It's been a while.

Margaritas, sushi, chips, salsa, chicken wings and cookies. All consumed in a period of five hours while we watched lightning crash and rain pour. The girls and I stayed in, despite initial intentions to head out for free ladies night cocktails at a local establishment. Free vodka in a bar with smoke and strangers, or a night in with a gigantic bottle of margarita mix and two members of the Brewers as next-door neighbors?


Really, the Brewers had nothing to do with it, but isn't that fun to say? Oh, Bill Hall lives next door.

(That is a true story, by the way. Gabe Kapler, too).

(Also a true story, I don't even know what that means. "Gabe Kapler" may as well be "Mr. Rogers" for all I know. I = Brewers handicapped).

(Moving on).

The three of us consumed the entire bottle of margarita mix, which I didn't realize until I stood up to leave at 11 p.m. Wow, hi, I drank some, huh? And I realized even more when the alarm went off this morning.

It's been a while since I stayed up too late on a weeknight, sharing drinks and gossip with girlfriends. I also squeezed (squeeze being the very, very operative word here, people) into a size 0 pants for good measure.

"Oh, just TRY them, they're big!" said the girl with thighs the size of my calf muscle, as I balanced my margarita glass in my hand.

So I did, of course. I got them on, even, and buttoned. Nevermind that they would've split right down the seam if I so much dared as bend over.

Naturally, instead of boosting my ego because, "Hey! Look, mom! Size 0!" It was, "God, this is disgusting. Look at the way I squish."

But whatever. I blame the margaritas for even trying.

I was dropped at my doorstep just after 11, and proceeded to stay on the phone, in sobering conversation, until 1 a.m., i.e. past my bedtime.

My alarm went off at quarter-after six, and I remembered just what it was like to be in college. And remembered precisely why I'm just too old for such shenanigans.