Ibuprofen, a half slice of bread, and a glass of water

I took the Wacky Welshman's advice and "mixed it up" a bit. I bought a hat. I listened to Hanson. I decided not to take in the stray kitten, but I have been thinking about a new tattoo. And then I went drinking. Because March is the month for puking and I thought I'd start early.

My friend successfully became a Ph.D. candidate and to celebrate, we went for margaritas. I put down four and promptly had thoughts of leaning over the wall of the restaurant patio and horking massive amounts of sugar and tequila all over someone's windshield. Despite that, it was a fun time. Drinking made me happy, which I found surprising.

In college, I knew all kinds of drunks. Reid screamed a lot. Aaron put his butt on people. Ben liked to poke people inappropriately with tongs. Stacey perpetually amazed her company by deep throating all sorts of empty bottles. Stanton got blow jobs in the bathroom and said shit like "I'd complain but no one would listen."

And me, I cried. If there was a party and it had booze, I was in the corner crying, hoping that anyone would notice. I was the most pathetic drunk. And I assumed that's how it was, that I was born with the "Please please please love me back" Drunk gene. I have come to discover that I wasn't. Somewhere in my genomics, there may be the makings of an alcoholic, but there is not a "Please just talk to me or I will ball my eyes out" gene.

These days, whilst partaking of the tasty beverages, I am chatty. I lose my social filters and all those words just comes oozing out. For instance, my key phrase from my last outing was "Guess you should have answered that phone call," which was my response to Emily's friend of the male persuasion showing up uninvited after she didn't answer his phone call.

At this point in my life booze brings happiness. Especially when I can wake up the next morning and not have a hangover. Last time I went drinking on a Tuesday, I had a hangover that lasted an entire day, I nearly threw up on public transportation, and it resulted in one of the worst dates of all time. You may remember this guy - he wanted to touch my stomach and sign me up for a credit card.

So lion it up, March. I'm ready. For you and your booze. I've got a new hangover cure.