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There we were, nine 30-40 somethings. All married, most with kids. The occasion was my SIL's big 3-0. We got a three bedroom suite and enough booze to put down even Lucille Bluth.

Despite some gentle ribbing about my "I go to bed at 10 and haven't had much alcohol since November of 2011" (when I got pregnant), I am proud to say that I held my own and made it to the end of the night with no problem. There were four shots, half a bottle of vodka (with cranberry juice, I'm not an alcoholic!) and three beers within 10 hours. I didn't have an urge to vomit even once! But I did have to "pump and dump" twice (pouring out breast milk hurts so, so, so much).

I somehow became the official voice of reason. "NomNom83 said it, so we should listen to her." Even with all that alcohol, I was still thinking clearer than the other eight. It was like herding cats, people. Herding. Cats.


Five members of the group cut themselves off at 1:00 and returned to the hotel, ostensibly b/c they were "done". Unfortunately, during that five minute cab ride, they decided skinny-dipping in the rooftop pool was the perfect way to end the night. And it was. Until security showed up. Listen kids, if one drunk cannot make a responsible choice, just multiply that faulty logic by five. Shenanigans, I tell you, shenanigans!

And then, with nary 45 minutes left to go in the evening, the unthinkable happened. We lost my SIL. I had her cell phone in my purse and her clutch was resting next to mine on our table so she had no money. Thirty minutes of "ohmygod, holyshit, FML, ohmygod, holyshit, FML" later, we learned that she had made it back to the hotel, sobbing hysterically about how "they left me! they left me!" Basically, she went to pee, came back to our corner of the bar and, somehow, couldn't find us. It wasn't that big of a bar. Trust. After 20 minutes of desperately trying to hail a cab willing to trust the sobbing drunk lady with no purse (during which we were probably in the bar looking for her), she got one who took her back and waited patiently until she returned with the fare money. We hustled back to the hotel where my cousin and her spent thirty minutes in the bathroom tearfully hashing out who left who. Ahhh, drunken adult sleepover!

By 3AM, earplugs in and feeling only slightly tipsy, I settled into the world's nicest rollaway cot and managed to sleep in until 10, where I awoke to the sounds of vomiting from one of my roommates.

I had a fun time. Except for the lost SIL. And I would probably do it again. Maybe. I don't know. In the immortal words of Roger Murtaugh:

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