Topsy Turvy Tips for the Tipsy…
It’s not everyone who can hold a drink. And no, I’m not talking about the fading art of balancing the wine glass. I was talking about the less literal, more common, and definitely more fun ritual most of our town toast to. Some people have iron, rust-proof chambers in their stomach that keeps them sober even if the drinks pour in directly from the assembly line. And then there are people like me who get that tipsy feeling right after the first cocktail.
And I’m blessed enough to know people from either spectrum. I have a friend whose tipping point does not go beyond three drops of vodka. If ever she gets the courage to gulp down a bottle of beer, there is a real, genuine fear that she’ll wake up three days later with THE hangover from hell, staring incredulously at a tattoo on her belly reading “Who’s your daddy?”.
And then I know the boozeman, who has chugged down less water than beer in his lifetime; the guy who looks the same before and after a binge cos ‘drunk’ is the only state you ever see him in; the guy who lives life by the motto “Booze is the secret of my energy”. Now I’ve always fallen on the sober side of the sobriety meter, with ZERO hangovers and ZERO throw-ups in my short but illustrious career in alcoholic binges. If ever that could have been challenged, it would have been this Saturday.
Semi-retired singing diva and my good ol’ friend from college, Soopzie, decided to cook up a small singing party because she believed it was high time some of the scattered buddies caught up with each other. And catch up we did. Guitars were waved about, heads were banged, old lyric books were flipped open, and the entire gang sang at the top of our lungs, possibly triggering neighborhood nightmares of a Russian invasion. Soopzie’s brand new daughter attended the fest’s early hours, before being rescued by her vigilant grandparents. And in that brief period of time, she couldn’t help but stare wide eyed at Soopzie, going – “Whoa! Are you sure that’s my mama?”
But I’m getting off track here. The headbanging reunion and the subtle motherly revelations are not the focus of this entry.
The focus is more on the less celebrated talent that Soopzie possesses. In her normal life, she may be the high flying working mother of a cutsie wide eyed little girl, but when the situation is called for, she is also the Dynamic Cocktail Artiste Extraordinaire. She could go and blindly challenge any Irish pub cocktail waitress to a duel. The drinks I had were definitely the best nectar of it’s specie I’d ever tasted. And you could have easily guessed my feelings towards the said drinks by the speed at which I guzzled them down.
Most of us got hammered that night. And we were ALL people who had come there with the practiced lines – “Oh. That’s enough for me. Thank you. I have to drive back home.” Somehow, vocabulary failed us and all the “No, thanks”s that we formed in our minds got churned into “Yes. Gimme more” by the time it reached our lips.
Of course not ALL of us were affected. There was amongst us a man of iron will, who staunchly refused to leave the sanctum of sobriety. He had but the merest dip in a modest beer and half a cocktail before prudence kicked in. This was good, cos we immediately latched onto him as the designated driver (Thanks a lot, man).
To properly thank him for his selfless service, one of us promptly threw up on his car. The source of this unsavory projectile then entertained us for the next 15 minutes doing his version of ‘101 Ways To Say I’m Sorry’; actually, this was entertaining only for the first two minutes, after which we realized all 101 ways were eerily identical (“1. I’m sorry… 2. Oh my God, I’m sorry… 3. Dude, I’m sorry… 4. I’m telling you I’m REALLY sorry, and so on…”). Once the aforementioned sorry-teller was dropped back home, the rest of us rattled inane work anecdotes and waxed philosophical throughout the 45 minute ride home.
As with all of life’s experiences, I’ve become an older, but wiser loon. I have learned a lot from this trip, and I shall outline some of the finer lessons so that you too may benefit from them. (As you can see, I care about you)
- Keep track of your drinks – This is not as easy as you think. You never know what happens to your arithmetic skills after a few rounds of beer. I’ve always maintained that I stop at 3. But now I wonder whether I restart the count after every third drink.
- Get the cocktail recipes from Soopzie – This might be very difficult for you to do, particularly if you don’t know Soopzie. But I, for one, shall try to amass the knowledge.
- Think twice before you say anything after your third round– It doesn’t matter if you are a NASA scientist in your real life, after your third drink of the kind mixed in that party, you are blabbering. But it’s ok if you are blabbering to a fellow drunk. He/she will understand you just fine.
- Get the recipes from Soopzie – I know I’m repeating myself. But it’s worth repeating… for me, that is… For those of you who don’t know her, I’m just blabbing on about an unattainable goal… dangling the carrot forward… Sorry about that.
- The drunker you get the more sober you feel – By the time the evening ended, I was so hammered that I was probably leaking vodka from my nose. But I felt like I could handle my bike ‘just fine’. I felt I could drive responsibly. On reflection, I’m glad my friends dragged me into the car’s backseat. Hell, I don’t drive responsibly when I’m sober. I’d hardly have done any better while drunk… and even worse, at night-time…
- The recipe… from Soopzie– I don’t know… maybe you could introduce yourself to her… She’s a genial person. But I can’t give you her address, mostly for security reasons (MY security, to be specific). So that’s going to make it difficult. Hmm… Maybe you should just go around asking everyone you see if they might be her. But then even that would be difficult… since ‘Soopzie’ is just a nickname. Tough dilemma… I’ll leave you to think about it.
- There are more dignified ways of asking for a refill than badgering the host – I can’t think of one right now, but I’m reasonably sure there must be some way…
Thankfully, I am still able to claim ZERO hangovers and ZERO throw-ups. But are those days numbered? Am I entering the dark side? I really, truly, don’t think so. But then again… am I in denial? Tough, deep, thought provoking questions…
I think I need a drink.
My zero hangover claim was, unfortunately, not meant to last. It was not long before the streak blew completely out. Read about it in my article “To zig, to zag, nevermore“