Sunday, June 14, 2009

How I drink alcohol at a street fair

Step 1: Carry a water chaser:
Step 2: Give alcoholic beverage to a friend after about ten sips.

I drank more alcohol today than I've ever consumed in an entire month. Which is still only about three drinks. How much do you want to party with me right now? I spent the weekend trolling the Andersonville (a used-to-be-Swedish neighborhood in northern Chicago) Midsommarfest (which inexplicably happens before summer even starts) street fair (which is just an excuse to sell non-Swedish tchotchkes, drink outside and snarl up traffic) this weekend. I did all of Saturday on two Diet Cokes. Or maybe it was three. But today my friend Peter was on a mission to get me drunk. I've never been drunk in my life and I had no intention of starting today, but he didn't believe me so he kept buying me drinks ... and I kept drinking parts of them and then quietly passing them off to other people while I discreetly nursed my water. It cost me nothing, and I got to try a lot of drinks I've never tried. But don't be impressed because it's all the drinks you normal people have on a regular basis, or at least the ones you tried in high school and quickly moved on to more adult beverages: vodka/7-Up, vodka/soda, flavored vodka/cheap juice. Seriously. I am the definition of party. Drop what you're doing and come shake your flowing rocker hair with me.

Speaking of, I hurt my neck tonight shaking my imaginary rocker hair to the earsplitting song stylings of something I think was officially called the Hair Band. They were the closing act of Midsommarfest, and I'm pretty sure they were good, but they were so damn loud it didn't matter. In any case, I chugged my water and shook my fists and waggled my butt with all ten million people crammed into the street in front of their stage for a good hour tonight. But I was quickly worn out and as far as Peter knew I was drunk and my husband, who is out of town this weekend, called in the middle of it all and I just wanted to go home and chat with him after at least 15 hours of collective street-fair fun. So I said my goodbyes, passed off my last drink, threw my water cup in an overflowing trash bin and worked my way through the crowd toward the relative quiet of my condo. But not before one last defiant fist punch in the air and one last shake of my shining, gleaming, steaming, flaxen, waxen hair. Dude.

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