May I just preface this story with the note that had three drinks? Three. Regular drinks- not super drinks, just normal drinks. On St. Patrick’s Day… and I’m Irish Cherokee.
Last night I woke up with horrible stomach cramps. At about 9 am I crawled forth from my home with what felt like the worst hang over I have ever had in my entire life (aside from this party my friend Terry had in college). We’re talking vomit, shakes, the whole mess. I had plans with my friend Dawn, omelets (oh sweet zombie Jesus), rummage sale and museum. I choked down the omelet and started to feel pretty good… until we got in the car and start the winding winding road around
muskrat love the horrible urge to… vomit out the window. One more time?
I think this warrants both repetition and further detail:
Pulling into the charity rummage sale to benefit the most exclusive private school in
I am awesome.
I am gorgeous and beautiful and full of a certain mystique that fills the hearts of men with thoughts of both everlasting love and powerful (sweaty) lust.
In all seriousness though, I have almost entirely given up on drinking because these days, I have one drink and the next day I wake up with what feels like a horrible stomach flu. I am now quite concerned that I may have developed an allergy to alcohol, or maybe it is just my reflux. Maybe I should actually take the prescription meds for my stupid reflux.
Meh. I’d rather vomit down the sides of my friends’ cars.