Side Effects May Vary

Yes, we can agree, the low-fat, bland foods, semi-liquid-or- at-least-soft diet blows goat.  But what TRULY sucks shit through a quarter-inch tube about this recovery process is the no-liquor part.  I am one of those people who doesn’t drink specifically to get drunk (although that’s nice, too), I actually genuinely like the taste.  So going visiting with Dear Sweet Mama with some of her old work friends at the Mexican restaurant SEEMED like it was going to be a serious lesson in Fuck. This. Bullshit.


I had not realized how long it has been since I had seen my Dear Sweet Mama hammered without being inebriated myself (I was probably like 7?).  Bitch be HILARIOUS, yo.  First off, she made the mistake of letting me order her first margarita while she was in the bathroom, so of course I got her the 22 ounce one.  Then she thought she should “scale down”… to the 12 ounce ones.  And she had 3, which is actually more ounces than if she’d just had another 22-ounce one.

Here’s the progression of events:  You first begin to become aware that DSM is drunk when she starts complaining of not being able to feel certain body parts.  The first to go is usually the nose, followed by the feet.  Once she gets to her TEETH being numb, start the camcorder.

DSM is also one of those drunks who insists on telling you — repeatedly — that she is drunk.  And how drunk, at that.  Then she starts to worry about how drunk she is because she is going to get in trouble with either her parents (who have been dead for many, many years) or the Concubine (who passes out after one glass of wine and goes and sleeps in the car).

This is the point at which we cut her off.

I told her, she better enjoy having me as a Designated Driver while she can, because I damn skippy don’t intend to never have another mojito.  That would be against the law or something.

PS:  On the dietary front, I ate a cheese enchilada with the spicy red sauce scraped off, one hard beef taco, and probably about half of my rice and beans — in other words, the Mexican waiters now think I have been replaced by an alien clone.  But I have had NO problems from the ol’ pancreas today, so I must not have pissed it off too bad.



Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Just Call Me Beavis, La Vida Loca

25 responses to “Side Effects May Vary

  1. Your mom sounds like someone I want to party with. I’m still waiting on that adoption request . . . I know y’all have been a bit busy with you almost dying and all, but I’m expecting those legal adoption documents in the mail any day now.

    I love when people get so drunk that they first start to actually FEEL their teeth, then even drunker so that they then revert back to not being able to feel their teeth, and then become alarmed at this development.


  2. Sounds like an awesome restaurant. I don’t think I would go there, though, unless I could walk. Those margaritas sound dangerous (ly awesome).


    • This restaurant actually advertises itself by having the largest selection of tequilas in the area. DSM and I are already planning to go there and do shots when I am off the DL.


  3. Jo

    I so wanna see the video of this….

    Glad you could eat!


  4. Dear Sweet Mama

    Base calumney and lies or something. It is Hoody’s fault – every time I went to the bathroom, she ordered me another margarita. I just thought it was one very good margarita that lasted a loooooong time. I do remember telling people I loved them, which is always an embarrassing side effect that I have managed to avoid for a long time. And I think I was probably still not street legal when I got up at 330am and drank 12 oz of cold water cause I was dying from thirst – that salty mexican food, you know.


    • You shoulda knowed better than to leave the table — a bottomless magical margarita was bound to ensue. And it wasn’t always me — P kept hollering “Uno mas por favor!” at the waiter (who wasn’t even OUR waiter, btw) and pointing to your glass!


  5. Duncan

    You gettin’ betta! You gettin’ betta! 🙂


  6. My sister has an interesting opposite side effect – she argues that she is not as drunk as you are. There’s really no winning that argument, whether you are drunker, or not.


  7. There may or may not be an embarrassing video of me slapping my face saying, “Where is it? Guys, I can’t feel my face! This is awesome!” (But I’m not telling you where to find it.)


  8. I have a bad habit of telling drunk people that they’re really drunk. The reason I characterize this as a bad habit is because it seems to be the cue for them to fall over semiconscious. “NO SHIT–” thunk. So if I hang out with you and DSM, I have to be really careful not to comment on her inebriated state because I don’t want to carry her to the car.

    How awesome that your body tolerated your diet apostasy! Be careful, though…this is usually where I start thinking I’m cured and chowing down on bad foods. It never ends well.


    • yep, I’m trying really hard not to get too cocky and start thinking I can eat, you know, FOOD again… and I repeatedly told DSM she was drunk, which, being drunk, she found hilariously funny.


  9. Jen

    I want to be adopted. . .immediately.


  10. Ah! I wish my mom got drunk. She’s a wussy and just acts all annoyed with me when I’m tipsy.


  11. My mom is such a lightweight I can show her a bottle of Jack and she keels over in a drunken stupor. Which in itself is fun, but actually getting a cocktail in her makes for a “fuck the TV, let’s watch Mom try to catch the cat” evening.


    • that’s how DSM’s Concubine is — we actually went out to eat one time and the drinks came before the food (like they do) and she had ONE tiny little margarita and then announced “I’m sleepy. I’m gonna go to the car.” AND SHE DID. DSM and I had our dinner and went out afterwards to find the Concubine asleep in the backseat. Is it bad that we stayed and ate while she slept in the car like a hobo?


  12. Pingback: Bar Lessons – Stone Pony Edition | hoodyhoo

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