In which my 60 year old uncle drunk-dialed

First things first. The cat is alive and well.

As I mentioned previously, Edgar and I went to Simi Valley this weekend to drink it up for Octoberfest and watch an old man in liederhosen play the accordian while coaxing people to do the Chicken Dance. Suck it, old man, I will never do the Chicken Dance for you.

We went to a restaurant in Ventura called Old Vienna, and they know how to Octoberfest in style. They have this huge platter of food that's called "A Feast for Two," but the two that they are referring to must be inhuman, because eight of us couldn't even finish 3 orders. Two times three is six, just to remind you. I can only imagine that the two is comprised of a very large German couple ripping the meat off of huge turkey drumsticks while yelling "Meat! We need more meat!" These Feast for Twos include bratwurst, polish sausage, chicken something or another, spare ribs, pork shank, pork chops, sauerkraut, red cabbage, spatzel, potato pancakes, and German potato salad. And they also start you off with these huge pretzels. To eat while you begin drinking many pitchers of beer. And then when you leave you get to listen to your husband and your cousin bemoan the fact that when they get home they're going to have to give birth to twins.

Weekends spent up at my aunt and uncle's house are often interesting, even if only for the fact that my cousin makes it his mission in life to never let me finish speaking any sentence that might come out of my mouth. I always wake up with a sore throat from having to raise my voice to yell over him because HE IS CONSTANTLY INTERRUPTING ME. The sore throat also might be atrributed to the fact that we often end up drunk there and when I'm drunk I'm loud. But who isn't, really, when you think about it? This weekend was no different. I actually started off the drinking quite slowly, only having one mug of beer at dinner since I had to drive our car back to the house. I had a few more beers after we got back......

......then came the bourbon.

Oh, bourbon. I'm not usually one to drink liquor in any other form than a vodka tonic, a margarita, or Jack and coke. Generally, I find the taste of things like scotch or bourbon just too strong for me; the alcohol smell with the burning taste must be acquired, and I'm just too impatient for that. But a few months ago my uncle introduced me to Manhattans, and I was craving one on Saturday evening. Content to use the Maker's Mark that was in the liquor cabinet, my uncle saw me and said "Oh, Amanda Suzanne, don't use that, I have something better for you." And he produced a bottle of Blanton's Bourbon. Delicious. DEE. LISH. US. I had three Manhattans that night, and Edgar even had one or two after he tasted mine. I was also making vodka tonics for my uncle all evening, and they were progressively becoming stronger because the more I drink, the more alcohol I think should be in each drink.

Our fun evening turned in to a late night. My aunt and uncle introduced Edgar and I to this card game called Wizard, which is really impossible to explain, so I won't even try, except to say that it's fun. Especially after several beers and bourbon. We were finally winding down around 2:45 in the morning, when my aunt made the offhand comment that if we stayed up much longer that my parents in Indiana would be awake, and oh, wouldn't it be funny if we were going to bed at the same time that they were getting up for the day. Of course, being sane people (and despite the bourbon, not really drunk at all), my aunt, husband, and I laughed about it, said something about the fact that it was still too early in Indiana, being only 5:45 there. And no sooner had we expressed this than my aunt cried "Gary! What are you doing?" and I turned around to see him dialing the phone. Which he then shoved in my face, where I could hear my mother's sleepy voice mumble "Hello?" I froze. "Uhhh....Uncle Gary made me do it!" My mother was a good sport about it though. I fully expected a retaliation call a few hours later, but my dad decided to hold off and told me when I talked to him at a more appropriate hour of the day on Sunday that he would be making that call to my uncle once he stops expecting it.

Never a dull moment in Simi Valley. And how awesome is it that my uncle drunk dialed my parents? How many people can have that story to tell?