Lessons to be learned from Mommy Juice

If you haven't heard of "Mommy Juice Tuesday"- allow me to enlighten you. It is the "Thirsty Thursday" for moms. The day in the middle of the week far enough away from the relaxation of the weekend to need a break. And since most of us are stuck in the fucking house like it's Buffalo Bill's well, getting OUT is not an option- so why not make staying in a little more fun? Have a couple of drinks of your choice (aka 'Mommy Juice'), watch some primetime television, and prepare for the second half of the week.

It makes sense to me, the weirdo who feels the need to schedule drinking nights. Mommy Juice Tuesday is all i've got until the weekend! I don't drink on an other weekdays. It has become a staple in this household, and possibly the households of many others.

After much experience, and some nights of making a complete ass of myself, I have learned the ins an outs of what alcohol does and does not agree with me and just how much I can drink before I morph into "that girl"- you know the one, blubbering. stupid. giggly. words slurring. one eye partially shut.
Yeah, I don't like being that girl. I like my drink, but y'know, I have kids- and being "that girl" I think once you pass the age of 25 is only acceptable once... MAYBE twice per year.
I choose never, because the next day is pure unadulterated hell, and there is no calling in sick when you're a stay at home mom.

I've even learned that the only thing to mix my alcohol with is zero calorie soda, because I gotta try to keep what's left of my figure some way or another. Beer? No thank you empty calories and cardboard flavoring! You can keep it. All of it. And your wine.

There was nothing special or out of the ordinary about this past Mommy Juice Tuesday, but somehow or another the time slipped away from me and I managed to go one drink past my usually very strict limit. This isn't that big of a deal, really. It's not two or three drinks past where i'd be puking out of my nose and completely incoherent- I actually haven't puked from alcohol in YEARS (YAY I'M A RESPONSIBLE ADULT NOW!) and my hangover typically consists of extreme tiredness and a fuzzy head. No pounding headache or needing to sleep anything off. Up, moving, and i'm good to go. Oh, and the occasional sting ring from hell.
ONE drink, no biggie, right?

Well, I woke up wanting to die. No, not the "i'm going to hurl but not before I pound 12 tylenols"- It's just that feeling that you sometimes get where you honestly think you might die because you feel so wrong. It's the only way I can describe it. I spent all day sluggishly trudging through the tasks I had to get done, and honestly just fucking sucking at life.

In moments like these, there is really only ONE cure: Grease.
And i'm not talking about the kind you put in your hair, or runs through your car's engine bearings (or whatever the fuck engines have, I don't know).
By grease what I mean is FOOD. Greasy, disgusting, stomach turning fast food. Or diner food. Or really anything that can soak through a napkin or just by looking at it add an extra cellulite dimple to your ass.

I have no idea why it makes the day after alcohol UGHs better, maybe it's just subliminal- but we know that either it works and you're back on your fucking feet, or you'll puke from your top, bottom or both...
It's a risk you sometimes have to take. It's one I find rather enjoyable. Well... not the ass puke, but the greasy food part. I'm a sucker for the horribly unhealthy, and to have an excuse to consume it in mass quantities in the most unladylike way possible? Yes please!

Hair of the dog? UGH GOD NO GET IT AWAY. Taco bell? SLAM IT INTO MY FACE!

I don't know why we didn't go with Taco Bell last night after groaning on the couch about having to eat left over oven roasted chicken (which is amazing, don't get me wrong, but NOT what an angry stomach needs). We went with greasy fast food chinese. Which is also awesome, but it was a world of NO last night. I didn't even eat as much as I would on any other occasion and I literally felt like I was going to explode. You know that feeling after Thanksgiving where you honestly feel like your skin would rip if it had seams? Yes. That.

It would appear that I have been impregnated myself with a food baby. One would think, what with the angry stomach, that I would be experiencing the holy trinity of hangover shits, aka, the ring of fire in no time flat. Yeah, no. Just to add insult to injury for that extra fucking drink on Mommy Juice Tuesday, my bowels have decided to NEVER UNLEASH AGAIN.
But do you know who DID shit? My kid. In his pants. And he didn't tell me. YAY!

I'd say "i'm never drinking again" but we all know that's a crock of shit. I may have to wear a rubber band around my wrist that someone (husband?) will SNAP once i've hit my tried-and-true limit if I ask for another drink.

So, what have we learned from this little experience?
1. Do not go past your limit. This limit was calculated for a very good reason.
2. Fast food Chinese bad, Taco Bell good.

Ok, so clearly I didn't learn much that I didn't already know. One can only hope my stupid ass (literal and figurative) will remember it next time.