A charming tale of champagne and acid reflux disease

It’s been a week now, and I feel like I’ve been on vacation for a month. We’ve had the perfect mix of active and lazy, work and play, meeting new people and catching up with old friends. It’s amazing what a little time away can do for the soul.

Last Friday, Google was nominated for an Australia-wide website award. They held the event at Luna Park, same place as the forthcoming MTV Music Awards here on Thursday. It was the perfect type of awards event – fast, fun, easy-going – minus the fact that they didn’t serve dinner. Which is where the story begins.

As often is the case, not eating enough while drinking sends the usually ebulliant Aubrey into Insanely Inebriated Aubrey™. Which – for those who’ve witnessed it firsthand – isn’t necessarily the best state for me to be in, though it does provide constant amusement for onlookers and friends alike. So, despite my lofty intentions to keep eating (the not at all “heavy” hors d’ourves included risotto balls served by a female server, and I believe my exact words were “Hey Ball Lady! I need to eat some more Balls!”), I’d estimate that I ate approximately 200 calories. Leaving my tummy very, very empty. Not a good starting point.

The other half of this devilish cocktail was what we were drinking – champagne. No, not a glass to toast with, not just a little to add some edge, but Champagne. The. Whole. Night. God Bless us all.

It started out just fine – just a glass or two…yum. Funny thing about those bubbles – you have a bit, you want a bit more. And so I did. And did. And did again. Next thing I know, the party is a ROARING success, I’m chatting with anyone and everyone, and – remarkably – my glass remains full. As it continues to all evening.

The party soon moved from the outside patio into the main venue when it got a bit chilly for my overly-red sunburn and flowy dress, and though the DJ was in full force, nobody was dancing. The pint glass full of champagne (they ran out of proper glasses) helped me take care of that REALLY quickly, showing those Ozzies a thing or two on how we do it in Atlanta. It probably would have been better if I wasn’t the only person dancing, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. I was starting a trend, after all. I was getting this party started.

I also got it ended – no, I didn’t get thrown out, nothing that tawdry. Just the end of the party is a bit hazy, but not the next day – not for one bit. We headed out to Hunter Valley, the wine country about two hours north of Sydney, and while the ride was fine, I would offer one bit of advice:

Don’t drink two bottles of champagne the night before if you expect to be able to attend wine tastings without the aid of no less than FOURTEEN antacids.

I only wish I was kidding.