Well, it turns out that Kristen already had two bottles of wine in anticipation of the dinner. And Katherine barely drank any. Aaaaand... even so, we still ran out of wine... early. I ended up crashing at Nathan's in "holy jesus drunk" mode - face down on the living room floor because it seemed like a great idea at the time, then getting up spontaneously in the middle of the night, pouring a couple glasses of water down the hatch as a precautionary measure, and then proceeding back to the guest bedroom. Feed me bourbon all night long and I'm a trooper, give me a few glasses of chardonnay and such and I'm thinking the carpet is the best place to be. Go figure.
I had a really, really unusual dream the next morning early... I was graduating high school, actually at the ceremony... and I was valedictorian! (Which is about as far from my high school reality as you can get.) And I went back behind the stage to look for something that somebody needed, and William Shatner met me back there and congratulated me. And, not being able to help me find the whatsit somebody actually needed, gave me two pipes packed full of skunky weed instead. I remember thinking that that was going to be absolutely no help to whoever it was that needed the whatever it was that I'd been looking for - but seriously, how fucking cool was it for William fucking Shatner to give me weed behind the stage at graduation?
Right then, in the real world, at 7:00 AM sharp, is when my cell started ringing off the hook with panicky problem-having customers. Even though my cell doesn't actually *work* at Nate's house. For some reason it decided, at 7:00 AM the morning after I got ludicrously blotto on a work night, to have four bars of signal... and keep them,steady as a rock, throughout more and more calls I tried to ignore... until 9:30AM, when it crashed right back to half a bar when I tried to actually answer one. The perversity of the universe really does tend towards the maximum. But on the upside, I'd never in a million years have remembered that dream if the phone hadn't woken me up in the middle of it. If you ask me, Coleridge never gave the man from Porlock the credit he was due.