And yet these people keep talking to me...

Last night was my first-ever neighborhood bunco party. None of the girls I've hung out with lately were going, so it was me, flying solo, meeting a bunch of neighbors that I have either just waved at or my dog has tried to eat theirs.

Really looking forward to it, I'm sure you can imagine.

I stood inside the house for fifteen minutes trying to decide the appropriate amount of lateness that would make me look cool but not give away that I'm ALWAYS the late one.

I made it, I had fun, I heard "She's so funny" too many times which always ends the same way...I drink too much and say things I probably shouldn't.

I may have told them that my husband is in charge of 'safety' at the 'Harris Teeter' -which is a grocery store. (He actually is in charge of Emergency Preparedness at a Nuclear Power Plant with 'Harris' in the name.) Seriously, it's a mistake anyone could make.

I also may have mentioned he can stick his tongue in his nose. (He may kill me when he reads this on my blog but I'm taking my chances cause it will just prove the point that he should read this more often.)

But the best part of the night was not all that... Although, it was pretty funny when I made both of my sons sound gay by announcing that Deuce wants to be a 'Police Lady' which he did say, and that Bonus dropped out of ballet on the first day because they wouldn't let him wear the tutu. But hey, they were true stories!

The best part of the evening was when I got home and started sending drunk emails. Emails that I didn't know I had sent until this morning.

I woke to one from a wonderful bloggy friend warning me that I was going to feel pretty shitty this morning. Not understanding how in the hell she would know about my night out, I scroll down to find this:

okay, so i go to the neighborr hood bunco tonite (and the drunk-typing here is just something you're gonna have to overlook cause i may have had one too many glasses of vino to compensate for being the new chick).

Holy hell, ican't type dbrunk. Righ.

Bak at ya tomorrowssss.

nitynite.
A

To which I was both mortified but giggling and then scrolled down to find that I had carried on an entire conversation with a best friend from TN... (Oh, and apparently, I like to type the f-word a lot when I've been drinking. Well, at least I attempt to type it a lot. Go me. Hi Dad! Bet you're soooo proud! Let's never speak of this post, mkay?)

i tried goin to bed at 9:45 when i got home, but hte fucking bed was all shaky shaky and steve wans't awake so i think it mkght be the wine, vut i'm not so sure...

don' tremind me of this tomorrow, k? thanks.

Apparently, Carrie wasn't responding fast enough for my drunken state, so I responded with this:

alright, ti's been 7 minutes and you no writie writie. I'm goin to bed. Gotta find the motrin first cause if i get a hangover from hangingo ut wtiht the bunco nbors, i'm soooo never gonna livet hat down.
fuck.
life that donw.
fcuk.
LIVE THAT DOWN.
there.
good.

To which Carrie informs me that she is in fact AT WORK and can't be responding much faster. Don't worry; I'm quite understanding and forgive her:

i hear ya. no apologz nexixary.
fucj, nicisary.
fuck.
NECISSARY.
DAMMIT.


i'm goin to bed.
nigthty nite.
vudck.
FUCK.
htere, fammit
alrigh.t.
GOOD NITE.

THEERE.
AMO

Just a little insight to why you may not want to answer emails from me with typos as poor Carrie has learned...Sorry Carrie. I love you for not mentioning this today.