::alio!::

that'll teach me

I should really know by now that drinking and I don't get along any more.

I'm too old to be hungover, really, and it's been so long since I did any kind of real drinking that I no longer have even a smidgen of the same tolerance that I used to.

Last night we went downstairs for a Russian dinner: pelmeni, pickled herring (my new favourite), mayonnaise salad (can't remember the Russian word for it), smoked salmon . . . incredible. But there was also the vodka, which Nik brought back from Moscow a couple of weeks ago. And we did it Russian-style, with a pickle.

Oh man.

I was doing okay, having moved on to just water, when the conversation suddenly turned to something like putting songbirds in a meat grinder (I don't really remember, but I think it was kind of like that). My stomach turned and I was out of there in a flash. I made it home (thank god we live in the same house), made it upstairs, and had myself a good vomit, and felt pretty good about myself at that point. It was only eleven, but what can you do?

Then I passed right out.

I come to at around 3:45 to this repetitive moaning. Once I figure out where I am and why there's this noise coming from somewhere in the apartment, I get up. I feel okay, still drunk, but okay.

The moaning is coming from behind the bathroom door, which is, unfortunately, locked. And it's an old-fashioned lock, not one of those ones you can open with a skewer.

After much persuasion and insistence on my part, I get Andy to open the door. He's not sure how long he's been there, but he's pretty sure that he has never been that drunk in his life. He also hasn't thrown up yet, so I pour some water down his throat and he follows suit.

Arguing with a sick drunk person is never top on my list of fun things to do, but I have to admit that I was pretty entertained this morning. We were both cracking jokes and giggling - weird, I know.

I finally got him into bed at 5, and the sun was up and the birds were singing. I was certainly ready for a rest, but Andy started snoring so loudly that I had to go into the living room (which has no curtains and was bright and sunny) and sleep on the couch (which is really more of a loveseat with no padding).

I woke up again at 9, and I've been up ever since. I feel okay, but not okay enough to go out and enjoy this lovely sunny day. Andy, having emerged from his cocoon to pee once or twice, has otherwise not left his bed yet. Poor dear. He didn't overindulge too much when he was younger like the rest of us, so he's not used to being horribly hungover.

So let this be a lesson to you kids - don't try to keep up with Russians when you don't normally drink.

Why is it that our downstairs neighbours, in any incarnation, always get us smashed with hard liquor?

Posted by Ally at May 17, 2009 01:09 PM