When I first met the husband, he had a roommate, Jer. Jer was a young college student that my husband loved right away. The husband always wondered if when Jer went to the bathroom, if he open a bag of hair and just made it rain in there! Jer was and is super artsy, except that now he’s a powerful executive. The husband actually moved in with me fairly quickly after we met. As in less than three months of dating. And that’s when Jer met Ar. A gorgeous ginger that worked, and still does, for a non-profit on Broadway, that can also sing! They moved in together also rather quickly, and the four of us lived within walking distance. When they were out of town, I took care of their cats. At our wedding, Jer was a groomsman, and Ar was bride’s-man. And yes, they walked down the aisle together in deep red Montana, in January! I think we spent more weekends together than not.
During that entire time, the one thing that we always did (besides eat, drink and smoke), was play Rock Band. Every single time. When we went out, we pretty much always came back to our apartment to play Rock Band. The husband had been a drummer during his college years, so he modified an electric drum set to be able to play real drums with the songs. We had all the songs. We even got the Beatles separate, more expensive with less features (because you couldn’t create the characters you could only be one of the Beatles) game. We played all the time. Sometimes we had so many people over, that we had enough to make two bands and have a competition!
The point is that back then, somehow, after I had enough to drink I just got up very quietly and without anybody noticing, went to bed. Every single time. I didn’t do it to be mean. In fact, I’m certain that I did it, so that everyone that was still awake could continue to party, and there was no pressure for them to leave. It was just a given. The guys never cared, and after a few minutes they would notice and start laughing. The thing is that I have NO recollection of ever doing that. So my drunken subconscious knew when I’d had enough and took me to bed. Pretty cool subconscious!
But then we moved.
The guys came to visit a couple of times and the only time we went back, we spent it with them. But of course it’s never been the same. How could it be? We love them, and we know that they love us. If we ever need them I know we could count on them and the same goes for us.
Well, now a days we don’t have Rock Band. But somehow we pretty much always end up being hosts to our friends and neighbors, which is awesome. I like being the host. The husband says that nothing makes me as happy as when people tell me how much they loved my food! That’s my favorite type of compliment. It’s not just because I’m a good cook, because I am (that’s not a brag, I’m a military trained cook) but I follow a very restrictive diet (think Paleo and Keto had a baby and it was on steroids restrictive!), so when I cook it has to follow my diet and somehow make the rest of the world happy, and if the writer and baby shark are here it’s even more of a challenge because they’re vegans! That’s right, when people eat my food, they love it!
But I also like wine.
As I’m getting older my alcohol tolerance has decreased. Being a mom is exhausting and after I plan and make dinner, and host people, I get tired. The first time it happened with the Hot One and OMR, I was a little embarrassed, but they just laughed it off. In fact, after they noticed I was gone that night, the Hot One wanted to do dishes and the husband had to put an end to that. OMR told me that’s called an Irish Exit.
I Irish Exit every single time.
So last night the hot one and OMR came over for dinner. But this time I was told that the hot one also passed out on the couch while the men sat outside drinking. Classic.Tags: bed, beer, consequences, dinner with friends, Husband, Irish exit, mom-friends, party, passing out, small house, time, wine