I debated whether or not to post this entry for a long time. Now that there are professionals reading my blog, I recognize the fact that I must maintain a respectable image. But dammit, the events of Friday night were so ridiculous I cannot help but write about them.
Wine Extravaganza, the words that will resonate dread, horror and nausea creeping up my spine for the rest of my life. The one event in the history of Candice in which all of my friends, well-seasoned drinkers, were completely destroyed by 40 bottles of wine.
The precedent for the night: 30+ people contributed $20 each for 40 bottles of wine. The night was meant to be a classy affair, one where drinkers could sample the various wine goodness purchased on our behalf.
Herein lies our first mistake. Perhaps many people could handle such an event, but what happens when you throw 20 or more Newfies, many of which are from the bay, into a room with a handful of strangers and unlimited alcohol? They get super fucking competitive. When Chef told me how many bottles of wine we had, I immediately divided the number of bottles by the number of guests.
Damn, I thought. Just little over a bottle each? Not taking into account that, where I can drink a dozen of beer in one night and still have a coherent conversation, most others can drink only a fraction of that amount.
By 10:30 p.m., our house was rocking. Literally. I have a short video of everybody dancing and singing in the kitchen to Faith, and I’d post if it not for the severe dizzying effects of my hold on the camera. Also, I caught two of my girl friends making out on camera, and I probably should not post that.
I woke up the next morning in bed still fully dressed, chuckling about how three of my friends had spent the latter part of the evening hugging the toilet bowl/bath tub. I owned it! I thought.
When I expressed my pride to TOR, she looked at me gobsmacked. “Are you serious?”
Apparently, what had actually happened was that I went downtown, had to walk back with TOR, we were picked up by her cousin in a police car, and then I fell asleep on the stairs inside.
I’m not even bragging about this, I swear, I just felt the need to express that I have officially reached my limit. The last two weekends have left me in dangerous situations that I have not experienced in all my 23 years as an experienced drinker. Today, Chef left for Morocco for seven weeks, and DirtySailor is headed back out to sea tomorrow. I’m taking the next few weeks to detox, seriously.
On the other hand, what a freaking awesome night!