You are permitted one (1) free alcoholic beverage on your date of birth (given that you are over the age of 21) according to the Washington State Liquor Control Board. At my favorite bar last night, there were two (2) bartenders on duty. This involved one (1) Manhattan Mule from my Favorite Bartender in the World, followed by a Friday Collins by the Second Favorite Bartender in the World, followed by a waitress, once we were moved to a table, who messed up my second (2nd) Friday Collins and brought me one (1) *not-what-I-ordered-so-I-got-it-for-free* Collins, followed by one (1) vodka and soda with lemon gifted by the delightful Matt and Molly, wrapped up with one (1) proper Friday Collins du Mark.
I *think* there was food involved in there somewhere, but I can’t be certain.
We had to abandon the bar (sad) because eleven (11) people ended up being the grand total and I didn’t want to monopolize the domain of the aforementioned “Favorite Bartender in the World”. That aside, communication on all fronts would have been exceedingly challenging.
Bugger. I didn’t get any photos. Given how much I consumed, perhaps it’s for the best.
So, I rallied and determined NOT to have a birthday I would pout about in a goddamned blog entry next year. It went well. Guests both expected and unexpected made appearances making it delightful and memorable. I was pleased.
Until this morning.
I think the phrase, “Oh, fucking hell, what??” was uttered incoherently when my alarm went off.
And then I stood up.
Repeat above phrase. Increase volume and clarity by 200%.
The two (2) Friday Collins’, one (1) *not-what-I-ordered-so-I-got-it-for-free* Collins, one (1) vodka and soda with lemon, and one (1) Manhattan Mule had sucked portions of my skull down into the pit of my stomach, resulting in swirls of pounding-ness every time I moved, and not just one (1) but two (2) nauseating trips to the bathroom before I had to haul my sorry, now thirty-five (35) year-old self, to work this morning and maintain some sense of full functionality.
I determined, after only five (5) minutes at my desk, that this was going to be the longest work day EVAR. Spirits were low.
Fortunately I work in the software development industry, and developers require a steady diet of sugar, salt, fat, and caffeine to survive. I found that one (1) can of flattened Coke and one (1) small bag of Lay’s classic potato chips aided in the pissed-off-ness of my stomach, and the ginormous bottle of ibuprofen in the office supply cupboard became my salvation.
Lunch break is over. Gotta jet.
Voulez-voulez-vous “and this is called…having a good time.” -Bill Cosby