The big winner of the night? Not my liver.

The fights don't start until 10, so I figure the boys are coming over around 9. My limited experience with UFC centers around the reality show, because though I don't like organized ass beatings, I enjoy some drama. But this pay-per-view thing is only the fighting part, not the peeing on someone's pillow part. Therefore, not as interesting.

J informs me the guys will be arriving at 7, so they can go out for beer and wings. Well, that sounds like fun! But after a conversation that went something like this

Me: You don't want me to go?

J: I don't want you to want to go.

the No Girls mandate was established.

So what did I decide to do? Um, drink enough wine to make a complete ass out of myself. Well, that wasn't the plan, but that is what happened.

I go to dinner with a friend, during the course of which I have two glasses of wine. When I get home the boys are still out. I pour another glass of wine while I go over my options and blab on the phone with Sexy about the new season of Real World and the subtle power struggles of The Gauntlet 2 (Impeach Kina!). With the option of being sequestered in the bedroom for the night, or going out solo, I head out to see a band playing at a local bar.

Jump ahead.

On the walk home from downtown I feel ok. Sure a little buzzed, but nothing ridiculous. However, every step I take closer to home, the more drunk I begin to feel. I start getting concerned. As I approach my house, my anxiety hightens. Inside are 3 complete strangers (and one of Js coworkers, gulp) all hyped up on UFC testosterone and here comes the wife! She's home! and she's shitfaced!

As I approach the house I hear T bark in the back yard. I'm saved! I head down our side alley and to the gate. I think, "I'll just hang out here, take a few deep breathes, compose myself and head in the side door and up the stairs, without having to talk to anybody." Well, T's barking caught J's ear and he pops out the side door. Then I try to talk, and walk, but nothing is working.

Those of you who know me well have probably seen me under the influence. I am usually (I stress usually) not a sloppy fall down drunk. Sure I get overly chatty and spill my drink. I also have inclinations towards sharing my religious and political beliefs, but I stay upright. Well, not this time. For some reason my balance went the way of the my better judgement, nowhere to be found.

J comes out and I begin apologizing because I realize how drunk I am. Luckily he loves me enough to help me inside and gets me going up the stairs. Where I fall down. But I get up and proceed to the bedroom.

Boom! J hears a thud and announces to his comrades he better go check on his drunk ass wife. Which he does, only to find me lying on the bedroom floor. But I'm ok. Not passed out or anything, just completely unable to keep everything sturdy.

Yes I am a joy to be married to. I can only hope there are not stories circulating Js place of business about me and my inability to hold my liquor.

But I had my punishment:

We awake at 8am to drive 3 hours. I tend to get car sick. Not fun. Then once we arrive, I sit in the back seat while a realtor drives us around on a 'tour'...ugh. But the city was pretty, even though I wanted to puke. But I didn't.

The End