When you're married or in a serious relationship, sometimes you need to shake things up a bit. Keep it interesting. Sometimes... you need to get drunk. Not often - not even once a month. But sometimes. It's healthy. It fosters communication and youthful irreverence and great sex. Unless of course you're an alcoholic, in which case it's just another Tuesday and your marriage is pretty much down the crapper anyway.
Last night the hubs and I went on our first real date since Estie was born. It was wonderful! We went to this fabulous new restaurant/bar downtown, the 415. I can't say enough about this place - the food's amahzing, the drinks are delish, and the atmosphere is cool and upscale but still laid-back. And I'm not getting paid to say that. In fact, I basically paid them for me to say that.
We sat at the bar all night and just had such an awesome time. With each other, with friends, with strangers. It was so exciting just to be out and looking cute and laughing and socializing. I felt alive and young, and I needed that. I'm sure that sounds super pathetic to anyone who doesn't have kids, but anyone who does knows exactly what I'm talking about. Twenty-something can start to feel like 65 if you don't get out once in a while to act like the other crazy kids your age. We were home before midnight (I think) so it's not like we went nuts or anything, but we were definitely a little tipsy at the end of the night. Here's how I know: 1. We tried every drink on their cocktails menu. There were five or six different ones (but who's counting?) and they were all just YUMMY. I especially recommend their signature drink, the 415, which is a ginger/vodka concoction that I could probably drink by the gallon if not for my inherent fear of cirrhosis of the liver. Towards the end of the night one of the owners also bought us a round of shots. I politely declined mine, since shooting whiskey is what happens right before I vomit down my own cleavage while dancing topless on the bar, but he replaced my shot with another mixed drink, so really what's the dif. Surprisingly though, I actually felt totally fine when we left the bar. But the booze must have taken taken effect when we got home, because... 2. In the morning when Benny started giggling about how we stood at our kitchen counter eating frozen yogurt out of the carton before we went to bed, I had no idea what he was talking about. He even made me touch the sticky clump in my hair where I'd dropped some off my spoon. Still nothin'. Clearly, while avoiding straight whiskey kept me off the bar, it didn't stop me from my other trademark drunk behavior: eating weird shit before I pass out, with no recollection of it the next day. That used to mean McDonald's or some type of random street food, but I guess now that I'm a grownup, it means low-fat frozen dairy treats. I am obviously maturing. Obviously.
*Note: I have never actually danced on a bar, or, to my knowledge, vomited between my own boobs. I have vomited into a hotel bathtub, but it was empty at the time and I cleaned up my mess in the morning like a good girl. I'm not a total degenerate.
|The 415! Cirrhosis-worthy? I think so.|
|Margarita Pizza to die for|
|Just a couple of crazy kids out on the town|