about to happen.  I’ve known these women for years and we had gone to dinner on a regular basis for years with very little incident.  There was the time I had to leave because my daughter was in a car accident (thankfully she was okay) and the time I showed up and one of the girlfriends wasn’t drinking because she was preggers (shocker) but usually its without incident.  There is great food, many cocktails, and enough time to digest those cocktails so that we are not driving under the influence.  We usually close the place down.

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But this was no ordinary dinner. I was about to leave my best girlfriends and move 3,000…yes THREE THOUSAND miles away.  We needed to celebrate…life, love, friendship…with lot’s of white cosmos.  It was like a scene from sex in the city, except all of us are Samantha (committed Samantha, not super slutty Samantha just to be clear).  And we were ready to have FUN.

The night started out as usual.  Drinking, eating, gossiping, commiserating, talking to people in other booths around us, making friends with the wait staff, more drinking…the usual.  Well not completely.  We drank enough white cosmos…11 were ordered, to warrant having to have someone pick us up and have a sleep over.  I know I drank 4, possible 4 1/2, it’s a little fuzzy but there is great debate on who drank how many…  So the girlfriend who lives closest calls on her hubby to come pick us all up.  Lucky him!  While we are waiting, the same girlfriend decides that the night is not over yet.  We are NOT done.  This is the moment when drunk brain has now taken over and decides that it is a MIGHTY fine idea to continue this revelry.  The sound of the doors of hell opening starts ringing in my head.  I ignore them.  Big mistake.

After we pay the bill that contains more liquid than solid purchases, we head out with the sober hubby to gf 1’s home.  On the way she has informed him that we are going to go out to another bar in town and he is our designated driver.  He looks super stoked…

We get to her house, freshen up (what does that mean exactly…what are women always freshening?) and then head back out to a local bar full of college kids.  Sounds like a great plan, right?  Drunk brain says YES!  Three drunk brains say YES!  So off we go.

The bar is crowded but not too bad and someone orders me a kamikaze and then another and then another.  Drunk brain is replaced by pure alcohol.  The gates of hell are fully open and the hounds have been unleashed.  Then the fun begins.  Drunk gf #2 is suddenly much more drunk than I remember her being just a short time ago.  We get in trouble for being loud in the bar and are forced to move upstairs.  We are incorrigible.  On our way upstairs drunk gf #2 lays one on a handsome young man standing in the doorway.  He does not resist.  Even my drunk brain is registering that something weird is going on.

Upstairs there is a DJ setting up.  He has to wait for the people who are in the room to finish eating so he can start the music.  This is not satisfactory to drunk gf#1 and she proceeds to harass him and the patrons to try to move things along.  For most people this would get you thrown out on your ass but she is charmed and people seem to just do what she wants.  Note to self: steal that power from her.  Needless to say, things got set up much faster than expected.

Meanwhile I am starting to feel not so hot.  I decided that I must pray to the porcelain god for mercy to save my brain from drowning.  It’s not pretty.  Oh, that’s right…I’m not 25 anymore.  Note to self: act your age.  At this point I lose track of what is going on and of drunk gfs #1 and #2.  I call my boyfriend to check in and despite my drunken ramblings he apparently still loves me.  Sucker.

I make my way out of the bathroom (after freshening up of course, lots and lots of freshening up) and find drunk gf #1 and #2 on the dance floor.  I am pulled on to the floor to dance with drunk gf #1 (or something I think was dancing) and notice that although this song is upbeat, drunk gf #2 is slow dancing with someone.  At least I think that’s what she is doing.  After the song is over I notice my slow dancing girlfriend is gone and go to find her.

She is at the bar and appears to be every variation of the term “drunk off her ass” but since I am also “drunk of my ass” I am not really aware of how weird this is.  Until she bites me.  I put my arm around her and she bites my arm.  WHAT THE HELL?  Okay something is not right here.  That is not a normal response for her or anyone, except Mike Tyson.  I ask her if she is okay and she starts to respond but before she can finish I must head back for some more worship in the bathroom.

When I emerge, all hell has most certainly broken loose.  Drunk gf#1 and hubby tell me that drunk gf #2 is outside and is very, very drunk and sick.  I make my way down the stairs and find my friend outside in a chair almost unconscious.  Since everyone is drunk, decision-making becomes very challenging.  Drunk gf #1 wants to take her  home but gets distracted by running into her sister.  Hubby doesn’t want her in his car because she is very, very sick.  I have decided that drunk brain must go take a break because I have to figure out what is going on and how to help her.  A crowd has gathered.

I try to have a conversation with drunk gf #2 but she is incoherent.  I know she has been drinking but this seems very strange to me.  Of course before I can assess anything the police AND an ambulance show up.  Oh crap.  Okay drunk brain, go take a nap, I have to work here.

Since drunk gf #1 is of no help and hubby doesn’t want to get involved, I tell them to go home.  I help the ambulance people subdue drunk gf #2, who is now telling me she hates me.  I talk to the police who are apparently going to cite her for public drunkenness.  Seriously?  I gather her things and my things and ask if I can go with her to the hospital.  They strap her in, and I get in the front and try to pretend I am not fully intoxicated.  Apparently I’m a good actress.

At the hospital drunk gf #2 has become belligerent.  They can’t get her to cooperate and I can’t help because I tell them I am her friend and they won’t let me in the room with her.  They keep yelling, “are you on any meds?” but she doesn’t respond so I yell back “she’s on blood pressure medication”.  I am so tired and smell like alcohol and vomit so I decide the best thing to do is get out the way while they figure out what is wrong with her.  I sit on a stool for a while but I am freezing.  Where they hell is my coat?  I try to break into her phone to call someone but don’t know the password and not sure I should call someone in the middle of the night.  I realize my phone is dying and I’m not sure how I’m going to get home.  I realize that I have no way home and I can’t stay here in the emergency room so I am forced to call my very nice, soon to be ex-husband to ask him if he can pick me up.  It’s an hour drive for him each way.  I lie down on a gurney and fall asleep clutching my purse, her purse and two pairs of shoes to my chest.  I’m sure they thought I was dead.  No one woke me up until my soon to be ex showed up and was looking for me for 20 minutes.

I leave her purse, shoes and a note with her since she is passed out.  They won’t tell me what is wrong with her or give me any updates but I leave my phone number any way.  My soon to be ex husband looks like he wants to hose me down and scrub me with a hazmat brush before I get into his truck.  Yeah he’s gonna miss me.  I go home, plug-in my very dead phone and go to bed.  No freshening up, just bed.

The next day gf #2 calls me but I am too far away to come get her and also still intoxicated.  She has to call a family member to pick her up.  The final diagnosis is that she had a potassium deficiency.  Nothing funny here.  She could have died.  She felt like death for a few days, had to take a bunch of medication and felt horrible.  She also was embarrassed, but it wasn’t her fault.  Sometimes I think she is a secret Catholic with all that guilt.

Needless to say…that is called partying like a Rock Star.  If there is not belligerent drunkenness, random kissing, getting thrown out of an establishment, puking, more drinking, dancing, harassing people, being cited for public drunkenness, police, ambulance, hospital, and someone doesn’t almost die, then you can’t say you really partied.

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I assure you…you can’t party like girls from Pennsylvania.

You have been warned…

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This entry was posted on January 17, 2013 by in Batty, Blog and tagged , , , , , , , .

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