Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Strawberry Daiquiri

As I’ve briefly mentioned before I am 100% substance free. This includes alcohol, cigarettes, pot and any other drug you can imagine. In fact, I don’t even drink coffee and rarely do I consume carbonation.

Last week I attended a friend’s show at a basement theater off of Times Square. It was a warm spring day and something inside told me to let my hair down and get a little crazy…so I ordered a virgin strawberry daiquiri. I have never had a virgin strawberry daiquiri before so I thought the bold taste that burned down my throat after my first sip was odd but probably normal. I set the drink in front of me and forgot about it for a while. After a bit I remembered how hot and thirsty I was and mindlessly downed half of my drink. That’s when I came to the conclusion that the burning was not a normal sensation for a virgin drink. My head wasn’t supposed to feel that hot, my ears certainly weren’t supposed to be on fire, my eyes were involuntarily wide and I couldn’t wipe that surprised expression off my face. I sent the drink back and continued the evening feeling warm and relaxed.

And that was my first experience with alcohol. I definitely understand what it means now to “take the edge off” and it was actually quite delightful.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Granny Panties

One more quick story about my operation that proved to be one of the more awkward experiences of my life:

Nothing is better than a nice, anesthetic induced nap. I woke up in my mom’s hotel room post-op feeling absolutely refreshed. I flipped on the tube and stretched my body over the entire bed and felt something foreign around my mid-section. Bewildered, I felt on my stomach an elastic waist band that wasn’t there before. I flipped up my shirt to reveal, a giant pair of granny panties…that I hadn’t gone into the operation with. I was mystified. How on earth do you wake up one morning (or afternoon in my case) wearing random underpants up past your belly button? I called my mom demanding answers to my mystery drawers.

As it turns out, my drug induced self demanded that I needed new underwear after the operation. My mother, trying to get me back to the hotel, had a hard time getting me in a cab and watched me march straight into CVS. I walked directly to the Hanes and picked out some briefs, debated on a pair of socks and proceeded to check-out. She tried to convince me that I probably didn’t want that kind but I insisted that they were perfect and made the purchase.

So, lesson to be learned…anesthesia makes me want to change undergarments. I should carry an extra pair next time I have an operation so I don’t end up in a drug store with over-sized grandma underwear.