Bulletproof and Invisible
I don't drink much. No, I really don't, so do not argue with me.
Last night, however, some friends were in town from Houston celebrating two birthdays,
so I met them at their hotel and had two margaritas.
Then we went to dinner and I had a martini and two glasses of merlot.
In a four hour span, that's not exactly a binge, but today I feel as though the fascia has pulled away from my scull and my brain is bouncing around like a bobble head doll.
I was definitely talking out of my ass last night, thinking I was far more witty than I actually am.
Somewhere in last night's conversation, I volunteered to shlep champagne and orange juice to their hotel this morning for mimosas before we go out for breakfast tacos.
This will make the third event I have attended this weekend, which is 66% more external weekend activity than I am used to.
Before I went to bed last night, I read some e-mail and replied, "I'm drunk" to most of them. Hint: Never reply to e-mail when you are drunk.
I used to be able to go out and party, drink till 2 a.m. then get up bright eyed and bushy tailed the next morning.
Last night I drank till 10:30, woke up bleary eyed and bushy headed, with a jones for Zantac, a gallon of water and some aspirin.
Someone said after 45, it's all downhill from there.
Bullshit. It's all uphill.