It’s definitely the bunnies. They’re working in conjunction with cheap vodka.
For years now, I’ve been operating under the theory that I am violently allergic to vodka. I avoided it at all cost, because quite frankly I like breathing and being drunk never really seemed to be a fair trade off. I rarely drink as it is, but on the rare occasion I cast off the shackles of common sense, I’ll still keep away from vodka. Because allergic. Makes sense.
Vodka is insidious though, and sometimes it found its way through my defences. In September, Ali took me to Art of the Table in Seattle so I could become better acquainted with gin. We hadn’t told Mitch the Batman (he’s actually Mitch the Barman, but autocorrect made him the caped crusader and who am I to argue) about my allergy, because the plan was All Gin All the Time. Unbeknownst to me, Mitch secretly vodka’d me because he thought I might like one drink over another. He was right – always trust Batman – but more importantly, I didn’t die or stop breathing. Was I cured? Is Mitch made of magic? Either way, I could drink vodka again! Hooray! New hobby!
Because I drink less than your average ten year old, I didn’t explore my newfound freedom until this past week. We went to an amazing Mexican cafe slash gay bar in Chelsea called the Rocking Horse, and I drank things. All good. Fast forward to tonight, when we went to a pop-up Star Wars bar in Soho. I had a vodka-based drink – just the one, and over three hours ago at the time of this writing – and I am drunk off my ass. This is not normal. I feel like I always did when I drank: face is neon red, I’m wobbly (more than usual), and my head feels simultaneously filled with bricks and attic insulation. The fuck? I had four to five times more to drink at AotT, and didn’t feel anywhere near this gross. What gives?
I think I’ve figured out the culprit: cheap vodka. The drink I had tonight wasn’t made with any sort of top shelf booze – it was a super sweet gimmicky sort of drink that hit me like a bucket of bolts. I think I’m reacting to either the vodka, or to the sugar – but either way, my head is pounding. I am not a fan. I think I’ll stick to what I know I can handle: drinks made by Mitch the Batman, and lots and lots of tequila*.
*: I’m still me. “Lots and lots” is like .. two. Two tequila.