And then my liver took a standby flight home

So I spent last week Somewhere in Middle America - that's Omaha, for those of you unfamiliar with the Counting Crows - attending our annual company meeting. It's a long week, with meetings and events from about 7:30 a.m. until 9 at night. Plus, then everyone retires to the hotel bar for hours on end of drinking and talking about work some more. Luckily, wives are invited and so I spend a lot of time with them and we talk about husband and boyfriend quirks that none of the guys would want me to know about. Let me just say that if I ever want to shut someone down, all I have to do is mention some of the dirt I have on them and we're good.

After arriving on Monday and drinking much more than I usually do for three nights in a row, by the time Thursday rolled around and the final event was over, I was pretty much alcoholed out. However, Chris and I and 2 of our friends headed to the bar for one last drink before we called it a night. Ha. One drink. Good one. Before we could finish our one drink, about 12 of our co-workers showed up and another drink appeared in front of me and we're pulling up tables and chairs to accomodate everyone. When the round of shots arrived, however, is when my liver was like "bitch, please" and that's when it went ahead and took a standby flight home. Along with a lot of people's good sense. That must have been a pretty full flight.

Guess what? Peter Forsberg is coming back to the Avalanche! This is so exciting. I love him very much - because he is so smoking hot I mean has gorgeous blue eyes what? No makes me want to throw myself onto the ice oh stop IS A GREAT PLAYER. Yes. That's what I meant. As you can see from the eloquent way I express myself in all things Forsberg, you have to know that I was equally as composed when I actually met him face to face. Here's the story, which I may have told you before, but who doesn't like to re-hear an embarassing story?

I was a bridesmaid in a wedding in which my friend married a guy like 10 years older than her. The marriage lasted maybe a year or two, and I was the only one of her friends that he liked, so apparently he got me in the divorce. Because she and I aren't friends anymore, but he and I are. As it happened, he was the reporter who covered the Avs for one of the big newspapers here, and so while he couldn't get me into games for free, I often met him downtown after the games for drinks at the place where the team hung out. I got to meet all the young guys and it was pretty fun, although what I really wanted was to meet Forsberg. Unfortunately, Peter never really went out after the games. Except for one time when I happened to be there.

I was standing with my friend near the bar, and here comes Peter Forsberg walking towards us, headed for the bathroom. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he had on a dove gray dress shirt, tie and black dress pants. Gah. And Ack. He said hi to my friend and I wisely stopped myself from running after him. You know, for the sake of decorum. On the way back, he stopped and chatted for a second, and my friend is like "Peter, this is Amber". Forsberg looked at me with those ice blue eyes, held out his hand and said "It's really nice to meet you". I, being a quick thinker, realized that I had a glass of wine in my left hand and my coat in my right hand, so I'd have to get rid of something so I could shake his hand. So, because I'm suave, I dropped my coat on the floor. And because I'm a delicate flower, I unobtrusively (ha) kicked it behind me, while also shaking his hand and trying not to faint as he kept looking at me with THOSE EYES. I think I also managed "it's nice to meet you too", which I was pretty proud of, because what my brain was TELLING me to say was "will you marry me?" Aw. Yeah. Don't be jealous of my superior skillz in chatting up sports stars.

You would think that I could have come up with something witty to say to him, or even just long winded, because judging from most of my entries, long winded is my specialty. Oh well. I must have pulled it off to some extent, because he didn't make a face or run away screaming, and I didn't faint or barf or fling my wine glass across the room, so all in all, well played. Everybody wins.