Charmed, I'm Sure

a really good sense of humor isn't just something i look for in a guy, it's something i absolutely require. because if you're going to date me, you're going to need it. well, that and an appreciation for martinis.

so okay.

we have already established that i am not so much good at The Physics or The Math, as illustrated in my not getting how things work (like gravity) and in my messing up knitting patterns because i do things like multiply 6 by 8 and get 56 (repeatedly).

and now it is time to explain the extent to which i am also not good at The Chemistry.

last night* Ish was headlining at a funky spot downtown and several of my lovely friends joined me in watching the show. and of course we had a swell time because not only was the comedy good but the club has a BYO liquor policy (and i am sure it will come as no surprise to you that my friends and i are no slouches in the BYOing department).

and so i started with the wine.

but kristy, you might be saying now, i thought you said something about martinis, not wine.

and then i would have to say, unfortunately dear IIF, the two are not mutually exclusive.

and then you might wince at the thought of drinking wine and martinis in the same evening and realize that this story is going to get very ugly very quickly.

because yes. sitting at the comedy club, enjoying the show, my friends' company, and wine, i was having a fabulous time. and then the ExBoy offered me champagne -- good champagne -- and i decided that would also be fabulous.

oh, and it was.

and then the show was over and we all gathered outside to go somewhere en masse, and i suggested the bar/restaurant/dancefloor atop the san francisco hilton since it was practically across the street and the dancing there is extremely cheesy and thus, when you're with 14 other people, fantastic.

and we arrived just in time for the bulk of the people who were dining to leave, and for the dj to start up with a lovely ensemble of ridiculous dance songs from the early-to-mid 90s. and the venue was perfect and the views were spectacular and all was well until we get to the part about The Chemistry.

Ish looked at me and asked me the very unfortunate question, "would you like a drink?"

answer that should be given by someone with even just a passing acquaintance with The Chemistry: oh, Ish, no. you see, while i've been known to have a rather remarkable tolerance in the past, body chemistry is not a constant. i have been eating much better, working out, and drinking less over the last several weeks. as such, the wine and champagne i've already consumed has brought me to my limit.

answer that could be given by someone with a passing acquaintance with The Chemistry whose judgment is perhaps slightly impaired by wine and champagne: well, i probably don't need another drink, but i suppose one more glass of wine won't kill me. hey, at least i'm not mixing liquors.

answer that was given by me: sure! how 'bout a martini?

now, to be fair to my own stupidity, i held that first martini like a champ.

(uh, didja catch that? where i said "first" martini? right.)

and things were still fine and the dancing was great and the views were still spectacular and all was still well except this is the point in The Chemistry class where you think you're adding de-ionized water to the test tube but discover, in a rather unfortunate manner, that it's something far more reactive.

like, say, a second martini.

because yeah. pouring that second martini into my body was like pouring a tube of...

um...

ah...

[oh for fuck's sake. i wanted to compare the martini to like, something you could mix in chemistry class that would start off looking okay but actually be a really bad combination. but i can't because i have no idea what i'm talking about because as you probably recall-- even if i can't -- i'm REALLY BAD AT THE CHEMISTRY.]

anyway.

wine + champagne + martinis + more healthy = lowered tolerance = downward spiral.

and so just moments after most of my friends were leaving the bar, i had to sit down to stop the world from spinning and my head from crashing into the floor. and then after i regained some sense of equilibrium, i decided to go to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face (before trying to figure out how i could possibly manage a cab ride home).

now, this is the point in the evening where it is actually a good thing that you are as drunk as you are because if you were any bit more sober you would start sobbing in mortification because you are:
a. having trouble standing,
b. unsure how you will manage to get home given a., and
c. still in the throes of a new relationship where you are trying to impress your boyfriend.

that's impress. not throw up on.

so right. i fumbled my way into the ladies' room to splash cold water on my face, and Ish -- because he is good and kind or maybe just psychic -- followed me in.

now, a far more adventurous (and steadily upright) couple might use their stolen moments in a large, private restroom more...adventurously. but i, in my breezy elegance, could not be adventurous because i had to focus all my energies on solving The Chemistry problem. and by the time i made it into the ladies’ room, i'd forgotten my water-splashing objective completely and instead decided it would be best if i went into a stall to have a few moments alone.

so i locked the door, put the seat down, and sat down to think.

clearly there must be a solution to this Chemistry problem, i thought. uh, except maybe not in those terms exactly. (no, the terms i believe i used were, “god, i am so drunk. how can i not be drunk? i am too drunk. i should not be so drunk. how did i get this drunk? who made me this drunk? how can i not be so drunk? wait, maybe i am not so drunk. hmmm. oh god, i am so drunk.")

and while i was laboriously pondering these various Chemical Hypotheses**, i didn’t really have the mental bandwidth to process the sound coming from outside the stall. but if i had, i would have heard a lot of…rustling. yeah.

and maybe i would have asked what that rustling sound was, because that is maybe not the sound you want to hear from your boyfriend in the ladies’ room (assuming, there is ANY sound you want to hear your boyfriend making inside a ladies’ room).

so of course i eventually decided that there was absolutely no way to solve The Chemistry problem and even genius chemists would find the problem challenging and that The Chemistry is clearly really very stupid and if i had been taking a test in high school it would have been at that point where i’d have given up, handed the test in, and hoped for make-up homework. so right, i decided i had to leave the stall, Chemically challenged and all.

and when i did, i was rather surprised. i opened the door to find Ish pulling his hands out of the paper towel bin. and given my already perplexed mind, i was absolutely confounded.

“what are you DOING?” i asked, probably with a notable slur.

Ish looked at me and held up a clean plastic trash bag he’d rescued from the bin. “i thought you might need this for the ride home,” he said.

and that is when i realized i am dating the most brilliant man who has ever lived. einstein? chemistry? damn you both to hell. i have a street-smart, drunk-savvy comic. take that! seriously. i am a bit fuzzy still on the details, but it’s possible that his presenting me with a plastic bag may have moved me to tears.

uh, on the other hand, being moved to tears while under the influence of The Chemistry wasn’t half the feat that moving me to a cab was.

frankly, i have absolutely no idea how we made it down the stairs and into an elevator and onto the sidewalk and into a taxi, but we did. and i will attribute this to more – if fuzzy – brilliance on the part of Ish.

anyway.

if i were a cab driver, i'm not sure that i’d be too thrilled about allowing a clearly inebriated couple into my car, especially given that one half of the couple was already clinging for dear life to a clear plastic ladies’ room garbage bag. but then, maybe if i were a cab driver i wouldn’t notice the bag until it was too late.

like when the oh-so-breezily elegant blond started hurling, mightily, into it.

ah, me.

so let’s conclude this lesson in The Chemistry, shall we?

hypothesis: k is a good girlfriend

given:

• tolerance = not a constant / change in body chemistry = change in tolerance
  
• change in tolerance [MUST EQUAL] change in amount of alcohol consumed {{OR}} change in tolerance + constant amount of alcohol consumed = needing plastic bag in cab
  
• k + stupidity in The Chemistry [ALSO EQUAL TO] plastic bag in cab = needing brilliant companion + tremendous sense of humor
  

considerations:

• brings friends to see Ish perform (pos)+
  
• throws up in cab on ride home (neg)-

conclusion: hypothesis unproven. additionally, will need to complete special homework assignment for extra credit to avoid failing this class.





*um, this was originally drafted last sunday, oct. 16.

**see how I’m using all sorts of chemistry references? cool, huh? yeah, i can do that because i am somewhat good at The English. and seriously, how many chemists could employ such thematic consistency to their drunk blog stories?