I have returned!

...for the nonce.

A week ago, my brother said to me, "So you know you haven't updated your blog in over a month? And now NaNoWriMo is over so you don't have an excuse."

He sort of softened the blow, I see, since it's actually been over two months. Anyway, I didn't feel much like posting because I've been going through a rather nasty bout of what my dermatologist identified as "some sort of dermatitis." Very helpful. He confirmed what the mirror had already told me, that I have an inflammation of the skin. Well, he did say it's probably "atopic dermatitis," which, after I looked it up online, I realized is a form of eczema. It would've been helpful if he'd told me that in the first place, since I suffered from eczema as a child, though not on my face, where my current outbreak is.

Anyway, at one point I'd had a thought about posting the things I think in order to convince myself things aren't all that bad. One was that if I were ever to take a bullet shot to the head, maybe the crust formed by the "dermatitis of some sort" would prevent the bullet from going the 1/16" further that would mean my certain death. Newspaper headlines (not front page, would read "UNSIGHTLY SKIN CONDITION SAVES WOMAN'S LIFE." There'd be quotes from the ER docs about how amazing it is, what a miracle etc., and once I'd recovered, I'd probably write melodramatic journal entries: So I have my atopic dermatitis to thank for saving my life. Is it worth the two months of wanting to hide my face from the world? I don't know, because if I have to suffer from this for the rest of my life, I'm not sure life is worth living....

And so on. But my skin is doing much better (also for the nonce) so I find I don't have the motivation to go on about that at length.

Instead, you get to read about my low alcohol tolerance! Let the cheering commence.

But it's really not as interesting as you may think, so if you have something more important to do, like welding, I won't be offended if you trot away to take care of that. Go on, shoo!

For those of you still with me, okay, then. Last night I had a work holiday party to attend. I trotted out my new holiday dress (red), put on my new shoes (red, four-inch heels), attempted to cover up the aforementioned dermatitis (marginally successful), got in my car and drove to the party, where I consumed about two and a quarter glasses of wine. This, mind, is more alcohol than I've ever consumed in one go, and since I knew I'd have to drive myself home, I thought that should be my limit. Good thing I did, too, because even the two glasses was enough to retard my cognition.

Design coworker, speaking to a group of us: All of you are so young! And you're how old, Amanda? 21, 22?
Yours truly, somewhat shocked that she'd even come up with 21: 24.
Design coworker: Oh, so did you have a birthday in Chicago?*
Yours truly: Yeah, I turned 24 there. (Pause, remembers turning 24 in Colorado) No, wait! I was back here when I turned 24. I turned 23 in Chicago!
Design coworker: (nods)

It was only during my drive home that I realized/remembered that, since my birthday is in February, I was never in Chicago during a birthday. Oy. I can only conclude that under the influence, I am more susceptible to others' suggestions, even ones that blatantly contradict the truth. I'm a people pleaser to begin with and dislike confrontations, and I guess alcohol can exacerbate things. Good thing I drank no more and that my coworkers are all pretty beneficent, or else if someone had asked me to stand on the coffee table and yodel while throwing the hostess gifts through the window, I might have done it.

And before you ask, I made it home safely, without changing lanes unless I wanted to. I did, however, hit my head on the doorframe as I was unlocking my apartment door (I'd bent over to pick up a bag I set down, and went wham! as I stood straight). Then I nearly lost my balance while removing my heels.

They are, I must say, great shoes. To look at and admire on my feet. Not great shoes to walk or stand in, especially with an elevated blood-alcohol content. Nevertheless, I think every woman should wear a pair of heels that can double as a stabbing implement at least once in her lifetime. I have now met that goal.

*Referring to the semester-long stint I spent in Chicago in fall 2005, pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing that I ultimately decided I could not afford. I then returned to Colorado, and to my current workplace.