06 February 2012
Story #496
R. Linda:
Never in me life have I been so smashed and trashed from two drinks! Yes, it happened to me yesterday, and it be very hard to write about it even now because me dickey tum is very upset from all that vodka! I have a new found respect for Uncle Boris! (See So There I Was, Nov. 22, 2009) Yes, I do! How he can drink vodka and it doesn't affect him, I have no idea. Normally, vodka does not do much to me either, BUT I joined me wife in her girlie drink, and while she seemed fine from three of the same beverages, I, on the other hand, am still reeling.
Okay, this is what happened. Yesterday, we went to me neighbour's pub (yes, he has one in his house) and it was a private party to watch the Super Bowl. There were goodies, crisps, dips, chicken wings, and all kinds of drinks, and on his big screen, they were gearing up for the big game. The team representation was pretty good; half of us were there to cheer on the New England Patriots, and the others were there to cheer on the New York Giants. Or, is that New Jersey? It's the same thing, so it doesn't matter. SO ANYWAY, Tonya had made her famous once-a-year caramel popcorn and I was piggin' out on that, I was enjoying meself with a few tortilla chips, salsa and a very hot jalapeno cheese dip that I needed a drink to put out the fire. Well, Tonya has a new found penchant for dirty martinis, and there she was floating around with her very girlie glass, olives up to the end of the stick, and it was just at that time I mentioned I needed to wet the old whistle when she offered to go get me a drink.
I continued munching away, a little bit of chicken, a little bit of crisps, some onion or clam dip, or whatever was up there. I was enjoying meself UNTIL Tonya arrived and handed me a dirty martini.
"Wot's this?" I asked her.
"A dirty tini, try it."
"But I wanted a Guinness or a Murphy's Stout. I know they're in the fridge back there," I said, trying to hand her the oddly shaped glass back, but she wouldn't take it.
"Just give it a try," she said, drifting away.
Oi. I took a sip covertly. Wasn't bad. Then I looked at the olives, which were the blue cheese-stuffed ones. Yuck, what happened to the cocktail olives with pimento? I looked around to ask, but she was way down the other end of the room, so I shrugged and took another sip. Hmm, not bad, getting better. Frank, a neighbour I only know by sight, came up to me and said, "Aw, don't feel embarrassed. James Bond, you know, 007 used to drink martinis."
I thought, "Hum, okay, then." I took a few more sips and started to feel very James Bondish. I did indeed. I held that baby like it was a man's glass and had to catch meself from affecting an English accent and deep voice like Sean Connery, but I think I looked more like George Lazenby, unfortunately.
We went into the home theatre to see the kick-off, and I finished the tini in time. But something odd flashed on the telly screen, the Super Bowl rings were all lined up in all their diamond glory, and only my wife would notice this, but she said, "Oh look, that's BAD LUCK, the two Patriot Super Bowl Rings are upside down!"
(Go here to view ad. . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P6baFjhios4)
A few pictures follow, one of the way the rings should have looked, and just so you know what the Patriot Super Bowl ring that was upside down looked like - a single shot of that and how it should look.
Oh no, a curse for sure. So sure enough, me neighbour paused the screen and we all took a good look -- AND IT WAS TRUE!
"They're going to lose for sure!" Someone shouted, the voice cracking in dismay.
"It's a curse, I tell ya, just like the curse of the Bambino!" Someone else cried.
"The Patriots are doomed! YEA!" A Giant's fan shouted with glee.
Well, we in the Patriots cheering section were quite subdued after that. I only found out later that a New York firm was responsible for that ad. So the mystery is solved. They might have purposely put the upside-down rings in the second row instead of the first row with the Giants' rings (that were right-side up), but I'm only saying.
We watched the game progress with this curse hanging over us. The Giants were getting numbers on the scoreboard, and finally, Tom Brady put it into gear, and we were up by halftime!
By that time, I found myself with a second dirty martini. I sat there and watched Madonna try to do cartwheels, and one of the singers must have decided not to help her stand on her head; he just kept singing, looking down at her in a very awkward position, the other singer holding her one leg up. How awful for Madonna. Then she goes up the bleacher steps with these two and tries to get to the top once, twice, and three times the charm. I thought she was going to take a tumble. Meanwhile, one of the female singers down in front, a sure MIA, was giving us the finger, and Frank said, "I don't think she's singing, I think she's shouting obscenities at the camera, her lips don't match the song."
Well, it sure did look that way. Meanwhile, Madonna had put on this black sequined coat, and her hair was caught in the zipper, and we were all dreading her ripping it off to reveal some obscure costume. Oh my, what would happen if her hair extensions came off with the coat? But she must have known because the coat stayed on and did nothing for her figure.
What a disaster the halftime show was. Borrrrinnggg!
The game started again, and we discussed the curse because things were decidedly going in the favour of New York, or is that New Jersey? Whatever. Well, we lost, we did, and it was time to go. Offers to help clean up were wonderfully refused, or maybe smartly, since we all had drunk a brewery full of beer, EXCEPT yours truly, who, when he got up, swayed to the left, then to the right. I was looped and feeling good, but knew I was in trash mode.
Somehow, I made it down the step to the next row of seats, out the door, and into the bar. I was swaying while I said goodbyes and swayed/lurched out the door. Getting hold of Tonya's arm, I lurched as we walked up the road to our abode like Frankenstein.
We got inside, and I stood there swaying when Tonya remarked that I was swaying, making me feel a little green. She had three of those godforsaken drinks, and she wasn't swaying, she said, but I could have sworn she was swaying, but she said I thought she was swaying because it was me who was swaying. I told her she wasn't exactly standing still herself, but this morning she told me again, because I wasn't standing still, it LOOKED like she wasn't either.
"Go put that on your blog," she said with a sneer. "Tell them what you drank and what it did to manly YOU."
"I intend to," I said to her, "and I will put the blame where it deserves to be: on you!"
All day long, I've felt like I was going to barf up me guts or drop dead asleep, WHICH would be a Godsend, but we both know that wasn't going to happen because this is ME we are talking about. Last night, the room spun around, and I wished to die. I woke up after passing out to find I was still here and me tum be rebelling, not fully, just enough to remind me what I drank and how much. I swear NEVER to drink another dirty martini EVER!
I don't know how Tonya does it. Got to go have a lie down now.
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Never in me life have I been so smashed and trashed from two drinks! Yes, it happened to me yesterday, and it be very hard to write about it even now because me dickey tum is very upset from all that vodka! I have a new found respect for Uncle Boris! (See So There I Was, Nov. 22, 2009) Yes, I do! How he can drink vodka and it doesn't affect him, I have no idea. Normally, vodka does not do much to me either, BUT I joined me wife in her girlie drink, and while she seemed fine from three of the same beverages, I, on the other hand, am still reeling.
Okay, this is what happened. Yesterday, we went to me neighbour's pub (yes, he has one in his house) and it was a private party to watch the Super Bowl. There were goodies, crisps, dips, chicken wings, and all kinds of drinks, and on his big screen, they were gearing up for the big game. The team representation was pretty good; half of us were there to cheer on the New England Patriots, and the others were there to cheer on the New York Giants. Or, is that New Jersey? It's the same thing, so it doesn't matter. SO ANYWAY, Tonya had made her famous once-a-year caramel popcorn and I was piggin' out on that, I was enjoying meself with a few tortilla chips, salsa and a very hot jalapeno cheese dip that I needed a drink to put out the fire. Well, Tonya has a new found penchant for dirty martinis, and there she was floating around with her very girlie glass, olives up to the end of the stick, and it was just at that time I mentioned I needed to wet the old whistle when she offered to go get me a drink.
I continued munching away, a little bit of chicken, a little bit of crisps, some onion or clam dip, or whatever was up there. I was enjoying meself UNTIL Tonya arrived and handed me a dirty martini.
"Wot's this?" I asked her.
"A dirty tini, try it."
"But I wanted a Guinness or a Murphy's Stout. I know they're in the fridge back there," I said, trying to hand her the oddly shaped glass back, but she wouldn't take it.
"Just give it a try," she said, drifting away.
Oi. I took a sip covertly. Wasn't bad. Then I looked at the olives, which were the blue cheese-stuffed ones. Yuck, what happened to the cocktail olives with pimento? I looked around to ask, but she was way down the other end of the room, so I shrugged and took another sip. Hmm, not bad, getting better. Frank, a neighbour I only know by sight, came up to me and said, "Aw, don't feel embarrassed. James Bond, you know, 007 used to drink martinis."
I thought, "Hum, okay, then." I took a few more sips and started to feel very James Bondish. I did indeed. I held that baby like it was a man's glass and had to catch meself from affecting an English accent and deep voice like Sean Connery, but I think I looked more like George Lazenby, unfortunately.
We went into the home theatre to see the kick-off, and I finished the tini in time. But something odd flashed on the telly screen, the Super Bowl rings were all lined up in all their diamond glory, and only my wife would notice this, but she said, "Oh look, that's BAD LUCK, the two Patriot Super Bowl Rings are upside down!"
(Go here to view ad. . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P6baFjhios4)
A few pictures follow, one of the way the rings should have looked, and just so you know what the Patriot Super Bowl ring that was upside down looked like - a single shot of that and how it should look.
Oh no, a curse for sure. So sure enough, me neighbour paused the screen and we all took a good look -- AND IT WAS TRUE!
"They're going to lose for sure!" Someone shouted, the voice cracking in dismay.
"It's a curse, I tell ya, just like the curse of the Bambino!" Someone else cried.
"The Patriots are doomed! YEA!" A Giant's fan shouted with glee.
Well, we in the Patriots cheering section were quite subdued after that. I only found out later that a New York firm was responsible for that ad. So the mystery is solved. They might have purposely put the upside-down rings in the second row instead of the first row with the Giants' rings (that were right-side up), but I'm only saying.
We watched the game progress with this curse hanging over us. The Giants were getting numbers on the scoreboard, and finally, Tom Brady put it into gear, and we were up by halftime!
By that time, I found myself with a second dirty martini. I sat there and watched Madonna try to do cartwheels, and one of the singers must have decided not to help her stand on her head; he just kept singing, looking down at her in a very awkward position, the other singer holding her one leg up. How awful for Madonna. Then she goes up the bleacher steps with these two and tries to get to the top once, twice, and three times the charm. I thought she was going to take a tumble. Meanwhile, one of the female singers down in front, a sure MIA, was giving us the finger, and Frank said, "I don't think she's singing, I think she's shouting obscenities at the camera, her lips don't match the song."
Well, it sure did look that way. Meanwhile, Madonna had put on this black sequined coat, and her hair was caught in the zipper, and we were all dreading her ripping it off to reveal some obscure costume. Oh my, what would happen if her hair extensions came off with the coat? But she must have known because the coat stayed on and did nothing for her figure.
What a disaster the halftime show was. Borrrrinnggg!
The game started again, and we discussed the curse because things were decidedly going in the favour of New York, or is that New Jersey? Whatever. Well, we lost, we did, and it was time to go. Offers to help clean up were wonderfully refused, or maybe smartly, since we all had drunk a brewery full of beer, EXCEPT yours truly, who, when he got up, swayed to the left, then to the right. I was looped and feeling good, but knew I was in trash mode.
Somehow, I made it down the step to the next row of seats, out the door, and into the bar. I was swaying while I said goodbyes and swayed/lurched out the door. Getting hold of Tonya's arm, I lurched as we walked up the road to our abode like Frankenstein.
We got inside, and I stood there swaying when Tonya remarked that I was swaying, making me feel a little green. She had three of those godforsaken drinks, and she wasn't swaying, she said, but I could have sworn she was swaying, but she said I thought she was swaying because it was me who was swaying. I told her she wasn't exactly standing still herself, but this morning she told me again, because I wasn't standing still, it LOOKED like she wasn't either.
"Go put that on your blog," she said with a sneer. "Tell them what you drank and what it did to manly YOU."
"I intend to," I said to her, "and I will put the blame where it deserves to be: on you!"
All day long, I've felt like I was going to barf up me guts or drop dead asleep, WHICH would be a Godsend, but we both know that wasn't going to happen because this is ME we are talking about. Last night, the room spun around, and I wished to die. I woke up after passing out to find I was still here and me tum be rebelling, not fully, just enough to remind me what I drank and how much. I swear NEVER to drink another dirty martini EVER!
I don't know how Tonya does it. Got to go have a lie down now.
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
