Don't Drink Dumb
UPDATE: Girlfriend would like it pointed out that she told me not to get the 1800's Ultimate Margarita beverage. I chose not to listen and paid the price; the price... of The Pukies!
If you've been reading this site for any length of time, you've probably figured out by now that I'm... oh... not the quickest of men, brains-wise. Which is not to say that I'm a complete idiot or anything, despite what several ex-girlfriends, former teachers and anyone who has ever seen me try to do math might have to say on the subject. It's just that I have a tendency to do things that fly in the face of common sense and general smarts.
Last night was no exception.
Actually, the story starts on Sunday, when I was struck by a powerful craving for margaritas (a common enough occurance, as cravings go). My options were these:
A) Visit one of the fine Mexican establishments in my neighborhood and have a delicious, professionally prepared margarita, just the way I want it.
B) Buy some tequila and some frozen, margarita-flavored concentrate that's actually not bad if you squeeze half a lime into it.
or...
C) Buy a bottle of 1800's Ultimate Margarita, which is a sickly-sweet, pre-made bottle of a margarita-esque substance that tastes a lot closer to a melted lime popsicle than it does to anything represented by choices A or B. Keep in mind: I've had this stuff before and I thought it was, and I quote, "butt-nasty."
Because I am, as we discussed, not the quickest of men, I of course went with option C. Why? Hell, I don't know. Maybe I thought it would be different this time. Maybe I thought that I was remembering my previous experience wrong and that, in all actuality, this neon-green, viscous substance was really a tasty beverage not unlike what you'd find South of the border in a small, coastal village's one and only watering hole. Naturally, I was dead wrong, but, because the craving for margaritas left as quickly as it had come, I didn't find this out until yesterday.
So, I get home from work last night and I'm thirsty for a strong drink (shocking, I know). There's no beer in the house and I'm running low on whiskey, which I prefer to save for a really rough day, so my only course of action is the Ultimate Margarita. I take the bottle from the fridge and I plop down on the couch, where I proceed to lay that evil bastard low, finishing the whole thing in about an hour. It is disgusting. Noxiously sweet, which I hate, and about the same consistency of that junk they put on sno-cones (I think that, technically, you're supposed to put 1800's Ultimate Margarita over ice, but I chose to ignore that serving suggestion because drinking straight from the bottle is way more classy).
After the last swallow hits my stomach, I'm overwhelmed with that naggingly specific pukey feeling that's all too familiar to those of us who are known, on occasion, to over-indulge. This time, though, it wasn't the alcohol's fault, or at least not entirely. No, the bulk of the fault lay in the drink's ridiculous amount of sugar which, when mixed with the grade-Z tequila and sloshed around in my stomach, threatened to become volatile. I spring into action. Or, rather, I lay on Girlfriend and I's bed and moan for a little while. Then I decide that a nice can of beer would cut through the gloopiness in my stomach and settle me to an even keel, so I stumble down to the bodega and buy myself a sixer.
Back in the apartment, the pukies rage on. I begin to sweat and the room gets all spinny. So, in a final effort to beat back the tide of nausea, I get into the shower (with my beer, duh) and turn on the cold water. I stand under that wonderfully healing gush of icy water for at least twenty minutes, until the last wave has subsided in my guts.
It was, it turns out, the only smart decision I made in a 48-hour period stuffed to bursting with poor choices and lapses in judgement. I did not puke last night and I'm only mildly hungover this morning, so praise be to the almighty cold shower; a drinking man's secret weapon.
Moral of this story: DON'T BUY 1800's ULTIMATE MARGARITA!!! EVER!!! BECAUSE IT IS, IN FACT, BUTT-NASTY!!!
If you've been reading this site for any length of time, you've probably figured out by now that I'm... oh... not the quickest of men, brains-wise. Which is not to say that I'm a complete idiot or anything, despite what several ex-girlfriends, former teachers and anyone who has ever seen me try to do math might have to say on the subject. It's just that I have a tendency to do things that fly in the face of common sense and general smarts.Last night was no exception.
Actually, the story starts on Sunday, when I was struck by a powerful craving for margaritas (a common enough occurance, as cravings go). My options were these:
A) Visit one of the fine Mexican establishments in my neighborhood and have a delicious, professionally prepared margarita, just the way I want it.
B) Buy some tequila and some frozen, margarita-flavored concentrate that's actually not bad if you squeeze half a lime into it.
or...
C) Buy a bottle of 1800's Ultimate Margarita, which is a sickly-sweet, pre-made bottle of a margarita-esque substance that tastes a lot closer to a melted lime popsicle than it does to anything represented by choices A or B. Keep in mind: I've had this stuff before and I thought it was, and I quote, "butt-nasty."
Because I am, as we discussed, not the quickest of men, I of course went with option C. Why? Hell, I don't know. Maybe I thought it would be different this time. Maybe I thought that I was remembering my previous experience wrong and that, in all actuality, this neon-green, viscous substance was really a tasty beverage not unlike what you'd find South of the border in a small, coastal village's one and only watering hole. Naturally, I was dead wrong, but, because the craving for margaritas left as quickly as it had come, I didn't find this out until yesterday.
So, I get home from work last night and I'm thirsty for a strong drink (shocking, I know). There's no beer in the house and I'm running low on whiskey, which I prefer to save for a really rough day, so my only course of action is the Ultimate Margarita. I take the bottle from the fridge and I plop down on the couch, where I proceed to lay that evil bastard low, finishing the whole thing in about an hour. It is disgusting. Noxiously sweet, which I hate, and about the same consistency of that junk they put on sno-cones (I think that, technically, you're supposed to put 1800's Ultimate Margarita over ice, but I chose to ignore that serving suggestion because drinking straight from the bottle is way more classy).
After the last swallow hits my stomach, I'm overwhelmed with that naggingly specific pukey feeling that's all too familiar to those of us who are known, on occasion, to over-indulge. This time, though, it wasn't the alcohol's fault, or at least not entirely. No, the bulk of the fault lay in the drink's ridiculous amount of sugar which, when mixed with the grade-Z tequila and sloshed around in my stomach, threatened to become volatile. I spring into action. Or, rather, I lay on Girlfriend and I's bed and moan for a little while. Then I decide that a nice can of beer would cut through the gloopiness in my stomach and settle me to an even keel, so I stumble down to the bodega and buy myself a sixer.
Back in the apartment, the pukies rage on. I begin to sweat and the room gets all spinny. So, in a final effort to beat back the tide of nausea, I get into the shower (with my beer, duh) and turn on the cold water. I stand under that wonderfully healing gush of icy water for at least twenty minutes, until the last wave has subsided in my guts.
It was, it turns out, the only smart decision I made in a 48-hour period stuffed to bursting with poor choices and lapses in judgement. I did not puke last night and I'm only mildly hungover this morning, so praise be to the almighty cold shower; a drinking man's secret weapon.
Moral of this story: DON'T BUY 1800's ULTIMATE MARGARITA!!! EVER!!! BECAUSE IT IS, IN FACT, BUTT-NASTY!!!
posted by Clinton at 8:48 AM
11 Comments:
Yea. I'm not the sharpest bulb in the kitchen picnic basket either but thanks to this helpful advice, I will never drink 1800's ULTIMATE MARGARITA!!!
Maybe you should make several notes about its butt-nastiness and place them around the apartment in places you're likely to search for alcohol in the future, so as to remind you to never make this mistake again. :)
Never knew about the drunken cold shower trick, I'll have to suggest that to my brother next time he decides to mix Olde Tavern Root Beer Schnapps and Jager. (for some reason Jager doesn't look right no matter how I spell it. good thing I don't have occasion to type it very often.)
By the way, Jager is about the only thing that doesn't taste good when mixed with said root beer schnapps. True story: my friends and I managed to stumble onto a concoction that smelled and tasted exactly like Robitussin. My friend Anna has dubbed it the 'Tussin Bandit.
Lioux... Yeah, I wouldn't recommend it.
Giggleloop... The concept of root beer schnapps makes me want barf. Then again, I haven't liked root beer since this one guy pointed out to me that root beer tastes like toothpaste. That kind of ruined the whole idea of root beer for me. Jager, however, I'm a big fan of.
I had an experience where the cold shower stopped my pukiness feeling but couldn't keep me from flying between utter drunkenness and self-loathing slight drunkenness.
Spring break last year, my friend's brother goes to a school in Miami (South Beach, actually). So we get cheap airline tickets and head down. My friend's friend and I start drinking early in the morning because we have a two hour drive from South Beach to Fort Lauderdale to meet some of my friend's other friends from school. Well I let my friend's friend mix the drinks of vodka and lemonade mix. After about four full glasses in twenty minutes it was my turn in the shower. I think I puked in the shower and then laid down and passed out for about ten mintues before my friend starting banging on the bathroom door. The two hour drive was me with my head between my legs so as not to see the world spinning faster than the Harlem Globetrotters spin a basketball.
I know nothing good is going to happen when I'm still drinking and already feel pukey. I usually just feel like crap in the morning but invincible at night.
Chris... Ugh, that sounds miserable. Nothing's worse for the pukies than being in a moving car.
Mmyers... That's my problem too. I think that part of the brain that's supposed to kick on and tell you when to stop is broken in me.
Everybody has at least one tequila incident. Some will never touch it again after their incident. Me, it took a good half a year at least, I think. Now I try to stick with the good sippin' stuff, which is quite enjoyable once in awhile. Yours wasn't specifically tequila's fault, but we can still label this a tequila incident.
Just a little tip.... jager, root beer schnapps, and a splash of coke is excellent shot. Called a key west rootbeer. Try it... you'll like it~!
Colleen... My "never again" liquor is Southern Comfort. There was... eh... an incident.
Scott H... Well, you WERE right about the foot thing...
Scott H - I can't remember if we tried that or not -- by the time the Jager came into the picture, the schnapps was all but gone. But I'll keep it in mind for next time!
Clinton - yeah, root beer is very hit or miss for me. I usually find it's really tasty or really awful. And according to my brother the schnapps by itself was pretty rank. But I'm now a big fan of Root Beer Barrels (a shot of root beer schnapps in a pint of beer) - yummy! :D
My '1800 experience' was drinking Cactus Juice [Tequila flavored schnapps] - a whole bottle before a B-52s/Violent Femmes concert.
To this day, the smell/taste of tequila make me spew Dorito chunks.
Other no-no liquors:
Sambuca
Jager
Bacardi 151
Rumple Minze
Everclear
I experienced time travel [blackouts] from these. Especially if they were in a liquid cocaine shot. [Different bartenders made them different ways, but the worst was Jager, Rumple and Goldschlager].
Blegh.
Post a Comment
<< Home