i have a sudden aversion to bacardi. it makes me wretch. even typing the word bacardi makes me gag. i would rather have my belly buttom assaulted with the bacardi bottle than actually drink that shit. two drinks and i have a flaming esophogus and i'm regurgitating the mess onto the nearest surface. eroding the enamel of my teeth one convulsion at a time. effing bacardi.
jcrew favors bacardi. i can only assume this is because she is an emaciated sack of bones. the liquor detours before it hits her gut and is immediately absorbed into her bloodstream.
last week, before i hated bacardi, chuck whipped us up a coupla batches of bacardi. i did my darndest to drink it with abandon, but found the taste to be a little sharp. it smelled like busdriver halitosis. so "abandon" turned out to be three drinks over a four-hour span. me holding my breath like an olympic swimmer as i chugged.
i woke up the next day and barfed four spurts of browned stomach lining. it looked like pot roast. i was in agony the entire day. my torso quaking like i was the central hillside's situp champion.
a few nights later we tried to finish the bottle. i had one rancid glass, and hoped that would grease the wheel and soften the jolt of a second glass. i drank half of the next round and passed the drink off to my devilishly handsome boyfriend.
while zipping my boots the next day, i sprinted to his bathroom to dryheave into his toilet. i spat the word bacardi like it was the name of my nemesis.
"maybe you can't drink clear liquors," chuck suggested. "maybe you should stick to browns."
tuesday night my cousin and i had a quick dinner at a small irish bar in downtown st. paul. he ordered a captain coke, i had a tall beer that tasted suspiciously like bowling alley.
"captain cokes are my new drink," my cousin said.
i'd not had one for a long time. i used to enjoy that myself. i took a swig -- brown liquor and all -- and winced. captain cokes are not my new drink.
driving back to duluth i considered what flavor of liquor i could embrace. last month i decided i was so over shiraz. i'd OD'd on it and probably won't drink it again until 2008 at least. near pine city i decided to become a tequila girl. instead of drinks, i would settle onto my stool with a shot of tequila, a lemon and some salt and a glass of water. i don't get tequila hangovers. sometimes it brings out some bizarre personality quirks, but a tequila buzz is a good way to spend three hours.
i decided to test this ASAP. chuck and i went to the twins bar. i ordered a shot and a tap beer. the first shot was golden and i turned to chuck and said: "wow. i'm drunk." the second bungied a bit. i hopped off my stool and sprinted to the bathroom. the tequila stayed down, but i knew that if i had one more i would be pitching up pieces of my soul. watching it circle, chunky, in the drain.
so i stuck to beer. and we went to a couples afterbar at my landlord's.
here my landlord has a souvenir from the pio, which is on its last legs.
and here chuck gets all athletic
now the diagnosis is a bit more severe:
"maybe you are done drinking," chuck said.
maybe so. maybe my new "drink" is a veronica mars marathon and chuck's imitation of a restless leg syndrome patient. or maybe i can start popping benedryl recreationally. getting hopped up on urinary tract infection pain pills. spinning in cirles and collapsing on the couch. bloodlettings, paint chips and inhaling nail polish remover.