My Drunk Friend is now My Toddler

Lately, Olivia's toddler behavior has me in a constant state of deja vu. I keep thinking "This feels so familiar..." And after a night out with some friends recently, I realized why her insane happy-one-minute-crying-the-next attitudes make me feel a bit of nostalgia for days gone by.

Did you ever have that Drunk Friend in college? You know, the one who was almost always a good time but a night out with her could end in hysterical laughter or sobbing and you didn't really know which until you were right smack dab in the middle of it kicking yourself for getting sucked into her crazy antics once again.

Well, that's my daughter. Minus the alcohol, of course. I'm serious. She is that drunk friend who is laughing and cutting up and is the life of the party until some switch flips and suddenly she's Crazy Pants McGee and yelling at you for that time you let her eat an entire chocolate cake by herself after her loser boyfriend dumped her. And at the end of the night, you are just left shaking your head, thankful that she finally just passed out and you can go have a moment of peace and sanity.

Oh, but The Boss Lady is a little different than my drunk friend because I don't have to deal with it on Friday or Saturday night. Even better. I get to deal with this constant emotional upheaval every blessed day of my life.

And you know the biggest problem with that drunk friend is that no matter how many times the night ends in tears and regret, you do it all over again every weekend because when that friend is in her happy place, things are AWESOME. So, you put on your favorite skinny jeans (or when I was in college, tight black pants), grab your wallet and off you go for a night out in Coo-coo Cachoo Ville.

But now you probably think I'm the crazy one comparing my daughter to a drink-happy college chick. Allow me to show you the parallels.

Imagine this scenario from your own college days with your own Drunk Buddy:

One Friday night, you're sitting in your apartment/dorm/sorority house/wherever, contemplating a girlie movie and pizza or a pint of ice cream...oh, who are you kidding, you were gonna eat the pizza AND the ice cream. Then your phone rings and it's Captain Crazy herself. And she's all,

"Hey, want to go out and grab a few drinks tonight? Maybe we'll even do a little dancing!"

And she seems like she's in a really good mood and it all seems innocent enough so you tell her you'll meet her in about an hour then you go make yourself all pretty for all of those potential husbands who might be hanging out at the bar.

The night starts off really great! The two of you are out dancing and everybody's happy. You're out on the dance floor shaking your money maker, feeling like this night is going to turn out in your favor.

Even your friend has brought out her best moves for tonight!

But then it happens. The damn deejay plays THAT song. The song that your friend and her old high school love used to call "their song." Then before you know it, she's throwing back shots of Hot Damn and yelling at everybody in the bar,

"HE NEVER LOVED ME!!!!"

She's getting all destructive and more crazy by the minute and you realize that cute guy you've been eyeing all night is NEVER going to speak to you if he thinks you hang out with this every night,

And then you're trying to do damage control by distracting her by reminding her that he was balding or by pointing out all of the other cute guys at the bar. Or just by pointing out anything shiny in the place, just trying to make her smile.

Suddenly, Vanilla Ice starts blaring through the speakers and she jumps up shouting,

"That's my JAM!!"

while showing everyone in the place her belly button or new bra. So even though like 30 seconds ago, you were trying to keep her from polishing off an entire bottle of Rumple Mints and trying to convince her why it might be a good idea to head home while you were still ahead, suddenly you're back out on the dance floor for what she promises is "this one last song."

But you know it's not over. It's far from over. So you just chase around Lady Loco hoping she'll eventually run out of steam and let you call a cab.

You finally convince her to leave but, of course, you can't just go straight home. No, you have to stop at the gas station and get some munchies because, as she says,

"I just CRAVE sugar every time I drink."

You grab a year's supply of Skittles and Snickers and then you get her home and FINALLY convince her to get into bed. But she doesn't go down so easy. It's a battle to the finish. One second she's laying her head down and dozing off then popping up insisting that she's ready to hit the next club,

Then thankfully, she passes out.

Then you crawl into bed thinking "How in the hell did I let myself get sucked into this??"

"And what in the hell did she do with her pants??"

But you know you'll do all over again the next weekend. And whether the night ends in hysterical laughter or hysterical tears, you know you just can't get enough of that little drunk monkey.