when you think your car has been stolen

Ok...so I was thinking just the other day that I hadn't gotten into any blog worthy situations lately, and no sooner do I think that thought...it happens!

Saturday started off slow. On Monday I had decided that I was going to stop taking all the medication I had been taking on a daily basis because I had been feeling so tired. I stopped the Claritan, the SlimQuick, the vitamins and my Lexapro. I also decided to stop taking the regular amounts of Excedrin for my constant headaches. By Saturday afternoon, my head was killing me and I was feeling a bit off balance. So, I took half a Lexapro and two Excedrin and laid in bed until I had to get up for a fun evening of Whirlyball.

On a side note, if you've never played Whirlyball, I highly recommend finding a place to partake in the silliness. Whirlyball is a game played with ten people, two teams of 5. Each team drives around in bumper cars, running into each other and the walls while trying to hit small circular targets on each side of the court using plastic lacrosse type scoops. It's good times, especially with a few beers mixed in.

So, after a couple hours of getting rammed into the wall, my headache was no better...but a few members of the group were meeting up to play some beer pong. Aside for the headache, I was feeling better than I had in weeks...no more fatigue, and I hadn't been out for some good fun in a long time. So, I decided to hang for a bit and play beer pong.

I ended up being the only girl, hanging with 5 guys...mostly co-workers and one friend of a co-worker who was in from out of town. After a few rounds of beer pong, things start getting a little fuzzy. I had drank much more beer than I had planned...there were a couple of portable breathalizers around that night, and at one point late in the night, I blew a 0.16. I was drunk to say the least. I had planned on driving a couple of the guys home that night...but that was obviously out of the question at that point. We continued drinking, and smoking Cuban cigars-I hate cigars, but finished the whole thing. The owner of the house, a married co-worker whose wife was out of town, was concerned as to how I would get home. He handed me a hundred dollar bill for a cab and told me to give him the change on Monday.

Throughout the night, the friend in from out of town kept hitting on me. He was my teammate in beer pong, and we did alright...and he was a pretty affectionate guy, so I didn't think too much about it. Also throughout the night, I had been texting with two of the other guys...mostly joking about the guy hitting on me.

So the more I drank, the more I just wanted to lay down. The owner of the home told me I could crash there if I wanted, and told me to go lay down upstairs. So, that I did. I went upstairs with the intention of passing out. I put the hundred on the night stand and laid down in a married guy's bed. I was still texting with my other friend who reminded me how inappropriate sleeping in married man's bed would be. As much as I just wanted to pass out, reason kicked in and I got up and went downstairs. The party moved up to the living room, and little by little everyone made their way home. The evening ended with me apologizing to the married guy about losing a hundred dollar bill, because after he mentioned it to me again, I went back upstairs to find the money missing from the night stand. I felt horrible!

I sat there long enough to sober up a bit...my last reading was 0.11. I decided it was time to leave, and married guy decided he would follow me home to be sure I made it home safe. So...I made it home safe. Home and in bed...and passed out within minutes.

I woke up Sunday afternoon feeling like I had eaten a dirty sock...ah, yes, there was that cigar. YUCK. I got up and brushed my teeth and went back to bed. Woke up a bit later and made my way out to the couch. I watched a bit of TV, and then went back to bed. Needless to say, I didn't leave the house all day. My mind was fuzzy, and I spent most of my waking hours feeling horrible about losing a hundred dollars. I went to bed dreading work on Monday morning and having to face the co-workers that saw me the drunkest I had been in a very long time.

I woke up a bit late, as usual, this morning and rushed through my normal routine...trying to make it to work on time. I walked out of the apartment and into my garage. No car...my car was not there. I hit the lock button, hoping to hear the horn honk. No horn honk...panic set in. I thought two things...someone stole my car out of my gated garage, or maybe I didn't actually drive myself home on Saturday. So, I walked up to the third floor, deciding I would check all the floors to be sure the car was actually gone. Not on the third floor...so I went up to visitor parking. And there it was, the only car parked on the top floor of the garage. I got in and started to head for work feeling incredibly stupid. How on earth did I not remember driving all the way to the top floor of my garage, not to mention the walking down three flights of stairs to get home??? The bigger question should maybe be...why was I driving in the first place.

So...drunk driving or sleeping in a married guy's bed? Which one is worse?