Thursday, February 12, 2009

Oh, What a Night

Last night, I went and saw Jersey Boys for the second time. Mister, my sister in-law, Diva, her husband, Dino, Uncle John and Cousin Bird and I all went to Harry Caray's for "dinner," which ended up being drinks at the bar. I got so hungry I started to get angry and just ordered soup and a salad. Lesson one: never promise me food and then fail to deliver it. I get vicious.

The show was better than I remembered it. The story of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons was meant for Broadway: scrappy hoods cum musicians scoop up a young local talent, don't achieve success until they meet up with another young musical prodigy. Singer and prodigy create a lifelong bond and partnership sealed with a Jersey Handshake. The group manager gets in trouble with the seedy underbelly, the fourth guy seethes in resentment, the group is threatened and the Jersey Handshakes save the day. Featuring all of the songs that you always knew, but didn't necessarily knew who sang them. Falsettos and harmonies through the roof ... This shit is pure Broadway gold, I'm telling you.

One of my favorite things to do when seeing a show is to have champagne at intermission. Well, correction. One of my favorite things to do is have champagne. Which I did. Two wee glasses of Chandon, one before the show and one at intermission. Bubbly makes everything better, right?

Wrong.

When I went to bed last night, I felt fabulous-- minorly buzzed, the songs resounding in my happy mind, I drifted off all cuddled into the soft sheets at the hotel we stayed at last night. But when I woke up this morning and met up with Diva and Dino for breakfast, I realized I felt ... bad. Wrong. I felt that day-after-drinking shame I usually associate with dancing on tables, saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, drunk dialing my mother and losing my purse.

Diva was experiencing a similar phenomenon. Why did we both feel compelled to check our call logs to make sure we didn't drunk dial? Why did we ask our husbands if we happened to owe them apologies?

Why were we doing the walk of shame?

I can only assume one thing. Something terrible. Something I don't even want to think, let alone commit to writing.

I don't think champagne is my friend anymore.

I will leave you with lines from a Four Seasons song to illustrate my feelings on this revelation.

(Silly girl) Shame on you--your mama said
(Silly girl) Shame on you, you’re cryin' in bed!
(Silly girl) Shame on you, you told me lies!

Big girls do cry!

4 comments:

Hot Carl said...

So what happened?

Nora said...

Nothing! I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't speak out of turn, I didn't act out of line. I didn't throw up (until I brushed my teeth this morning and gagged), I didn't do any of the things I do when I drink to excess, including--most IMPORTANTLY--drinking to excess.

I was very good last night, yet I have one of the worst hangovers I have ever had. Two lousy beers with my fake dinner and two glasses of champagne. All this alcohol, which, for me was not a lot, was consumed over a six hour period.

I am confounded.

Jude said...

AHhh, the vagaries of aging!!!! Ahm jus' sayin'....and didn't even have to change Baby-Cakes early this am!!!Maybe you're getting the flu,(we can only hope,)otherwise you've fallen off the family training schedule....but YOU"LL BE BACK!!!!

Nora said...

I keep feeling shittier and shittier. But it's not the flu.

I think I'm allergic to hooch.