Surprise! She can be taught after all

I’m 39 years old.

Not to paint myself as an alcoholic or anything, but I’ve done my fair share of drinking over the years, though not too often to excess. The first time I was ever hung over was the day in May of my senior year in high school when my mom drove me and my friend Kim out to central New York to tour Utica College.

The night before, there was an incident involving a party, me and a two-liter bottle of raspberry wine coolers. I woke up still drunk, which simply put, is a really terrible way to start the day. Things went down hill from there. Let me assure you – wine coolers are not nearly as sweet or as pretty coming back up as they are going down.

TRUST ME.

But, being all of 17 at the time, I somehow rallied and the trip went fine, the tour was fun and I actually ended up going to Utica College that fall.

Utica, while touted by all the officials as being a “dry campus,” was actually anything but – something I learned within hours of orientation when two fraternity brothers came roaming the halls trying to persuade all the freshman girls to come to a party in another dorm later that night.

My new friends and I went (of course), but I was too terrified on that first night to do much more than sip at my cup of skunky keg beer. My first real drunken college night didn’t come until over a month later – right before a fall break when my friends and I finally screwed up the courage to attend a “bar night” at a notorious dive called Spilka’s. We were assured that we’d all get in with even the most rudimentary fake IDs, and with fraternity brothers at the door, we did.

Fuzzy navels were two for a dollar and I drank my fill. The night ended with me and my friends taking rides in the giant dryers at the all-night laundromat next door, a 2 a.m. visit to “psycho Burger King,” and unprecendented intestinal distress. That was 22 years ago, and I have not touched anything with Peach Schnapps since.

Fortunately, those really bad nights – the ones that resulted in day-long hangovers, popping of fistfuls of aspirin or Tums and late afternoon “breakfasts” of greasy fast food – were far and few between, but there’ve been enough that I really just should know better.

I’m fairly petite and it never took much to push my body from “happily tipsy” to “oh-my-God-what-have-I-done?!” Now? It takes a whole lot less. And I know my new limit. I know it because I’ve flown right over it a few times in recent years.

There was my sister-in-law’s wedding in 2007 when I not only crossed the limit – I punted myself over it like the star kicker attempting to make the final winning field goal in the Superbowl. I spent the entire day after wishing for death. Instead I got to board a plane for a five-hour cross-country flight. Good times. Good times.

But still, I don’t learn.

Two Saturdays ago, we went to a bar in New York for a college reunion of sorts. It was four hours of open bar.

Four. Hours.

Open. Bar.

Someone also bought me a shot, which tasted like death in a glass. I still have no idea what was in it, but given the impact it had on me, I'm guessing grain alcohol.

I should know better by now, right?

I spent the better part of Sunday in the fourth level of hell. Stomach roiling, head pounding. I drank four gallons of water before 11 a.m. and still couldn't bring my dehydrated body to pee.

What was different this time, is that Monday I didn’t feel much better. Part of it was exhaustion (I slept a grand total of 3 hours Saturday night), but it was more than that. My stomach was still shaky. I felt nauseous most of the day.

I hate to say it, but I think I’m just getting way too old for those types of escapades. My body doesn’t bounce back the way it did when I was 17, or 21, or even 35 for that matter.

I’ve also noticed it takes less and less to send me over the edge.

So I’m off alcohol for a while. It’s not worth it to me anymore, especially because it has such a negative effect on my training.

Friday night, I met a group of high school friends for a “Class of 1987 Turns 40” party. And I had two beers.

Just two.

Seems you can teach an old girl new tricks after all.

I must remember not to forget this one

I don’t have a great memory. If I don’t write it down, put it on my calendar and/or send myself a reminder, it will most definitely be forgotten.

Lately, I’ve been even more scattered than usual. Last week, I brought the girls to school without their school bags or lunches. I didn’t even realize it until I pulled into the parking lot and realized they were not in the car. Smacking myself on the forehead, I declared, “Good Lord, I am getting old. I can’t remember anything anymore.”

Then I marched the girls to their classrooms, got back in the car, drove back home, got the bags and dropped them off at school. And that was the last I thought about it. The incident was, well, forgotten, if you will.

* * *
Flash forward to this weekend: Peanut found a bright pink stuffed horse that she wanted. Really badly. I told her we weren’t buying it, but that Santa was coming in a few weeks and he was watching and would remember it when it came time to bring her presents.

“But mommy, what if he forgets?”

“He won’t forget,” I promised. “He has a good memory.”

“But he might. He’s really, really old after all – almost as old as you and you’re always forgetting stuff.”

Oooookay.

::Note to self: no more self-deprecating age jokes in front of the children::

(And yes, I’m writing that down. Right. Here.)

To my dear, dear college friends:

Hi friends,

I know a lot of you read my blog. At least that's what you tell me, and my site meter seems to confirm that. (Your towns in places like New Hampshire, Maryland, western New York and Florida all regularly appear there).

So let's do a little test, shall we?

I've been thinking about you all a lot today. I miss you. We don't get together or chat as much as any of us would like, but I understand that's because we're all busy. Most of us are parents and even those of who aren't have active, demanding, full schedules.

But today I thought of you even more than usual.

Do you know why?

Are you ready for this? (Get ready to be shocked and awed).

we graduated from college 17 years ago today

Yeah.

I thought, briefly, about keeping that bit of information to myself. I thought maybe some (or all) of you had forgotten that little anniversary. It's easy for me to remember because tomorrow is my husband's birthday and I remember graduating the day before. May 19, 1991. A date that will live in infamy, at least for me.

I thought, briefly, "Why make everyone else wallow in this sad bit of information? Why not just keep it to myself and spare everyone else the painful realization that we are all nearly two decades out of college?"

But then I thought about the old days, when we'd push each other's buttons (in good fun, of course), name-calling and gently poking at each other. I remember when we were all turning twentysomething and we made it a point to send the most obnoxious "old age" birthday cards we could find to each other. I got a lot of those cards. A lot.

Payback is a bitch, baby.

::evil grins::