What's on the iPod: Nothing again -- getting the car back today
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Oh. My. Did I really do all that?
Another St. Patty's Day come and gone, but not without great flourish and celebration. We arrived in the morning just before 8:45 am and were fifth and sixth in line. Good thing -- once again, Molly's management decided to remove tables and chairs and force people not only to stand around the room, but stand on one side of the bar. We were lucky to capture two of a dozen stools left on the other side of the bar.
There we sat for the next eight hours.
A breakfast of scrambled eggs, potato cake, and baked beans plus some spinach artichoke dip for lunch was all the food we (daughter and I) had. We simply forgot to eat.
Didn't forget to drink, though.
I pace myself in situations where I know there will be more than one hour of imbibing -- one drink per hour. No more. However, I usually eat. Since I've been cutting back on food intake normally, I didn't get hungry, so I didn't eat.
Oh, what a mistake.
We had a blast. The bands were great, the crowd was really into the whole "friends I've never met" idea that makes St. Patty's Day so much fun, and where we were sitting, there was no chance of making eye contact inadvertently and drawing in drunken propositions. Though the young man sitting beside me at one point was singing a song about coupling up and he pointed to me. He had to be drunk, but I wasn't exactly in my best mindset, so I thanked him and told him I was married. Worked like a charm -- he not only didn't talk to me the rest of the day but he switched places with his friend.
Oh yes I did.
But back to that mistake. About five gin and tonics in, I realized they were hitting me especially hard. I switched it out to Sprite and then to water, but the damage was done. My head was feeling like an ocean of oh-my-gawd. Luckily my daughter was driving and she'd cut way back before I did. While I felt okay, I knew I wasn't in any shape to get behind a steering wheel. (My back-up plan was the bus or the two-mile walk home. Either way would have worked just as well.) I got home and sat on the sofa next to hubs, who'd attempted to spend time with us, but the noise from the band was so loud he couldn't hear me talking in his ear. Since he'd had a coclear implant, he opted to leave to protect his hearing.
My ears were dull and ringing all night. It matched my head, frankly. We were home by five, and I think the room stopped moving around 7:30. I decided I'd had enough celebration and chose instead to watch Irish movies (AMC was running them all day). He had a business dinner in the city, so I was left to recuperate on my own in the relative quiet.
Advil PM is a wonder drug.
Let me just say the headache was most likely gin-related, but I do suffer from sinus-related headaches quite often, so I have Advil PM on hand. I'd started with regular Advil when I returned home, but at bedtime I switched to the nighttime version. Good thing I did -- I slept like a baby and woke feeling groggy, but headache-free. Definitely a gin-related headache.
Camels have the right idea.
I drank what may have been a gallon of water when I got home and throughout the night. Best hangover cure there is -- hydration. So I watered like a camel fresh off the Sahara. It worked. By bedtime the headache was just a dull one and seemed located in my sinuses, though when you're hurting, who can really tell?
Then came the stages.
There are stages to drinking that come before, during and after that you can pretty much guarantee. First is the "Let's have fun!" stage, where you have that first drink, nurse it, and think you're in control. The second stage is the feeling-pretty-good looseness that is your first red flag, which you ignore completely. Third is the "Oh no, I think I should slow down" stage where it's probably already too late but damn, you still think you're in control. Fourth is after you've stopped and you're waiting for recovery, the "this shouldn't take so long -- I feel fine" stage. Fifth is when you're truly withdrawing, the "Oh, I'm so embarrassed to feel this way and act like I probably acted" stage. That's coupled with the sixth stage, which is the "I'm never doing it again" stage. Then comes the seventh stage, where you're groggy, somewhat recovered, and glad the clouds are covering the sun. The eighth stage? Two days later, when you've forgotten the misery and you feel like it wasn't all that bad. Stage nine?
When you foolishly think "Only 364 more days to next St. Patrick's Day." That's usually coupled with the thought of "I won't be so stupid next year."
How was your weekend?