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Nitpick Drinks Too Much

So as an excuse for getting way more intoxicated than I should have post-company holiday party, I have diagnosed myself with estrogen-induced indigestion. That's right. Estrogen made me drunk. And it made me order another drink at the bar after the holiday party. And estrogen made me slur my words and get all confessional about shit with my co-workers. Mmm hmm! That's it! I came to the conclusion that estrogen is at the root of all evil through a simple means.�

At the beginning of each new cycle, I get my gag-reflex for the first few days of estrogen intake. My stomach often feels upset and angry. Sometimes, I even hurl, and when I do, food that should've been digested hours before remains intact. The one thing that does make it through is alcohol, as proven twice now. Last month, we were at a Chinese restaurant in Waikiki and I thought I was in a booth rather than a chair prompting me to slide to the end of my booth er chair at the end of the meal and fall promptly on my arse. Blessed anonymity. This month, same timeframe, I was babbling like a brook in spring and couldn't make myself shut up, and a full thirteen hours later, up came my dinner. Nice one.

As solid as I believe my excuse is, I'm sure my co-workers think me a tipsy drunken fool. Oh well. That's what I was. Lovely. At least I waited until we'd left the office party to really take a turn for the worse. Sigh.

In other weekend news, we managed to make the majority of the necessary gift exchange/returns from the wedding. I almost had to throw down with the lady at one store because she insisted something wasn't on my registry. Funny, because your store allowed two people to buy me the same toaster oven off my registry, and while I absolutely love it, I have no need for two of them.� We also began the venture into the overwhelming task of Thank You notes. By began, I mean we purchased the holiday cards that will double as Thank You notes. And before someone pulls out their Emily Post book to tell me whether or not that is kosher, you can direct your commentary to the hand because the face don't understand. God. I haven't said that in forever. Nice.

Also, let me be the first to congratulate myself and Allison on one month of marital bliss. Okay, I may not be the first to congratulate Allison, but what with the time difference, I might be close. To celebrate, I actually have some chicken cooking in the crock-pot right now. Yes, now. I put it in this morning and it will be slow-roasted just in time to make Ryan dinner. The dinner won't be fabulous, but it sounded really good at the grocery store yesterday and chicken was on sale, so what are you gonna do. I'm not quite sure he's ever had this particular family recipe which consists of chicken, cream of mushroom soup and mixed vegetables served over piping hot biscuits. I find it damn good, but that's just me. I think I may be back in the safe zone of estrogen induced digestion, so maybe we'll enjoy a glass of sumpin' with that chicken. Exciting stuff, eh?

Alright, I had better get back to work. I have my headphones listening to Lionel Ritchie's Greatest Hits. Usually when I have my headphones on, it means I'm working hard. Today it means, I worked hard for an hour and am enjoying not talking to my co-workers as they walk past my door on the off chance that one of them might have commentary related to my estrogen-induced indigestion. I'd upload a picture, however I once again forgot the special USB cord for my new camera. Damned proprietary piece of crap!

Fiesta, forever. Come on and sing along.

Genius.

11:31 a.m. - December 06, 2004

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