Aside from gathering the ire of our neighbors, the party went off smoothly. It had a summer camp theme, so I put out pitchers of Tang with vodka (delicious, and my downfall) and Countrytime lemonade with whiskey, along with fruit rollups, animal crackers, and bags of Capri Sun, which inevitably wound up being used as mixers. We had the firepit going in the backyard, and there were people on the porch, and in the house, and pretty much anywhere they could fit (including a couple locked in the bathroom, doing exactly what I hoped they weren’t doing).
There were make-your-own-merit badges of construction paper, markers, stickers and safety pins. I was awarded Hostess with the Mostess badge, and also two that looked like nipples, pinned to my chest. Someone else had a badge that named her Chief Breast Inspector. It was that kind of party. My favorite thing was the pinata I bought and stuffed with little plastic bottles of booze.
Sunday morning (er, afternoon) I woke up in a haze, and stayed that way until we met Boof at the Willie Nelson concert at Mountain Winery. A pound or so of brie and manchego brought me back to something approaching normalcy, and Willie doing all his classics brought me back to endorphin-land. Monday we had a cocktail party to attend (hosted by friends who are opening their own distillery), and Tuesday I tore through dollar-oyster night, eating something like three dozen. Wednesday I had a work happy hour (balanced out by a run when I got home), and yesterday I stood at the stove for hours to make bread, lentils, roasted vegetables, fried rice, and a pot o’ grains (amaranth, quinoa, teff). I don’t know what got into me. Oh right, red wine.
This weekend will hopeful involve more recovery time than this week has, but I’m really not counting on it.