It's been a while since I've been that drunk. It's been a while since I drank like it was free, even if it wasn't.

The signs were pretty clear � in hindsight. I usually don't drink vodka tonics all that fast.

I usually don't specify what kind of vodka I want. I usually don't run out of money and think, "Sure, I can have a few more. Let's start a tab!" I usually don't forget if my drink count was over or under 10. I usually don't blatantly blow the cigarette smoke from the girl my friend has been chatting up for two hours directly back in her direction, even if she's not looking and I'm sure � in my inebriated state � there's absolutely no way she's going to notice. I usually don't feel so tired and blah at the beginning of the evening, just after dinner, where I wouldn't notice something like the angle at which I'm holding my drink (with my arm falling down by my side) is causing it to spill out onto my jeans and the floor, even if I've already drunk half of it. I usually don't pay so much attention to Queen of the Damned on the lone TV in the place (but Lena Olin pulled me in). I usually don't French Casey in public places. I usually don't think, "It's not even 10 yet? This place isn't that great; maybe we'll head back early, grab some beer, and watch Saturday Night Live." I usually don't agree with to Matt, or anyone else, when he says, "There's no way we're making it till 2 a.m. tonight" and then look at my watch as we're leaving and say, "No WAY is it 2:30!" And then I usually don't stay up until 4 a.m. thereafter.

Apparently, there have been several times I've gotten drunk and then gone back to someone's place and we've started to watch Swingers, because even though I know I've seen parts of it, I've never seen it all the way through. Early Saturday night, I mentioned to Matt that I had seen up until the end of the scene where they've picked up the cocktail waitresses in Vegas. As it turns out, I've seen much more than that. I'm just often drunk and don't remember it in the morning.

Casey and I drove home from D.C. (Virginia, actually, after we ventured out into the suburbs to have lunch with Nate and his brother, brother-in-law and friend, though none of us considered touching the sauce) in a fog and got back a little after seven last night. We were ready for bed at 9:15 but managed to keep the lights on for another hour so that we wouldn't oversleep or wake up at 5 a.m.

So sometime yesterday, either in my first wakeup � still utterly tanked � at 7:30, or in the second around 9, but maybe in the final one after 10, I tried to remember how drunk I was, and I had this crazy thought. Think of it as a dream sequence during That 70s Show.

We return to Match Game, already in progress.

Match Game theme music plays as the camera pans across the faces of the six celebrities on the dais. Betty White, Richard Dawson, Edie McClurg, Charles Nelson Reilly, Ethel Merman and Vicki Lawrence write their responses on their cards while the contestant, Roger, has written down his answer and waits patiently.

The music ends.

Yeah, it was like that.

Oh, and the funny part at dinner? When Steffi said, "This is Denise. She works at the White House and writes for the President" and no one made any remark about it. No, "How cool!" No, "That must be exciting!" I know what Matt, Casey and I think about Bush, but I got an idea of what the others felt too.

"That'd be so cool," I thought to myself, however. "I wish I had that job."

Then I remembered, NO, I don't. I may want to work in the White House, but it's the Jed Bartlet White House, not the Monkey Bush White House.

We also saw a Code Pink anti-war march on Saturday, with many women dressed in pink or, more accurately, fuscia. One carried a sign that read, THE ONLY BUSH I TRUST IS MY OWN. HA! Brilliant. Another said, GEORGE BUSH IS DRUNK WITH POWER. I LIKED HIM BETTER WHEN HE WAS DRUNK WITH JACK DANIELS.

I love freedom of speech.