Never Again...

This should have been a happy blog entry. This should have been an enthusiastic and glowing extolling of a newfound alcoholic love. It's not. It's a dizzy, fuzzy, uncomfortable morning-after blog entry. That's right, I'm hung over, and not just your standard 'I had a few too many and now I'm paying the price' hangover. Folks, I am FUCKING HUNG OVER. My head feels like a concrete watermelon. My stomach feels like a bloated pin cushion stuffed with gravel. I can't walk straight, and if I close my eyes I can see Technicolor rainbows swirling around like electric eels mating.

The culprit? Why, the ever-popular dirty martini.

Let me back up. A couple weeks back, Teresa and I went out for dinner and drinks at Hayden's Bar and Grill here in Tualatin. I've always wanted to explore the martini (I'd only had ONE before, on my 30^th birthday, and didn't like it), because hey, it's a cool drink. You can't be a wannabe secret agent if you don't do martinis. So yeah, I decided it was time to take the plunge. I had three dirty martinis that night with dinner and quite enjoyed them.

Fast forward to yesterday (Tuesday, 2/26)… I was twiddling my thumbs at work, bored as usual, and I got to thinking about those delightful dirty martinis. I hit the liquor store on my lunch hour and picked up some vodka, vermouth, and olive juice. When I got home after work, I immediately started mixing 'em up.

Everything got blurry pretty fast. Martinis, dirty or otherwise, are basically ALL alcohol; plus I didn't eat any dinner. By about 9:00 I was completely shit-faced and throwing up. I think I had eight dirty martinis total, but it may have been more (the vodka bottle, which was brand new when I started, was about 2/3rds empty afterwards).

And here we are… the morning after. I feel like hell. Jesus, "hell" doesn't even describe it. I actually think I'm still somewhat drunk. And I'll tell ya, I've NEVER gotten sick on vodka before. In fact, I've always called vodka my "happy drink" because I've always been able to drink a lot of it with no ill effects. Well, so much for that.

This just fucking sucks, because I love the concept of the dirty martini. I wanna be cool like dat, ya know? I don't want it to end this way. But the mere thought of having one at this point makes me nauseous. God, just the sight of the bottles (still sitting on the kitchen counter this morning) was sickening.

I'll probably feel differently in a few days, but for right now, I'm saying NEVER AGAIN. I'm getting too old for this shit.