the trouble with halloween

Halloween and I don’t get along that well lately.  For years, it was my favorite holiday…a chance to dress up, maybe win a prize, offend some people, and make folks laugh. And then last year at our firm’s party, things got sort of ugly.  This year, I willed myself not to let such tomfoolery occur again.  I would eliminate the FourLoko, and all would be great.

And it was great, at first.  But the 2 pitchers of margaritas as a pre-party “base coat” before an innumerable number of bourbons on ice do not agree with me, it seems.  Must be the mixing.  I remember seeing my bookkeeper and nurse consultant arrive (not together).  My favorite criminal defense lawyer.  A couple bankruptcy lawyers.  Several personal injury lawyers who are referral sources.  None of my neighbors or local blogging friends (I think I’ll give up on inviting the latter category to my parties…they never come).  A few friends from law school.  Some friends from high school.  The karaoke DJ from last year, Dave.

I thought I did 2-3 songs, but the videos I saw today at lunch indicate I pretty much never left the stage.

Like this one.  Especially at 25 seconds in —

I remember having the cab driver pull over on State Route 400 to let me throw up out the side of his Crown Vic.  He yelled at me.  I have text messages from 3am asking several friends if they’d seen my wallet, because it was not in my lederhosen when said cab driver wished to be paid for bringing me home.  I recall yelling, “Just mail me an invoice!” while pointing at my mailbox.  “You have my address now!”   One of the persons I texted about my wallet wasn’t even at the party.

When the children woke me up at 630, I handed them a box of Cheerios and turned on the local public broadcasting station.  My wife was in Houston, and our eldest was taking the ACT.  I returned to my bed.

Around 11am, the cab driver called.  He found my wallet!  He’d come return it to me.  My bill would be $100.

Me:  But last night, you said it’d be $60.  Which, incidentally, is more than I pay to get to the airport!  My house is like 5 miles from my office.  What a crock of shit.
Him:  I need $40 for bringing it back to you.
Me:  What the hell?  I can meet you…actually, no I can’t.
Him:  Do you remember losing your iphone last night?  I found it for you and returned it.  Those are expensive , you know.

I passed out again; he woke me with another call.

Him:  I am outside your house.

I walked outside, got my wallet through a downed window, and pulled out the cash:  $53.

Me:  This is all I have.  Can I use a card?
Him:  I am in my personal vehicle, see?  No card reader!  You have check?
Me:  No.  It’s in my car, which is at my office.  My wife is in Texas with her checkbook.  Give me your address, and I’ll mail a check for the rest.

He scrawled a name and apartment number, etc.  By this time, the 3 children were in the front yard wondering what was going on.  They introduced themselves to the 2 men with funny accents sitting in the grey Xterra by our curb, and they drove away.

I took 4 steps toward the house, fell to my knees, and vomited the gulps of water I’d had for breakfast.  I rolled over in the grass and lay on my side while waiting for the trees to quit circling me.

Maddie:  Daddy, are you sick?
Me:  Yes.  Y’all stay back…go play on the porch or something.

I lay there 20 minutes or so thinking about how much I would pay for a Sprite at that moment, knowing we never have soft drinks in our house.  I decided $100.  Hell, maybe $200 if it was a fountain drink on crushed ice and was brought to me right there in the yard.

I crawled across the grass, up the front steps, across the threshold, through the entry hall, into the den, and onto the sofa.  I worked up the courage to enter the kitchen and found a warm Pellegrino my bride had brought home after some store function.  Score!  Carbonation.

And then all was okay.

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  1. You are a class act, hon. Like none other.

    I’m forwarding this post to the niece who just passed her bar exam. NIECE! THIS IS NO WAY TO PRACTICE LAW!

    Bless your heart.

  2. –>Oh, this *so* could have been me too. Although I’d bribe my son out of my bedroom with telling him he can eat as many Reese’s cups as he wants as long as he takes the dogs and closes the door behind him.

  3. Pretty Bride

    This is not the version of the story I heard when I called the next morning, convinced my daughter was taking the ACT and my husband was passed out in a parking garage and my three young children were stabbing each other with knives. I heard a very different, much more placatory story then.

  4. My first thought was “I hope your wife is already home and not just reading this on the Internet.”

    I’m not sure I’d ever leave you alone with my kids after this.

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