You didn’t expect me to blog about the evils of alcohol on Repeal of Prohibition day, did you?
I’m not that girl. I’m not even apologetic about not being that girl. Even though my bar star days are over, I still enjoy a good party. I love my friends, and I love to share a glass, or bottle, or several bottles, of wine with my friends as often as possible. And don’t even get my started on champagne. My friend George, Della’s husband, knows that I will do almost anything for a glass of good champagne – and loves to exploit my weakness (don’t worry, Della doesn’t mind).
[Deanna is going to insert a picture here of me with champagne glasses, because I can't seem to make it work]
You can read all about Prohibition on the internet (I did), but in a nutshell, it boils down to this:
In the latter half of the 1800s, some pinch-faced folks whose underpants were likely far too tight decided to blame alcohol for all of the evils of the world (other substances have been blamed and banned at various times in history, including absinthe and more importantly, chocolate). They banned booze, failing spectacularly at solving the world’s problems and instead encouraging the rise of speakeasys, home brew, and Canadian Club Whisky (the Americans, being puritans at heart, held on to prohibition far longer than we did. Never let it be said that Canadians are no fun. A friend of B.’s attributes the end of American prohibition to the quality of Canadian booze flowing [ahem] across the border). In my humble opinion, we have prohibition to thank for the rise of the nightclub.
And really, wouldn’t you rather party with the fun Canadians than these dour women? * shudder * Would you kiss those mouths without a stiff shot?
In honour of repeal of prohibition day, I bring you the following exerpts from drunken texts and conversations over the past couple of weeks (and when Deanna wakes up, perhaps she can help with formatting):
Text from B: We *heart* you J We are not drunk… Yet.
Text from B: B: I haven’t been to Stage in really a long time *pout* D: we can fix that, like, right away.
Text from Deanna: ‘How could he not like that his new girlfriend getting 5 litres of lube for Christmas?
Text from Deanna: You look really pretty tonight.
Text from Deanna: Quote – ‘when i put it in, my earlobes got inflamed’
Email from B: Kristin: Isn’t there not just a swig left in the bottle?
Email from B: K: peter is retarded. Oh dear! I am laughing so hard I’m crying B: he’s retarded how? K: I don’t know – he’s mildy retarded D: casually retarded since 1978.
Email from B: Subject: Barefoot Merlot D: mmmmmmmm, smoky! Smells like a forest fire.
Email from B: Subject: If only you were here: A circle of drunk women comparing their belly buttons & suitability thereof for piercing. K: there’s the backing – don’t touch!
Email from B: K: so I’ve been a little … Fucked up with time … Whadya call that? Jet lag?
Email from B: Subject: Recalling various kissing incidents: Involving you & Deanna says: “kissing anything short of a tree” [Eva: not true. I have some standards. I just think my friends are particulary kissable, that’s all]
Email from B: Subject: You have made Dea sad She said: I’m sad about Eva I said: why? Because she’s not here? D: she’s not texting us back. It’s not as much fun. Boo! I said: maybe she’s busy having really good sex in which case that’s okay.
D & B: *shrug*
Email from B: Subject: Moore convo: So I was screeming and not looking the whole time I was doing it”
Conversation between Eva & Barb: Eva: Oh look! The hooker shoe store is still here. Barb: I want some of those boots. Eva: do you want to try them on? Barb: No, we have some serious wine to drink.
Serious wine: these are “end of the night” pictures from B’s birthday. We’re in the hallway at Deanna’s trying to get our boots off. And then we’re in bed.
Okay, forget it. Pictures to come when I wake up again. WordPress does NOT like pictures today. Grrrrr…
More on this later. It’s 5:30 a.m. after all, and bed is where I should be.
[Update: this might be a day-long endeavour. I now have pictures but they're small and not where I want them. Sigh]