Mama Lets Loose

Last Saturday my husband texted me from work, saying 'Hey baby, June Jam is tonight, I got us a babysitter, get ready to party'. Not knowing what the hell "June Jam" was, I panicked. Visions of bad parking, overpriced beer and over-rehearsed local bands danced in my head. I was scared. I was not ready to leave Ethan alone with some stranger for a night away. I wanted to put him to bed, rent a movie and break open a bottle of cheap red. Why did we have to go out? Ethan would go to bed and stay there for most of the night. All that we needed was some good food, alcohol and each other's company. Any maybe a condom if we were feeling preventative. Maybe.

D explained that "June Jam" was an annual party that our new friends Joy and Terry host every year. They live about 5 minutes away and have a FULLY STOCKED BAR IN THEIR BACKYARD, and D's boss has a 15-year old daughter that is an experienced babysitter. She has an eleven month old nephew, and considering that we would get Ethan down for the night before we left, her duties would consist of sitting on the couch, eating our food and watching cable television. I knew it was time for a night away. I had to bite the bullet and trust that Ethan would be ok without me.

I gave our babysitter, Melissa, a full list of phone numbers to call in case of emergency, told her exactly where we'd be, what we'd be doing and where we kept our best junk food. D finally tore me away and off we went. I had a large glass of red wine before we left to kick things off and quelch my social anxiety, and just as we arrived at the party I was offered a beer. I accepted. 5 minutes later I was offered another beer. These Louisiana folk are so nice! So generous! Handing out beers like fucking water or something. I couldn't refuse! I make small talk with a group of girls. Was I down for a shot? Hell yes! A shot! Let's do a shot! A shot of what, I wasn't sure. But it was a shot and I did it! I did it twice! I took 2 double shots of what could've been fucking gasoline for all I knew, but I was a trooper! I was hardcore!!!

Margaritas!?! Who said margarita? Over here! Yes sir, fill 'er up! Thanks! (gulp, gulp...) Refill please! Yum. I was enjoying the night. D does the robot, and I shake my ass a little. We both giggle and get another drink. I am on my gazillionth alcoholic beverage for the night. I must get something to eat immediately.

They are serving a cross between spaghetti and jambalaya. I think it's called jambaletti. No, spaghetalaya. FUCKING DELICIOUS! The tenderness of the pasta, perfectly cooked, mixed with sausage and spicy tomato sauce was the perfect fucking drunk food. I ate a small styrafoam bowlfull. Awesome. I am now ready for yet another drink.

D's boss arrives with a big bottle of Crown. I request a drink. My wish is his command, based on the giant cup full of Crown and coke that he hands me. It tastes suprisingly good. 20 minutes later I ask D to get me another. This time the Crown is mixed with Sprite and it is equally as delicious and drinkable. I also have another beer.

We bust a few more moves on the dance floor and take a few drunken pictures. I mosey on over to the food table and grab a giant chocolate chunk cookie. My tummy makes a little rumble. I need to go to the restroom immediately.

I make my way to the bathroom and look at the toilet. The toilet stares back at me. I begin to sweat. Beads of perspiration collect on my brow and upper lip. Do I make myself throw up? Do I lay the fuck down on the nice cold dirty cement floor? WHAT DO I DO? I cannot go on! I can't hang. I am old. I am a failure. Why do I do this to myself? I decide that I can get it together enough to go find Drew and DEMAND THAT WE LEAVE AT ONCE, lest my drunken ass streak butt naked, do the fucking electric slide and simultaneously spew a mixture of beer, liquor and wine onto poor innocent onlookers. D decides that leaving immediately is a good idea. He is a smart, smart man.

I fold myself into the car and do not remember the ride home. The next thing I know I open the car door and the world is spinning. I cannot get it to stop. The spins, holy fucking hell the spins. I collapse onto our lawn. Please, just leave me here to die. Drew insists that I come inside. I can't. I throw up not once, not twice, but probably eight times. My skirt is hiked up to my waist. I am lying in an enormous ant pile. I don't care. Just leave me to die.

"Uh, baby? Please come inside. PLEASE!" Drew pleads. It's maybe ten minutes later and I still can't move. "I need to take the babysitter home!" I try to respond but I can only muster up a mild grunt, one that translates to: I still can't move you bastard, please fuck the fuck off and leave me to rot in my own personal hell.

D rolls me out of the way of the car and into my throw up, which my hair absorbs like a sponge. More ants. D tells the babysitter, "Oh, heh, don't mind her" and I think I actually died a little bit after that. Don't go into the light! The car peels out next to my limp, lifeless body. It's just me, the ants and partially digested jamba-spaghetti-laya.

An hour later Drew FORCES me to come inside. I can only make it to the living room couch. I rest a moment and somehow crawl to our bedroom, where I throw up some more. D peels my bile soaked clothes off of me and I fall into a heap on our bed, a sorry excuse for a human being. Somehow Drew sleeps next to me. He is a good, good man.

It is morning. I look at the clock. It is 6:15 a.m. I hear Ethan babbling in the next room. I feel a wave of nausea like never before. Rise and fucking shine! The room smells like a thousand rotting pig heads. I somehow walk to E's room. He smiles at me with his whole body and I die a little inside. I am the worst mother ever. I suck it up and take care of my boy like it's just another happy day. I will never drink again.

Or for, like, at least a week or so.