I can't drink. I literally have one drink and I am tipsy. Two drinks and I am a red-faced babble-head. Three drinks...I think you can figure out the rest of the progression chart.
Tonight I had a beer and a half. Now I feel like crud. I was halfway to babble-headedness and then I just didn't make it.
I should have stuck with one beer.
No, I should've finished the second one and made the leap to red-faced status.
Living in this limbo land of half-finished drinks is sucky. None of the fun, with all of the queasiness alcohol leaves behind as some sort of screwy parting gift once the buzz is gone. This is why I could never be a drunk. My tolerance is for crap. I can't get to the nasty drunk state because I can't get enough alcohol into my system.
I have only thrown-up twice (maybe three times, but two very distinct times). Once I took a sip of champagne cocktail, half a beer, some scotch, two sips of Jagermeister and half a mudslide. Not a ton of alcohol, but so many varieties, oh, so very many, that my stomach couldn't handle it.
The other throw-up adventure I went on was after a book signing in NY. I had two glasses of wine and not much food (then lots of food). I started feeling nauseous, so Chris Golden gave me a Dramamine to stop the churning. It didn't help. I spent awhile in my editor, Steve's, bathroom hugging the john while Chris, Steve and his wife Dana and my friend Liesa all laughed at me. Then Liesa and I slept on the pullout couch in the living room and drunkenly talked about Batman.
I don't know why I felt like sharing, but there is something compelling about blogging, something that makes you want to tell the blunt truth, no matter what an idiot you look like in the process.