Is This Mama Bear?

Sometimes when I get too excited I overindulge. And sometimes when I overindulge, I confuse myself for a 225 lb football player on Spring Break. This confusion, while fun at the time, has unfortunately generated a wide spectrum of results, the majority of which I feel thankful to only partially remember.

Appropriately, the last time this distortion of self-perception occurred was at a lesbian bar. This is unsurprising - I lack the aesthetic lesbian hipster edge, so I overcompensate by drinking like a dude. Further, I was at said lesbian bar sandwiched between the ex of an ex and a straight girl who seems to think that tequila can make you gay.

The last thing I remember is taking a shot, chasing it with Bud Lite, kissing the straight girl after saying no to the ex of the ex, but stopping mid-kiss to explain that I was drunk and thus not bringing my A game. She didn't seem to notice, or care, or remember much the next morning.

Then: my father is shaking me. It is light out. I am on a bench. Inside. But where? People in uniform. Shiny floors. SVU? No, can't be. Olivia and Stabler are not real.

"Dad, I didn't come home last night, did I?" (Did I?)
"No, you didn't, that's the problem." I sat up and looked across the corridor. My head felt fuzzy.
"They made me sign a book. Did they make you sign a book?"
"No, Liz. They didn't."

My father nicely, though not exactly gently, led me outside to his car. The morning air settled onto my skin and I realized something: I had just woken up in jail, and my father had clearly driven in to retrieve me. Reality (or the leftover beer?) hit me like a ton of bricks and suddenly I was wailing. Dad was clearly uncomfortable. I mean, what do you even say in a moment like that? "Gee, daughter, don't be upset, we've all blacked out and woken up in prison." Or, "Come on, Liz, at least you didn't pee on the bench."

Instead he drove to my apartment and said calmly, "you are going to go upstairs and get your dog, and then come back down so I can drive you home for the weekend."

When I returned I spent a few minutes crying with my puppy (wait, I've done that before...) until finally asking what had actually happened.

Here's a basic intinerary:

12:30-3:00am - Liz is actually Larry, the fullback for the Middlebury Panthers
3:03am - Larry, wearing signs of Liz, gets into a cab and mumbles an address
3:03:30am - Liz decides there is no better place to take a nap than this backseat
3:30am - Cab arrives at mumbled address. Liz does not respond. Cabbie asks for money. Liz dreams of girl she met that night.
3:40am - Cabbie realizes this blond girl wearing gold shoes is not waking up anytime soon.
3:50am - Cabbie drops blond girl off at the Bowery Precinct
3:55-4:30am - Policeman on duty calls the following people in hopes to revive Elizabeth Lawrence Parker of Greenwich Connecticut:
Uncle Graham
Cousin Sage
Cousin Graham
Grandpa Parker
Grandma Bitsy Cell Phone
Brother
Mama Bear

(At home in Greenwich the phone rings. Mom assumes it's Japan and answers)
"Is this Mama Bear?" There's only one person who calls her that.
"Michael you need to handle this."
"Hello?"
"Yes, sir, we have your daughter, who is fine, but... needs someone to come get her."
"Oh shit. She drunk again?"
"Yessir."

The following night, my mother tried to console me.

"Liz, just limit yourself."
"That's the problem. Maybe I can't."
"Oh, no, that's silly. Do what I do. Drink two glasses of wine and stop."
"Yea but you go to bed at 9."
"Exactly. If you want to drink, you'll have to go to bed at 9."

Well folks, there's always brunch.