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I write about about being a 40-something mum of six wonderfully exasperating children, attachment parenting, my adventures in the kitchen, and whatever else comes to mind. 


You Can't Go Back (Or: How I Made A Total Ass Of Myself)

Last Thursday night I was gifted an awesome opportunity to catch a concert I'd given up seeing, hanging out with a wild bunch of Ladies I admire and revisiting our youth. In hindsight, there are somethings best left experienced in one's teens and early twenties -- a 35yr old body can't take the abuse dished out by a 16yr old mindset. ;) Growing up in rural Nova Scotia, I never got to see the New Kids On The Block in concert -- that was the sort of things that dreams (and fairies and unicorns) are made of. Short of seeing Jordan Knight perform at Zaphod's a few years ago, I'd long since crossed this item off of my to-do list. So when my friend offered me a ticket to go, I jumped at the opportunity, squeed a bit,  and started to plan my outfit.

It started out innocently enough. We met at someone's house near to Scotiabank Place, ate some pizza, had some salad, drank a bottle of wine (by myself! oops!), had some more salad and pizza, tried some Sangria, hopped into the designated drivers' cars and headed over. We happily staggered into the event, giddy and giggly, found our seats (found some drinks! oy!), and prepared to have a blast.

The sheer number of over-excited, rather intoxicated, women between the ages of 25-45 was almost overwhelming if one stopped to think about it -- a good thing no one has thought to harness *that* energy for evil -- but everyone was having a blast. From our seats, you could almost believe NKOTB hadn't aged at all!

And that's when things got hairy. I wasn't just drunk. I was stinkin' drunk.

I was feeling thirsty so I went in search of water, stopping at each section to see how the concert was going, getting terribly lost as there was a bit of a detour to get to our section, and eventually decided I should have a pee in case the opportunity didn't come again. That was a bad idea. Something about the bathroom triggered a gag reflex I rarely show (and, sadly, I can think of many an "silly adult" occasion where I've had more to drink LOL), and the next thing I remember is a nice lady coming to rescue me, sit me on some nice cool steps and go find one of my friends. I'm forever grateful to that nice lady (and to my nice friend, who I will happily play wingman next time) who made sure I got home safely in one piece.

Yes, I learned a few things that night. I learned that no matter how hard I try I can't magic away 20 years of my life (but I can have fun trying), if I'm going to drink myself into that degree of foolishness, it would be better to start earlier in the day, that you have to be pretty drunk to get kicked out of Scotiabank Place (an achievement I can now claim), that getting drunk enough to get kicked out of Scotiabank Place trumps throwing up on the steps of The Carleton Tavern (that one wasn't me ;)) and that, if you are drunk enough, they'll even pay for your cab. Even if you live downtown.

They won't, however, pay for the "clean-up  fee".

I also learned that good friends look out for each other, that my friends are awesome and forgiving and hilarious and not at all afraid to make fun of themselves while having a good time, and that we need to do stuff together more often.

Next time, I'm going to make sure it's staggering distance from home, though. ;)


Recipe: Tortellini Salad