Drinko De Mayo
I'm 30, son. Not 21. May 5th reminded me of that. Loud and clear.
See, I was going to go home and lay on the couch since the Monday's after a Big T are always blah. But my buddy Wise, cajoled me into coming out to celebrate.
Shoot! Since, I'm all about any holiday that encourages drinking, (I get very much in touch with my Irish ancestor (yeah--ancestor as in 1) on Patty's Day) and I really did not need to go home and mope, I figured, "why not poor a little tequila out for my Mexican bred'ren?".
Oh, because I am 30, son. Not 21. And I can't do it like I used to.
But what had happened was, the neighborhood joint (my new bar close enough to home to stumble home if necessary) had the bomb special. $2.50 Cervezas, $2 Jose, and $5 Patron. Um, rack 'em. And Wise's partner in crime was on a mission. And the regulars where such a blast. Talking and drinking were moving along at a steady pace.
Perhaps I should have taken Wise's que, who is 31 by the way(on front street, my dear :), and recoginized her age and her limits. Because she is indeed 31 and not 21. Not me. 1 shot of Jose, 2 shots of Patron, 2 cervezas, a margarita, and this deadly drink called the CK special--and that was all she wrote.
Drinking was done early and I still had a banging headache when I woke up--even with 9 hours of sleep.
...Maybe next time, I just won't mix drinks.