Yambien and Baileys babyyyyyyyy!!!

So it turns out, Ambien Dani is a unrepentant drunk.

I had no idea.

Backstory: When you move from one state to another, at least if the state you move TO is New York, the refills on your prescriptions are meaningless. They don't care if you have 5 refills left over on your blood pressure medication; you'd better hop-to and find a local doctor if you have any intention of NOT DYING. When I moved to New York with a fistfull of medication required to keep me alive, my awesome doctor in CA had made sure that I had enough refills to keep me that way for at least 9 months, or until I found a compatible doctor(she loved me so much she gave me restylane as a going away present... top that, New York). What we didn't bank on was the fact that those refills would be rendered null and void the second I called them in to the local pharmacy.

Anyway.

I finally got in to see a doctor, which wasn't easy... I am now one of the billions (millions, whatever) of Americans without health care. Which not only makes me a statistic, but also makes me undesirable as a potential patient. I spent two months calling around to doctor's offices until I finally found one that was willing to see me. And then I had to wait two MORE months for an appointment.

(Sidebar: I could totally go off on a rant right now about health care, or the lack thereof, but I won't. I will save that for the people who actually know what they're talking about. You're welcome.)

Longggggggg story short, I finally got in to see the doctor. She was fabulous in that uptown New York kind of way... She told me how hard it was for her to "move Upstate" after living in "the City" her entire life (I was enthralled, by the way, with her "I summer in the Hampton's" upper-crust accent... she could have said, "And the cow jumped over the moon" and I would have been all, "Oh my god, like, you're sooo wiiiiiiise...") and was beyonddddd sympathetic about how miserable and lost I am in this hell-hole. She tossed me a few compliments on "how well put-together" I am (meaning, I assume, that I wasn't wearing a tank top and Mom-jeans like the 47 other women in the waiting room and had graduated from the Bimbo hair-style so popular among the northern New York set) and asked me, in so many words, what an intelligent person like myself (right? Tell me I'm smart and pretty and I'm allllll yoursssss) was doing in this neck of the woods (is it wrong that I love when people think I'm too good to live somewhere? Because I totally do). I kind of wanted her to be my new BFF, but couldn't figure out a way to work it into the conversation. Also? Very few of my BFFs have given me a breast exam, so I couldn't exactly find a good time to ask her over for girly drinks, gossip, and doing each other's make-up. Girlfriend has fondled my boobs and knows exactly how much I weigh. I'm not sure we could ever recover from that.

(Disappointing. Maybe I'll run in to her at the Price Chopper or the Big M and we could start over, with me fully clothed.)

Eventually we got down to the business of all the things that are wrong with me and she filled my important prescriptions. (Blood pressure, thyroid... you know, the ones I need so that I don't die, New York. Not that you care.)

Unfortunately, she didn't consider Ambien to be one of the medications necessary to keep me alive.

"I don't prescribe Ambien," said she, and that was that.

What kind of doctor doesn't prescribe Ambien??

No sleep for you! EVER!

Finally, after days of not sleeping, I called my doctor in California. I explained my lack of sleep, the bags under my eyes, the fact that it was aging me by the minute and that no one in New York cared... and bless her heart, she faxed my Ambien prescription to my local pharmacy and they filled it. And now I have valid refills.

I'm so happy.

Which brings me to...

Last night, I was home alone. Dan was out of town so I decided to watch Bridesmaids, take an Ambien, and go to bed early.

Which is what I thought I'd done.

I woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning and went about my business, feeling well-rested and alert, happy as a little piggy in a pile of shit that my sleepless nights are ovahhhh.

Until just now, when I decided to send a text to a friend I'd been texting yesterday

As I scrolled down to find her, I started seeing messages I didn't remember sending. And to what did my wondering eyes should appear but...

This:

To one friend:

Me: "Yambien and Baileys babyyyyyyyy!"

To another friend:

Me: "Haaaaaaaa Baileyzzzz on the rocks YO!" (This was not in response to any question, fyi. I just sent it. For no good goddamn reason. It just needed to be said, apparently.)

To yet another friend:

Me: "Say my name, BITCH!" (NO clue. Why are these people still friends with me??)

And so on. It only gets worse from there.

I have absolutely no recollection of drinking last night. I have never sat down and drank Bailey's, ever. I've put it IN stuff, like coffee or eggnog, but I can honestly say that I've never just had a glass of Bailey's.

In fact, the only Bailey's we had were these two little bottles that Dan had gotten as a Christmas gift last year from his boss. One was caramel, one was coffee, and they were wrapped together. Unopened.

At least... they were unopened.

I got up and looked in the cupboard...

And there was only one bottle.

Opened.

Hmmm.

I looked under the sink in the recycling, and there it was... a completely empty bottle of Bailey's caramel, licked clean.

*cue Twilight Zone music*

On the plus side, I'm a conscientious drunk, very aware of my carbon footprint, since I put the empty bottle in the recyling bin...

And I woke up without even the smidgen of a hangover...

Win-win, yes?

Maybe?