Margaritas
New Rule: No drinking homemade margaritas.
That is: margaritas made by a bartender at a chain restaurant are just fine, but margaritas made in the kitchen of a friend/boyfriend/friend of a boyfriend/aunt/cousin/acquaintance or whomever are strictly forbidden.
I have thrice now had a homemade margarita that has completely kicked my ass, and I do not like having my ass kicked by inanimate objects (or really, animate objects, either).
The first time, Ex-Boyfriend J and I were at the home of his best friend, Steve. After one margarita, I was throwing up all over the bathroom and completely gone. Too much shitty tequila mixed with too little shitty mixer. As a side note, we drank Goldschlager and somehow all of the vomit that occurred before the Goldschlager gets mixed with the memory of the Goldschlager, and I can no longer smell it without gagging- though I'm quite fine to drink all the shitty tequila that I want.
The second time, I was at the home of some random guy I was dating for a very short period of time, and he chose to mix fairly excellent tequila with the same shitty mixer, and after one glass, I was puking AGAIN. My conclusion was that there was something about the shitty mixer that upset my stomach because I really wasn't drunk the second time.
But, the third time (last night) we (Boyfriend and I) were at a Mexican themed get-together (featuring some delicious skirt steak tacos (holy crap, delicious!) that only Boyfriend's Best friend (hereby known as Keenan) and Keenan's husband (now known as Marcel) could make.
This was a *real* margarita: key limes, a really smooth high quality tequila and Cointrea. But after about 10 minutes of sipping on the drink (because it was on the rocks, and I prefer frozen, so I continually drank just enough to fit in some more ice) I was on my ass- not drunk enough to vomit, but most certainly not sober enough to be quick on my feet about Boyfriend's comment about me becoming his common law wife before we have a talk about marriage. Just so you know, I just kind of sat there a little stunned and looked over at Keenan before taking a really deep gulp of margarita in attempts to occupy my mind with how drunk it is.
About being a common law wife. I have no problem being a common law wife for as long as there are no children. However, I think it's a little early to be setting forth a 7 year plan...Especially as the precursor to an indefinite plan of real marriage- especially while I am drunk and in the company of Keenan and Marcel.
Anyway, the moral of the story is that I've decided that I can only drink the watered-down commercial pre-made crap margaritas they make at Friday's or wherever.
That is: margaritas made by a bartender at a chain restaurant are just fine, but margaritas made in the kitchen of a friend/boyfriend/friend of a boyfriend/aunt/cousin/acquaintance or whomever are strictly forbidden.
I have thrice now had a homemade margarita that has completely kicked my ass, and I do not like having my ass kicked by inanimate objects (or really, animate objects, either).
The first time, Ex-Boyfriend J and I were at the home of his best friend, Steve. After one margarita, I was throwing up all over the bathroom and completely gone. Too much shitty tequila mixed with too little shitty mixer. As a side note, we drank Goldschlager and somehow all of the vomit that occurred before the Goldschlager gets mixed with the memory of the Goldschlager, and I can no longer smell it without gagging- though I'm quite fine to drink all the shitty tequila that I want.
The second time, I was at the home of some random guy I was dating for a very short period of time, and he chose to mix fairly excellent tequila with the same shitty mixer, and after one glass, I was puking AGAIN. My conclusion was that there was something about the shitty mixer that upset my stomach because I really wasn't drunk the second time.
But, the third time (last night) we (Boyfriend and I) were at a Mexican themed get-together (featuring some delicious skirt steak tacos (holy crap, delicious!) that only Boyfriend's Best friend (hereby known as Keenan) and Keenan's husband (now known as Marcel) could make.
This was a *real* margarita: key limes, a really smooth high quality tequila and Cointrea. But after about 10 minutes of sipping on the drink (because it was on the rocks, and I prefer frozen, so I continually drank just enough to fit in some more ice) I was on my ass- not drunk enough to vomit, but most certainly not sober enough to be quick on my feet about Boyfriend's comment about me becoming his common law wife before we have a talk about marriage. Just so you know, I just kind of sat there a little stunned and looked over at Keenan before taking a really deep gulp of margarita in attempts to occupy my mind with how drunk it is.
About being a common law wife. I have no problem being a common law wife for as long as there are no children. However, I think it's a little early to be setting forth a 7 year plan...Especially as the precursor to an indefinite plan of real marriage- especially while I am drunk and in the company of Keenan and Marcel.
Anyway, the moral of the story is that I've decided that I can only drink the watered-down commercial pre-made crap margaritas they make at Friday's or wherever.
posted by iconoclastical at 1:03 PM
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