But I'm still a Buffett fan

Far too tired to do a proper post today. Most likely I’m just feeling (still!) the after-effects of the margaritas from hell we consumed on Saturday night. A friend of ours was celebrating her birthday- her husband had planned a party at a local Tex-Mex place with 80 of her closest friends and we were invited along. (Okay, perhaps not 80, but close to that I’m sure.) I spent a few minutes after we'd arrived looking around, thinking how great it would be if someone would throw me a little birthday party, but then realized the guest list would be Monk, and about three others.

Moving on: The Tex-Mex place supposedly had great food (but since my chicken enchilada never arrived, I’ll take everyone else’s word for it), but even more enticing was the promise of CHEAP and STRONG margaritas. Of the 98 people at the party, there were a few not drinking, but plenty of others went for the ‘ritas. And boys and girls? They weren’t kidding. Cheap, indeed. Strong? Holy hell. I don’t think I’m too far off base in my suspicion that the secret ingredient in those babies rhymes with woofies. Nearly passing out in the car as Monk drove home, I let my eyes roll back and hoped like hell he was holding on to his sobriety. The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur. I only know that 'faculties' + 'control' was a foreign concept, and that my sleep was plagued with flashback-y, nightmare-y type stuff that made Sunday’s task of regaining mental and physical equilibrium more awesome than I can possibly describe.

Perhaps I should have eaten something during the day, before leaving for the party. Perhaps I can no longer hold my liquor like the pro I trained to become in college. Perhaps this was just that ol’ bastard Tequila’s reminder that he and I are not friends, and that any hope of reconciliation is a colorful, but asinine, delusion on my side of things.

I assume everyone else had a more positive experience with their cocktails than I did, and hopefully the imbibing didn’t get in the way of settling up the bill after we left. Monk and I totaled our share and threw some money at the host, thinking to ourselves yep, good luck with that. Why you’d have just the one bill for 136 people to split up is beyond me.

And the point? Far too tired to do a proper post today, but apparently talking about alcohol for a few paragraphs is no problem. Well, at least I have my priorities straight. All I know is that my birthday may be spent on the beach with no one but Monk and the dogs to gaze adoringly at me, but I’ll feel just as loved (and wasted) as if I had 163 close friends celebrating with me.

But I do believe good ol' Tequila (that rat bastard) is off the guest list for good.

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