Shoot.

E and I went to a Halloween party last night.





She's Plug 2 from De la Soul. I'm Black Eyed Susan.

Now, I had prior plans to go to a beloved HRH&LP reader's birthday and backed out because I was having a breakdown which leads into this story. (Especially the fact that I took Klonpin before going out.) Erica talked me into going to try to cheer me up. Turns out, it was a bad idea. Anyway.

Fun! We love costumes and we had such a great time. Well, Erica had a good time at first. Then I proceeded to do five Jell-o shots like I was 17 years old. Best part of me getting so ridiculously drunk ... besides falling on the dance floor ... it was all of her friends who she's been begging me to hang out with for months. In a way, it was my first true interaction with all of them.

Excelent.


Then! This morning we have plans to meet her family to look at our new apartment and I reek of vodka ... and rum punch, and beer and grape Kool-aid. And we go to brunch afterwards where I order biscuits and gravy (why? ick.) and have to leave it on the plate and subsequently admit my hangover that I am sure they had been smelling all morning.

Who's classier than me? No one.

Know who I'm blaming it all on? My mother.

That's right. Your beloved Princess has reached her breaking point with her mother and 10 minutes before I was going to shower to get ready for the party she called. But I hadn't spoken to her since she was released from the hospital, so I thought I would get it over with. The conversation started out with Pitiful mom, then went on to Accusatory mom, then Disgusted and Defeated mom. "Well, I guess I should never say anything again. I thought I could talk to you."

Now go back and read it outloud while trying to sound like a Southern woman trying to sound sick enough to call in to work at a voice barely over a whisper. That's what I heard. So Pitiful mom told me the entire story of the CT scan interaction with her doctor -- while not mentioning the report that she could have Pancreatic and Liver cancer. Enter Accusatory: "Did you tell A (my sister) that I said she was only staying at the hospital for three hours?"

"Yep."

Mom: Oh Susan ... why would you do that? Were you getting on her about being with me at the hospital more?
[That comment was so loaded that I ducked.]
Me: I was talking to her about the different versions I'm getting
Mom: What do you mean?
[Oh so innocent.]

So, I brought up the fact that they can't get even the simplest details straight. Details that are fact. Not hypothesis. Thursday? or Friday. For fuck's sake people. If you want me to play, I have to have all of the pieces. The cards, the card tray, the buzzer, or no Taboo.

Mom: Did you tell her that I thought she was using my illness as an excuse to not to to work?
Me: I don't know probably.
Mom: Susan! Why would you do that?
Me: You said it.
Mom: A and I already have a bad enough relationship. This is great. I wish you wouldn't have said that.
Me: Well, you shouldn't have said it if you don't stand by it.
Mom: [sick voice returns] Well, I guess I should never say anything again. I thought I could talk to you.

I guess not.

And we left the conversation that way. I said I had to get ready for the party and I got off the phone.

So, what I want to explain to Erica's friends who have probably told the "that girl who got so drunk and fell on the floor" 18 times, I wasn't drunk. I was self medicating.