It’s All Still a Little Fuzzy…

But I’m going to try to recount the events of Saturday night. Because at the very least, the bits and pieces that I do remember are quite amusing!

We started out at one of my favorite restaurants in town. A little wine bar that I frequent every chance I get. The food is delish and tapa’s style, so you end up sharing a bunch of different plates. Which is pretty much my favorite way to eat. Lots of options on a table make me happy.

While there, I started out with a Riesling flight and then moved on to a Malbec flight.

For those of you who don’t drink much wine, a flight is 3 glasses from different bottles. They are all short pours though (typically only 2 ounces), meaning that all 3 glasses together usually equal the same amount that you would normally have in one glass. It’s just a fun way to get to try different but similar wines.

I really have a deep love for flights.

So at that point, I had basically consumed 2 glasses of wine. Still golden by most standards.

But then came the dessert. And the dessert wine. Another one of my true loves.

I initially ordered a glass of Port, but had been raving about the Ice Wine they had as well. I must have been within earshot of our waiter while doing so, because when he brought me my port, he also brought along 2 glasses of the Ice Wine “on the house”, along with a few desserts as well.

I shared one of the Ice Wines with the girls, and then greedily hoarded the other one for myself.

Hence the pictures of me with two different dessert wines.

Now, most people know this, but for those who don’t – dessert wines are typically a much higher alcohol content than regular wine. That’s why they come in a smaller glass and are meant to be sipped.

So 2 glasses of wine and 2 dessert wines in… I probably could have gone home at that point and been just fine.

My friends would have never allowed that in a million years though.

We left the restaurant after what must have been at least 3 hours of lounging and chatting. An incredible meal, with some of the world’s most amazing friends… I was a pretty happy girl.

The first spot we hit up after dinner just so happened to be the same bar The Waiter worked at. Now remember, at this point I was feeling pretty squiffy. I was definitely in a bit of an ornery mood. Fun. Flirtatious. And ready to take just about anyone down who may have been deserving of it.

Which is why when I walked out of the bathroom there to discover Loo ordering shots from The Waiter, I really couldn’t contain myself. He looked up, smiled, wished me a happy birthday, and I said “Thanks! Look guys! It’s Jesse With a Girlfriend!”

(For the record – his real name is not actually Jesse. Not sure why I’m trying to protect a guy so willing to cheat on his girlfriend, but you all know how I feel about real names here! Needless to say, I did call him [insert real name here] With a Girlfriend. Loudly. And he was less than amused.)

His face dropped, and from that moment forward – he wanted nothing to do with our little group of estrogen.

In fact, we asked him to take this picture:

And I'm pretty sure he wanted to throw the camera.



I would feel bad… if he weren’t such a skeeze.

We didn’t stay too long after that. Having a waiter who has no interest in waiting on you really didn’t appeal to any of us, and besides – there didn’t seem to be any good looking guys in attendance.

And at this point, I was on a mission.

You see, I have a birthday rule. It’s a simple one, which doesn’t require too much effort typically. But on my birthday, I more or less require a good looking guy to flirt with.

I really don’t think that’s asking too much at all.

So on to the next bar we went. And the next. Stopping for shots of tequila a few times along the way.

This is the part I don’t really understand. Tequila is literally the only thing I have ever been able to take shots of. I’m not sure if it’s because of the ritual to it all (salt, shoot, lime) or because it doesn’t smell the same way other things do, but… if I try to shoot just about anything else, it's pretty much inevitable that it will come immediately back up.

I just can’t do it.

Everyone who knows me knows that I can handle tequila though. But the thing I struggle to understand, is why it is that on big nights out the fact that I can handle tequila somehow translates into the fact that I should handle tequila.

For the record – I didn’t buy a single shot myself. But as the number of shots added up, I’m pretty sure someone should have stopped telling people to buy them for me.

OK, so it’s possible I should have stopped telling people to buy them for me. Like I said… the details are fuzzy.

When we arrived at the final bar, I was good and drunk. Assuming being that drunk can ever be a good thing. But it was starting to become obvious that I was the lone drunk. You see, my dear dear friends had all taken turns taking shots with me. Some had even bypassed the shots completely. They were all ridiculously amused with the state I was in, but not a one of them was in that state with me.

Which makes me want to draft a new birthday rule for next year– Someone (I don’t care who, but someone!) is going to be responsible for drinking with me drink for drink.

That may just be the only way to keep myself under control once I get started.

So anyway, there we were. Standing at this new bar, and immediately surrounded by a plethora of older men.

One of whom guessed my new age at 38. Which is what led to this face here:

I was another shot or two in before the girls spun me around and pointed me to a table of 4 guys, 2 of whom were actually pretty decent looking.

And that was all the encouragement I needed at that point.

I waltzed right up to their table, yanked over a bar stool, and sat myself down.

Just like that.

If only I could be so confident and bold sober.

The guys seemed more or less amused with me though, and so none of them put up much of a fight over my joining their little group. Especially when they realized it was my birthday.

Which is when they ordered more shots.

As the night wore on, they asked at one point what I did for a living. I immediately proclaimed that I was a writer – quickly and easily forsaking my “real” job.

Because apparently, a drunk girl can dream.

They asked what I wrote, and I owned up to blogging. They asked what I blogged about, and I proclaimed that I blogged about dating in Alaska.

Um, yeah… pretty sure I left out a pretty major detail there.

That’s when we told them all that they would need to pose for pictures for the blog. And for reasons I will never understand, they agreed.

The Guy To My Left

The People’s Choice

And... The Other Two

They were all pilots. Working shifts that bring them here to Alaska every 2 weeks, and then back in their seperate home states during their "off" time.

And when The People's Choice proclaimed that I was the Carrie Bradshaw of Alaska, I'm pretty sure my night was made.

But I'm sorry to tell you this friends... this is where I need to leave you hanging again.

Because it turns out, I have a date. A date with a guy who, for the record, is not one of the lovely gentlemen currently pictured above. A date I need to be ready for in half an hour. Yet here I am; in a robe, with wet hair, and not a lick of makeup on.

Sadly… I won’t be home until after 9 tomorrow night (in Seward all day for work, and then movie plans at night). Which means… the proper completion to this story (and an update on tonight’s date) may not come until Friday.

I’m going to try to do better. I swear it, I’m going to try. But seriously – this week has been out of control!

So in the meantime:

To be continued…