stirring

I don't drink gin and tonics. I used to. About five years ago I did, whilst under the influence of someone not so savory, I would suck 'em back like water and wonder why I never felt myself GET drunk, but just WAS drunk.

I don't choose gin and tonics. I am a sensible girl and stick to my favorite beer. However last night, I was amongst dear friends, dear Southern friends who can drink my weight in gin and live to tell, and it was an open bar, and I had already consumed half a bottle of a really good pinot noir (yeah, my man knows wine. It's a perk) at Bistro du Vent, so I said fuck it. Gin and tonic please. Another gin and tonic please. Um, another gin and, um, yeah. Could I jusht pleash have another...

Because I live with someone very responsible, I made it out of the Xth Avenue Lounge before any damage was done. I cannot say the same for my Southern friends who, at 12:45, were still chasing tail and throwing drinks down. At least that's the rumor today. I wish I could party like them. And I realize I might have to go into training for this summer in Edinburgh. Sort of like people who start going to tanning beds before their trips to Barbados, I feel I should start working my blood alcohol level up to a good fighting weight. If I want to win the championships. Which I do.More so than I want to live another day like today, head-achy, bitchy, and cursing every whisper of lime flavored gin that passed my lips last night.