Too old for this sh*t

Yes. Yes, I hugged my toilet yesterday. And I hugged the toilet at Fiore. Well, the Fiore situation was not so much of a hug as a it was a standing salute. It takes a lot to get me sick; typically even if I want the toxins out of my system, they stay in. I've never been able to successfully jam a finger down my throat with satisfying results. That being said, when I actually do ralph, I know somethings afoot.

Friday night's journey began at Amber in Gramercy with coworkers, sushi and frozen green tea margaritas. The ease of sloshing down a good handful or two of those margaritas was a dangerous dalliance and made way for bad decision making. As the night progressed, the last standing coworker, my roommate and I ended up at Bar Nine in Hells Kitchen. House tequila shots and beer sounded like the best way to go. I smartly ignored the glaring warning sign when our shots were served in a small plastic nyquil cup and plunged deeper into my tequila abyss.

At some point in the evening, it was decided that a cab back to Brooklyn and more drinks were in order. Luckily, for me, we made a pit stop at home. Out came the Petrone and other accouterments. What a party! And then --- then, I was laying flat on the hallway floor halfway between the kitchen and living room. I gathered the strength to walk into my bedroom, take off my cowboy boots and fall face down onto the bed. The last thing I remember is my roommate yelling at me to go with them to Rose for another drink, and, my coworker, asking if there was hair product he could use. 

That brings me to Saturday. I knew there wasn't a chance in hell I could make it to my acupuncture appointment. Just the thought of getting on the subway was enough to make me shake in my boots. So, I ignored the annoyance in the receptionist's voice and my appointment was quickly canceled. Time to get something in my stomach. I didn't last long. Three sips of gingerale at Fiore and I was swiftly walking to the bathroom. Thank god for private rest rooms. Up it came. Followed by the typical cheek flush, eye watering and nose dripping. Back to the table. Two mini sips and 3 mini french fries later, back to the loo. This time my "I'm fine" walk was a tad more panicked. My roommate had the sense to get our food wrapped up and I was off. Those 3 blocks between the now familial bathroom at Fiore and my apartment were an agonizing distance apart.

The rest of the afternoon consisted of desperately trying to get my stomach to calm down so that I could just sleep. Eventually, sweet sleep came and when I awoke in the early evening, I thought some saltines were a safe bet. They were. And I was starving. Thankful that I had my untouched brunch in the fridge, I ate until my stomach wouldn't let me stuff any more in.

So, what did I learn?

At 33, I should have the sense of mind to know my limits. I may have been able to go hog wild in my younger days, but certainly, there has been a shift in recovery time and my ability to slug down cheap liquor.
No matter how hard I cram my brain, I simply cannot determine at what point I lost my cool and allowed myself to thoroughly wreck my body. There is no way I want to feel like that ever again. It is possibly the worst I have felt (aside from actually being sick with the flu) probably since my freshman year in college when I decided I'd master a liter of Old Crow whiskey with a dorm room full of strangers.  

So, goodbye long nights of champagne/beer/whiskey/red wine and tequila! I'm moving on to greener pastures where the adult me can choose one beverage of choice and stick to it for an evening. A more mature palate which will only accept high shelf liquor and knows when it's time to stop. A higher state of bodily control that instinctively makes my mouth say NO when everything else in me wants to say HELLS YEAH - BRING ON THE JAGER BOMBS! I'll miss your wild antics and roller coaster rides, but, frankly, I am just too old for this shit.

P.S. I also discovered that I left my debit card at Bar Nine. I am/was so appalled by this, that I made the executive decision to just cancel the card and order a new one. The thought of taking that walk of shame - dragging my ass back into that bar to claim my possession and face humiliation is just too much. Never...ever...ever again.