Return to Margarita Mondays

This past Monday Morning was the hardest day to get out of bed and go to work. Just like last year, after having a delightful two week reprieve from my precious students, the reality of having to get back to the daily grind is unbearable. Also similar to last year, the first day back went just fine, meaning I worked myself into a panic for no reason -- fancy that.

It helped that the first day back was a Monday, which means a Margarita Monday, of course. Having that knowledge helped get me through the day. Michael Michael even posted a note on our door as a morning reminder that although we were dreading this day, we had that evening to look forward to, which proved to be a major confidence builder.

In truth, I've been longing for a Margarita Monday for three weeks. Margarita Monday is like Christmas, but better because it happens every week. Over vacation, I kept waiting to return to my favorite haunt, with the complete understanding that by the time I'd reach that day, I'd be back to teaching -- a mixed blessing. Though RJ brought me to margaritas on New Year's Eve in NYC and it was amazingly fun in its own right, it just wasn't the same.

Three weeks ago, we all did Margarita Monday right for the 2007 blowout. Not only was it the last one of the year, but it was also Sisco's birthday, so there were streamers, cake, and additional celebration. Many of us found ourselves tipsy and practiced the Christmas carols we never got around to singing the previous weekend. About twenty of us entered the building and delivered our favorite bartender a card while singing "Angels We Have Heard on High" (let me tell you, you haven't heard the song until you've heard it with nearly two dozen varied yet intoxicated interpretations of how to sing the "glooooooooooooooooooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrria" part) and made a spectacle of ourselves in front of the restaurant's other patrons - you know, kind of like every week.

For once, we weren't the biggest spectacle, however. Someone we don't know vomited next to the bar and managed to fall in it. The bartender shared this anecdote with Allison, Christine, and I a bit later and I said, "At least we have the decency to wait until we get home to throw up!" and we all chuckled heartily as though we were far superior to the person rolling in eir own spew. After making my joke, I commented that it was remarkable, perhaps miraculous that for the number of people who get smashed on a weekly basis that no one has actually vomited on the premises. At that point, Allison whispered that someone we know and love threw up in the parking lot the week prior. At any rate, I'm sure this person at least had the decency not to fall in it afterwards, right Stacy?

Fast forward to this past week. Though we didn't have 30 people like last time, it was still a hoot. Michael Michael employed an unnatural segue in order to force me to tell my Zolar X story since ey enjoys when I make a fool of myself. Last time this story came up at a Margarita Monday, Jessica shot margarita through eir nose and it bled. I actually found out that Zolar X a few months back appeared on The Next Great American Band, a television show just like American Idol but for bands and with a fraction of the audience. The band was clearly not given a fair shot, instead put on TV to be something weird for people to laugh at. Still, exposure is exposure I suppose:


I also had the opportunity to show everyone my stigmata, which I forgot to mention that during my New Year's post. While RJ, Ted, and I walked to a party, we stopped to do pull ups on a structural bar. I was in no condition to exercise and don't believe I even accomplished one, but in the process I managed to simultaneously impale the center of both of my palms, bleeding from both. Naturally, I quickly made the Jesus connection, but was too afraid to articulate it at the time, out of fear that I might start believing it. Nevertheless, small marks still remain as a sign of my religious experience.

Somehow the party got brought back to my place later on. We sipped on delicious hot chocolate and peppermint shnopps and white russians, which Michael Michael is a brilliant bastard for concocting. Somehow, during the mayhem, my new IPod wound up in the freezer. I drank far more than necessary at a little before 1, people actually told this old teacher that I needed to go to bed.

I need to amend an earlier statement. Tuesday morning was the most difficult day to get out of bed.