Thursday, December 21, 2006

I was out with a friend for a rather bland dinner tonight. The dinner was bland at my request because my stomach's been a little queasy over the last few days and was most definitely acting up just before I met up with him for dinner.

That notwithstanding, we still had a couple of margaritas, even though yesterday night, I ended up hovering in the ladies for about fifteen minutes trying to calm my stomach after having had 2.5 martinis.

We caught up on life, his recent viral infection which caused him to miss my birthday party, what's been going on in my life and then started - as all social alcoholics do - swapping alcohol-related stories involving people we knew.

Then, we both mentioned that our alcohol tolerance was falling as we grew older. I compared it to how my tolerance for a lot of things is falling as I grow older. For instance, I said, I'm getting to the point when I don't want to put up with people I dislike. After all, life is too short to put up with people you hate.

At this point, I then told him of my worst first date ever, which involved a guy who I tolerated for the next few months as an acquaintance because he hung out with a bunch of good friends of mine, but I have since relegated him to the 'less than dirt' status. I'm really good at telling stories of the bad dates I've had, and now, my friend wants me to do a podcast because I tell it so well. Heh.

It's not likely I'll do it though, as I treasure my anonymity, but I will admit, it makes a good story.

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