Wednesdays are the new Saturdays?

The other night (Wednesday, actually . . . duh- it's in the title of the post) I had the girls over for our annual monthly dinner where we drink more wine than we eat food and gossip and catch up on one another's lives. Since I was hosting, I was at the liberty to drink as much as I wanted being that the other 2 were driving. M arrived first and we popped open a bottle of white. We finished it before K got there . . . not a good sign for me. However, K had perfect timing because she brought a bottle of white with her- hurray! I think at this point, in my mind I was going "tomorrow is totally Friday so I can def be hungover at work!" ha- not. Well, away I go! Pouring us all large classes of some fab bottle that K brought. We laugh and talk and eat (finally!), but not before I began to feel the effects of my wine glass. By the time we hit dessert, we were onto a bottle of red I had. I probably should have noticed that the girls were trying to take it easy, but I took the liberty of "topping" (literally- pouring wine to top of glass status) everyone off pretty consistently. M had attached my ipod to the speakers and Counting Crows had crooned to us for a majority of the evening. By the time the bottle of red had been opened, I realized that the same Counting Crows album had repeated itself like 3 times (maybe 4?), but I made no effort to change it or alert the others of this occurrence. Moving 2 feet from couch to speakers was too much of a daunting task at that point.

The girls left around 10, thereby leaving me with 1/3 of the bottle of red and the cork in the trash. Boyfriend was at a concert that night, so I couldn't really wait for him to show up to finish the damn thing. So I basically said 'to hell with it' and continued laying on my couch for about an hour, by myself, listening to the same damn Counting Crows album over and over while finishing the bottle on my own. Don't worry- I was classy about it though and poured the wine into a glass prior to consumption. Classy girls don't drink straight from the bottle . . . even in the comforts of their own home ;)

Eventually I mustered up the courage to brush my teeth, then I abruptly passed out with all my makeup on on top of my bed. This was after, however, I had sent about 50 million text messages to boyfriend to "pleeeeeease come see me when the concert is over!" and "I MISS YOU!" texts. Gawd, thank the Lord he loves me and has been with me long enough where he knows I'm not psycho-texting bitch. Which is all the more reason why he showed up (wasted himself) at 1 a.m. at my doorstep after the concert to see me. I had been passed out for more than 2 hours and was in that totally 'I don't know what's going on phase' when I went to the door to get him. Then the two of us were just swaying around like a couple of drunk pirates, where I was dead tired and he kept ranting about how he was going to puke in my bed and refused to get up off the floor. I left him there for a good hour, then woke up, got him to undress (actually THAT'S a lie- I totally had to undress him and it was really really hard because he was dead weight and did not assist me AT ALL! I am a good girlfriend.) and he came to bed.

Then 7 a.m. rolled around and we both hated life. And hated that it was Thursday instead of Friday. Elise = FAIL.