I wrote that maudlin post yesterday while sitting alone at a wine bar near our hotel, drinking reisling and eating a salmon nicoise salad. I may have been weeping a bit, I don’t really know. I’d spent the previous two hours at the hotel pub with Mr. Solutions, taking advantage of happy hour specials and waiting for Obama’s interview on the O’Reilly Factor. At some point, we both realized that we were plowing through our drinks kind of fast, but rather than doing the sensible thing (stop treating your screwdriver like the bottomless iced tea at TGI Friday’s), I decided to ignore my better judgement (switch to smirnoff-and-pineapple). By the time ol’ Bill lit into our Democratic nominee, I was pretty much shithoused. And also, starving.
Mr. Solutions had made some bizarre resolution about not leaving the hotel, so I set off across the parking lot on a solo mission while he satisfied himself with another Blue Moon and some weird turkey cream soup leftover from happy hour. During the five minute walk to the restaurant, my mood went from giggly-drunk to mud-sunk depression… hence the weird post and possible public weeping. I might have really veered into a grey zone, had I not been on the receiving end of several bizarre texts from our DP, my favorite of which was “Dude, I got cindy McCain ruckus”. Like, what does that even MEAN? So thanks, Mr. S, for pulling me out of the funk before I made a total asshole out of myself.
When I got back to the hotel he was still at the bar, so we had another drink and yelled at the TV for awhile during the closing moments of RNC coverage. Pusser and Buckethead joined us, briefly, and I have a vague recollection of loud verbal transactions involving our call time and/or Bill O’Reilly’s tie.
This morning, I’m happy to report, was the morning I brought my legendary brand of hungover to the Fargo / Moorhead area. And all over Robin’s parking lot.