Wino Wednesday

I feel like the title of this blog post is a little bit of a blatant lie tease, because I'm not going to recommend a delicious beverage for you in this edition. No... I'm still too high off of the inauguration to do that, so I'm going to spend the rest of the week providing you all with anecdotes from my inauguration day. Don't worry: this one is booze-related. I send you apologies in advance for hearing tidbits of my story out of sequence, but chronologically this falls closer towards the end of my evening.

I was trying so hard to stay at the ball until Prince Charming Barack and Michelle got there, but word spread pretty early on in the evening that the Eastern Ball would be the last one of the evening they would intend, and they weren't expected to arrive until 2:30 am. Then the Maestro texted me from O's house where he was watching CNN (long story that you'll get parts of later) to inform me that Barack and Michelle were actually expected to arrive at 2 am. Either way, by midnight my stilettos had me feeling like I'd just run a marathon without feet on my ankles and I could barely hold my head up. I had gotten separated for the second time from new inauguration ball friends and decided to just head home around 1:00. One of the many lovely things about being in Union Station was that after I picked up my coat from the check closet, I could walk right out of the ball and onto the Metro. I caught the next (half empty) train towards Bethesda and found myself a nice seat in the corner of the car.

As the train got to Metro Center however, it filled up with attendants from other balls and a couple wound up sitting in the row behind mine. At first, I thought that they were having a domestic dispute in dulcet tones until I started listening closer and realizing that they were both completely plastered on champagne (I would recommend that for this week's installment of Wino Wednesday, but it was $7 a glass and not the Korbel that the Obamas were served for their inaugural luncheon). They were plastered on the cheap inaugural ball champagne and they were arguing over whether she was going to wait until she got off the train to purge the contents of her stomach by way of her esophagus or go ahead and do it right there. Against her date's wishes, she opted to wait as far as she could get her head into the bottom of her handbag. And instead of my inauguration night ending on the high note of Barack Obama sweeping me off my feet and asking me to dance with him at the ball, it ended listening to a woman ralph into her lap two feet away from my head. And then smelling the putrid odor of cheap champagne and stomach acid.

Hey... at least this guy went back to where he came from.