Another Boring Blog

Part of my new "call a spade a spade" campaign.

Well, we're down to one Oktoberfest weekend to go. Friday was the night my sister, brother-in-law, and DJTaytieMac came up. I went with them, which of course gave me yet another license to get totally shitfaced. They seem to hand those licenses out real easy.

Now, I have no intention of turning my blog into a "Tales of the Drunken Reprobate" confessional. First of all, it's boring, and second of all, I really don't drink that much. Oktoberfest just affords me one of those opportunities I guess I should be thankful only happens a few weekends a year.

Anyway, Friday night we were sans Mr M, who decided to piss off and go do his own thing at a Gestalt workshop. Yes, you heard me correctly. And even with one clarinet gone, I got an affirmative answer when I told Ed we really needed to do the "Clarinet Polka" that night. Can't help it, I like the song, and yeah, I probably wanted to show off a little in front of the family as well. So sue me. Therefore, I tried to keep the drinking to a "having a great time, but still in possession of my legs" level.

Then we made it to the break, and no "Clarinet Polka" was forthcoming. And if it hasn't happened by the break, well, it's not gonna happen at all. Okay! Time to give up my legs!

And so I did. I took my stein back outside and got a heaping top-up of beer, and while I was out there Susan, the very nice lady who mans (or would that be womans) the sales table at Oktoberfest had a private stash of a couple of different schnapps back there. She offered, and I accepted. Peach schnapps. She also gave my sister one. I bounced back inside (I distinctly remember bouncing; I remember this because I'm not by nature a bouncer in the least), and it seemed like once I hit the stage, everyone from every direction was toasting me and handing me Jagermeister shots. And since it would have been rude to refuse hospitality, I, of course, accepted them all. Especially the ones I asked for.

By the time the evening ended, I was so happy. I was a happy girl. I was so happy that while my sister and her husband went and got the car, Taytie felt the need to stay with me and be my personal looker-after. (He's such a nice young man. He also once told me I'm funny when I'm drunk.) And so we headed home.

We stopped about halfway, at a convenience store, to get a Coke and some snacks, and I strolled in, advising everyone I saw that I was in fact not driving, so please don't worry about me (I'm sure they were all so concerned). I also realized whilst paying for my loot (a Coke and a pack of Boston Baked Beans, a candy from my childhood I didn't realize they still made), that I'd forgotten to remove my geeky clarinet neckstrap. I was wearing it like a necklace.

I got home, spoke to Mr M online, proceeded to start an argument with him that I don't even remember, I guess that was the "bullying" phase of my drunkenness, then decided lying outstretched was not a good idea and that maybe sleeping in the Comfy Chair was what I needed. And so I slept in the Comfy Chair.

I woke up at about 6:30am with my heart pounding in my head. About 125 beats a minute. It was excruciating. I stumbled up and swallowed a handful of aspirin and forced myself back to sleep. Just as I was beginning to feel human, the parents rang my doorbell, coming to say goodbye (they were on their way back to Florida) and to bring me a biscuit. Boy, did I need that biscuit.

Now, here's the thing. My drunkenness last weekend was all good. I laughed, I yodelled, I got my picture taken, I slept, and I got up the next morning. Friday night it went waaaaay beyond that. I got ugly, I wanted to fight with Mr M for some reason I pulled out of my psyche (it may have been the Weds night 'therapy session'). I woke up in the Comfy Chair in pajamas I never remember putting on, wearing glasses I never remembered removing contact lenses for.

And thinking about stuff like that makes me realize how people die drinking alcohol. I mean, not that I was at that point, or even in the same county, but I can see how just the right combo of beer, shots, wine, liquor, or whatever can send someone right over the edge into that sleep that really lasts. I'm tempted to say "a sobering thought," but I won't, because I don't want to get that heavy. In a figurative way. The literal way, too late.

I skipped the elementary school thing on Saturday afternoon. And Saturday night I drank iced tea. Unsweetened.

Oh, a quick aside here. This weekend, for the first time I can remember in at least five years, Ed pulled out the old Schnitzelbank song. They used to do that when I first started going to Oktoberfest as an audience member and my sister and I would make up our own "translations" to the words. (You should hear our translation of band favorite "En Munchen Steht Ein Hofbrau Haus." Not for the squeamish.)

So anyway. Sober Saturday, went to Mr M's afterward, watched my new Eddie Izzard dvd. Played some duets and practiced a little today, and got a few glowing words from M himself, which really buoyed my mood and confidence level.

And that's the weird thing about Oktoberfest, in the end. I mean, besides all the fun, and the drinking, and the friends I feel I've made this year, sitting back there blowing my brains out for three hours a night, feeling like I'm not even being heard has made me a better player. Because I can't play for 30 minutes and put my horn down to go watch TV. My chops are better, my sightreading is better. Hey, I'm better!

And now that you've heard me say something positive about myself, that means it must be time to sign off. Right?