No rest for the wicked

So the wedding on Friday night ended up being a much boozier shebang than I had intended--but how are you supposed to keep track of how many glasses of wine you've had when they keep coming around to refill you before you've even finished?

And table 6 really was the awesomest table. We had to do a round of tequila shots to celebrate that.

And when we were waiting for our designated driver and his date to get their things together, we noticed that the DIY photo booth was still there...and twenty or thirty frames of us shooting tequila in front of the camera seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Suffice it to say, by the time we crossed two rivers and finally got dropped off at our apartment, Dumpling and I were pretty sloshed. We stumbled up four flights of stairs to find this waiting for us on our door:

I wanted to take a sideways pic and rotate it but I couldn't figure out how to do that on Blogger, and I'm not sure if I'm stupid or if the settings are. Anyway, it says: Intercom is going to be installed between 10AM to 11AM. Sorry for disturbance. (the coffee stain is mine).

So naturally we took the note off our door, giggled drunkenly, and stayed up until 5 AM watching Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes I had from Netflix. The sky was getting light by the time we went to bed.

We were woken up at 10 AM (sharp!) by persistent knocking on our door. Or I should say I was woken up, because Dumpling can sleep through anything. I looked out the peep hole and saw our (female, Polish) landlord with two workmen standing in the hallway. "Just a minute!" I called cheerily. Except that it came out like something between a croak and a groan. I tried it again. This time I sounded like Bruce Willis.

What the hell is wrong with my voice? I wondered. Then I remembered the tequila shots, the cheering, and the Marlboro Lights bummed and shared (bad, bad!) outside the reception hall. My hangover caught up to me all at once. It was being like hit with a big wet sack of garbage.

I woke up Dumpling and we put on some clothes and let them in. For the next hour the landlord supervised while the intercom-installing dudes clomped around and installed not one, but two intercoms. They are about ten feet apart. We didn't really need an intercom, and we certainly don't need two, but I wasn't able to say anything at the time. I made some coffee, and then the two of us just sat on the edge of the bed, holding our heads in our hands and wearing clothes we'd picked up off the floor.

Turned out to be a blessing in disguise though--we had plans for that very day (Saturday) to go to Palmer's Vinyard in Long Island with a group of friends, and we ended up getting picked up shortly after the intercom installation. (More on Palmer's soon!) If we hadn't been up already we definitely would have looked, felt, and smelled a lot worse than we did for the 90-minute car ride. Intercom bonus: the next time we're that hungover we can order burritos and get buzzed from downstairs instead of shouting at the delivery guy from the balcony.