Thank Me Later

I spent last night with the guys (my "boyfriend" from college, my girlfriend in TX's boyfriend, & Romeo). They'd come into town for a wedding of another member of "the crew" who got married in a traditional Irish ceremony in uptown NO. I didn't know the fellow, so alas, I wasn't invited (no issues...I worked all day anyway). Since it was likely one of my last opportunities to go out with the guys before I move, I dropped Shorty off at a friend's place& planned on having one last drunken weekend of fun.

I caught up with the crew at Cooter Brown's after the reception, and we ate oysters, drank beer, & played pool in typical manly fashion. I was appropriately dressed in a strapless summer white cocktail dress, with make-up to stun any man who dared look directly into my eyes, as I teetered around in my 2 1/2 inch thong steel-heeled sandals for added emphasis at the end of my long legs. When the waiter asked what I wanted to drink (duh...Heineken) and whether I wanted it in a glass or a bottle, I half-sarcastically replied, "Look at the way I'm dressed! I'm f*cking lady! In a bottle, of course!" This seemed an appropriate segway to the next bar.

One of the guys got a call that the after party for the wedding reception was being held at Kingpin, so the crew decided to roll over to that spot. As we entered, we saw the bride (fully dressed in her gown mind you) dancing in the middle of the bar. The tune was fitting because as I looked to my left I noticed this gentleman standing on the bar playing the bagpipes. Really. (Oh, & that's Romeo photographing the bride).

I had a bit of fun flirting with one of the Irish groomsmen (flirting is a sport to me), and tossing back another beer, but at some point I started to feel old & as if I could hear my bed calling for me. It seemed the rest of the guys heard the same call & decided to head out at a fairly reasonable hour. On the way out, I lit up a clove cigarette and my "boyfriend" from college immediately recognized the smell.

"Is that a clove cigarette?" he asked, with the glee of a child who's spotted a long lost toy.

"Yes," I flatly replied.

"Can I have one?" he hopefully inquired.

"NO!" I firmly said, tossing my freshly lit cigarette into the grating of the drain next to the car. He turned away with dismay as I slid into the back seat with the guys. My girlfriend's boyfriend dropped the rest of the crew back off at Cooter Brown's. They were uninterested in joining him at Les Bon Temps (they both have wives who, although not on the trip I suspect have already become very good at smelling when a man has been out too late doing childish things). I was also uninterested in going to yet another bar, but I wanted to be sure my girlfriend's boyfriend was okay. I ended up leaving him at Les Bons Temps with the party girl who'd invited him out to the third bar in the first place, and I barely made it home at 5 AM.

When I woke up this morning, I felt awful. I don't know if it was the beer, the cigarettes, or just one night too many nights having been out until sunrise, but I think I'm too old for this. It was confirmed when I talked to my "boyfriend" from college this afternoon. He thanked me for telling him no about the clove cigarette. I think the next time someone asks me to go to a third bar (or do anything that remotely looks like something I would've done when I was 23 and new to NO but didn't know better until I found myself thinking "it seemed like such a good idea at the time") I'll tell them & myself no. We'll both thank me later.