Alcohol with Altitude (and hormones!)

Friday evening started out like any other evening out on the town.  My boyfriend and I met some of his friends and their teenage sons for dinner.  We enjoyed a great time at one of my favorite restaurants in Aspen, Blue Maize.

Perhaps I should preface this a bit with some hindsight revelations. I think women should be very careful when they drink during ovulation.  Pardon the abruptness – but my body was trying to drop an egg (ew.. I know) all week long!  I knew it was trying, because it was that “in between time” and no matter what I did, I could not get enough to eat!  Every single healthy pattern I’ve developed and lived by over the course of my life not only went out the window, but traveled to another town. I engulfed every decadent food item I could get my hands on in my waking hours.  I don’t even LIKE pop-tarts that much, but they were in my cupboard.  And let me tell you – if you toast those babies, and put some vanilla frosting on them (the kind that’s ready-made in the jar), they are incredible!  All in all, the food is actually quite harmless, since the whole episode doesn’t last forever, (aside from the pounds one might have to lose afterward).  But the alcohol  – now THAT’S another story.

Perhaps someone out there has some expert advice to offer about this, but I can attest to the fact that alcohol affects me immensely during this short window of time each month.  I’ve had some gnarly benders as a result of drinking and ovulating.  There should be a law against it. The penalty should be almost as strong as one might get for drinking and driving.

Instead of this: Which we all know not to do….

There should be signs like this:

(those little key phrases? “ovulating” and “hormones”).

I SWEAR, it would only be fair to do so!  Men and women everywhere must be WARNED!

At dinner I drank a martini, then a glass of white wine (as I couldn’t decide what to drink that evening).  As we neared the end of the dinner, I reminded my boyfriend that my girlfriend Leopardesse,  from Los Angeles was in town, and I’d be getting together with her afterward.  My boyfriend asked cautiously whether I would still be okay the next day to go on our planned rock-climbing adventure.  I assured him with a “Pffff!”  that yes, of course I would!  I’d promised him we’d go rock climbing, so that is what we were going to do.

I should have gotten a clue, when after being with my girlfriend for only a short time, I started to notice my lack of control over my face… particularly my mouth.  My brain kept telling me to form the words, but my lips were not cooperating.  They moved sideways, when I wanted them to move up and down.  I felt like I was speaking in slow motion.

The second clue should have been when Leopardesse  proclaimed to her other friend at the table, in a somewhat sweet, understanding voice that her girlfriend (moi) was a “little” drunk.  Of course I guffawed at that, denying it vehemently.

We went from that restaurant to another, where they’d cleared the tables and turned it into a nightclub. What’s really interesting is how a person can “think” they are just fine and in complete control, as they stumble around, slurring their words. I eagerly consented to go to the second stop “on the way” to our final destination, The Caribou Club.

Before I knew it, I was seated at a table with a huge bottle of vodka in front of me.  I took one sip, and decided I’d had enough.  Everything went blurry.  The room was like an episode of CSI. You know, where they show things that happened at a party, in the past – where eveything is out of focus and the voices are echoing?  Women were laughing and conversing, and I just sat there, dazed and confused. I’m not positive, but I may have had my mouth partially open, a little drool coming out! ha ha

Finally, after allowing the room to spin for some time, I’d had enough.  I bid farewell to all my new best friends, forgoing our last stop of the evening, and headed for the Aspen shuttle stop.  On the way, I stopped at a hotdog stand and wolfed down the most decadent thing I could think of – some sort of sausage thing.  I ate it before the bus arrived!  How’s THAT for ovulation?

I got home fairly early and passed out.  The next day I tried to put the pieces together, as I fumbled to put on my hiking boots, determined not to hurl.

Apparently I had still been able to muster up the ability (god bless me) to network, and I actually collected some business cards and contact information from a few power women I met that night (lord knows they’ll think twice at engaging in anything professional with me! ha!).  I didn’t remember any of it the next day.  I contacted my girlfriend to obtain one of the girl’s phone numbers, and she scolded me in her lovely Swedish accent, “Darling, you already have her business card in your purse. She wrote her cell phone on the back!  You’d better check your purse.  You never know what you might find in there today.”  I was dumb-founded.  How could it be?

In hindsight (one more revelation), I don’t think I really drank that much.  I think I had two martinis and a glass of wine before I lost it.  I’ve had much more before, and been thought completely sober.

It was utterly confusing to me, the fact that I couldn’t see straight after drinking in moderation.  We are talking about a period of several hours here.  What started at 7:30 pm ended very quickly at about 12:30 am.

After beating myself up, and being mortified over those first impressions you can never get back, I finally decided to let it go – give myself a break. I was, after all, trying to tie-one-on at 8000 feet after spending two weeks at sea level. It’s a known fact that high altitude mixed with alcohol makes you lose control of your senses quickly.

If you add hormones to the mix, you’ve got yourself a concoction that carries QUITE A PUNCH!

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