spicy doritos and little debbie fudge rounds

As you may know, when left to my own devices I can give in quite handily to my geriatric tendencies. I'll stay in, curl up with a book, put the coffee pot on for the next morning and be in bed by 10. I plan my dinners for the week every Sunday and I get up before 8 on Saturdays. I'm two seconds from an AARP membership and a reserved seat at the Picadilly Cafeteria.

But there is something you might not know about me. It's a little something I like to call the Old Lady Equilibrium. The equilibrium is pretty rock solid, typically. I'm an Old Lady. But if, by some magical alignment of the stars and moons in the universe you are able to tilt the equilibrium even the teeniest, tiniest bit, you've got me. Get one drink in my hand on a weeknight, and I may still be able to fight it. But by the second? I'm such a cheap date that at this point I'm a little tipsy, and as I tip, so tips the equilibrium.

And then? It's over. Once the OLE has been tilted, anything goes. I'll have seven more drinks, dance on a table, karaoke to five songs and introduce myself to at least three total strangers before I even realize it's a weeknight and I should be in bed by now.

The tipping of the OLE is how I account for just exactly what happened on Tuesday night. I had a happy hour function for work, where I had one drink. Not quite in the danger zone yet. But then I went to see the Magic Kids at the Levitt Shell, for which I mixed myself up a little vodka tonic to sip on the lawn. And by the time I finished sipping it, the OLE was in the rear view mirror. I headed to a friend's house for continued beverage consumption and then on to Newby's, a bar near the University of Memphis where I clearly did not belong, but since the OLE usually would've been the thing telling me that and it wasn't quite functional at this point I just pretended I was the same age as all the other kids at the bar.

I'm sure they ALL believed it, too.

Next thing I know, I'm hitting on a kid I went to high school with like some sort of not-nearly-old-enough Mrs. Robinson, playing Otis Redding and Tina Turner on the juke box and lecturing people about knowing their roots, and telling a guy outside that he should pee on the side of the building because, and I quote, "If I had one of those I'd be peeing on EVERYTHING."

And then next thing I know after THAT, I'm at some random house party that hasn't quite developed yet, watching people play beer pong and staring at a case (yes, a CASE) of Easy Mac and I realize that it is three o'clock in the morning. THREE. In. The. Morning.

And suddenly, the Old Lady is back. And she is up past her bedtime and can't find her Metamucil and she is PISSED.

Next to the case of Easy Mac was a case of Cup-O-Soups, and as I contemplated exactly when the last time was that I indulged in either of those lovely, sodium-laced treats, I decided it was maybe time for the only person in the house with a full-time job to get her ass home and get to bed.

Of course, not before I stopped at the MapCo for a late night snack of spicy buffalo Doritos and Little Debbie Fudge Rounds. I suppose in hindsight I will choose to be thankful that I did not go in quest of a cheesburger somewhere, because that is really the only silver lining to the situation. Never have I waked up in the morning to such a putridly disgusting taste in my mouth. And as I cringed at that, I rolled over in bed to see the Doritos bag. Staring me in the face. And also, in the NOSE. Holy Allah.

I may have ordered a venti coffee with extra espresso the next morning, but I made it to work. And I made it all day. And I didn't kill even one single person. And then I had pizza for dinner. And then I went to sleep.

At 8:30.


cheers,
elizabeth