In answer to the question that I know has been on everyone's minds (but only if that question happens to be, How was the dinner party, Rach?!), I believe it can best be summed up in the following text conversation, which took place slightly before midnight on Friday night:
Not-So-Secret Admirer: What the hell does that mean?
Me: Non.orwndinner parties edver
NSSA: Rachel I have no idea what u r trying to say!
Me: I'm nevwr dinking agasinn
NSSA: That I understand. How much have u had?
Me: Too much?
NSSA: Where r u?
Me: Jhome. No worry
Me: Such is the. Besuty of dinner party on secind floor
NSSA: It's fine, I think its adorable.
Me: Omg. So not
Me: Never. Been bso dru k
Me: And pukey
NSSA: Uh oh. Do u have water?
Me: I do bjut no hel;p
Me: Too bllate
Me: Will be sorryt tomorrow
NSSA: I know but keep drinking it and take aspirin or you'll be very unhappy tomorrow
Turns out, we were both right. It was too "bllate," and I was very unhappy the next day. You want to know the worst part? I didn't even make it through dinner. It was sometime before the dessert course that my internal Danger! Threat imminent! sensors started going off, and I was all, "Well, it's been real, guys, but I think I'm going to...go...now...Kthanksbye!" I was out the door so fast you could practically see the cartoon speed lines coming off my heels. (Not stink lines! Speed lines! It's different!) At least no one can accuse me of overstaying my welcome.
But I guess that's what happens when you combine two of my favorite alcohols in one intoxicatingly delightful beverage. (Gin! and champagne! and Cointreau, oh my! And it has French in its name, and I speak French! Clearly this was a match made in heaven. I will have two, and then some more sparkling wine, and then some more wine, please.) This is a recipe I recommend only if you are ok with yakking. ("Just like a nineteen year old!" my sister said when I told her. Which I thought was pretty condescending coming from someone who recently threw punches at some dickhead in a bar. (He called her fat, and so he deserved it.) (She's not fat, but that's not really the point.) She hits like a girl, as it turns out, but did get herself a pretty good goose egg in all the kerfuffle. Is not in a position to judge, is my point.)
New Year's resolution 2012? Learn how to drink like a grown-up. Or at least find a safer signature drink. (I hear Long Island iced teas are good?)