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Ugh. I drank too much wine last night.
Sadly, �too much� translates into a glass and a half.
I hate events where I have to make small talk with people I�m really not interested in learning about. Especially when, like last night (like all the Artboy�s gallery openings save the last one), I�m expected to act in something of a hostess capacity. At least at the gallery, I could hide out in the kitchen and prepare food. At the Harvard Club, I think the staff would have taken offense.
I went early with Ann and Diane to set up�set out the nametags, check on the hors d�oeuvres, fold the programs, and talk to the AV guy. The cocktail hour was set to start at 6:00, with dinner at 7 and the lecture at 8. By 6:05, I was ready to sneak out the back door in order to avoid the five or six doctors who were congregated around the baked Brie and smoked salmon. Thankfully, my friend Donna came in, pulled me over to the bar, ordered me a glass of sauvignon blanc and scouted out a couple of seats. Shortly after that, Alesia, Carolyn and the other Jennifer, all managers in my department (non-docs) and friends of mine, came in, grabbed some food and joined us at our little table.
Alesia is a socializer. She worked the room while the rest of us sat and watched and ate and drank. Shortly before dinner, she and Donna returned to the table with fresh drinks for everyone.
I stared at the wineglass, knowing I shouldn�t drink its contents. Then I looked around the room, thought �what the hell!� and took a big swig. The wine was good.
The lights flickered, signaling that it was time to head into the dining room. I left the almost-full glass on the cocktail table and proceeded to my dinner chair. Having secured a spot far from Diane, I excused myself to the ladies room, noting that I was already feeling slightly unsteady.
When I came back to the table, there was a brand new, completely full glass of wine next to my plate. Against my better judgment, I drank some more�maybe a third of the glass during dinner.
I was fine through the cream of asparagus soup. I was fine through the Caesar salad. When the chicken piccata and tiny roasted potatoes hit the table, though, I realized I was drunk and utterly unable to consume another thing. I moved the dinner around my plate and tried to follow the conversations happening around me.
At some point, I told everyone at the table a completely inappropriate joke. They all laughed, which was good, but it was the wine talking.
The staff cleared the plates and walked through the room, proffering coffee. I smiled and shook my head. The lights dimmed, the slide projector turned on, the lecture started. I waited about ten minutes and then slipped out as unobtrusively as possible.
The cool Newbury Street air helped my head a little as I walked back to the Orange line, but there was no denying my drunkenness. One and a half glasses of wine. It�s just not fair!
I made it home without incident, let myself into the house and promptly threw up all of my dinner. Cream of asparagus soup is not my first choice for vomiting back up. Unpleasant. I made myself a cup of chamomile tea, briefly called the Boyfriend (though I didn�t tell him I�d lost my dinner due to overindulgence�he didn�t really need to know that!), and curled up with my pillows to watch the second half of Felicity.
If anyone saw the first half, would you email me and tell me what happened? I was very confused! Of course, that could also have been the wine�
Two a.m., I woke up, my head pounding. I rummaged around for two Tylenol, downed a glass of water, used the bathroom, got back into bed and prayed for sleep. It finally came, about an hour later.
Today, I feel like crap.
I just shouldn�t drink anything, ever.
(Yeah, I�ve said that before)
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