Fuzzy Memories
I’ve never been a big drinker. I don’t have anything against it at all. It’s just that more than one drink (of any kind) gives me the irresistible urge to crawl under a piece of furniture and fall asleep. I guess there’s nothing wrong with that, but it doesn’t generally make for a fun time, for me or my drinking companions. So, I usually end up sipping at a mixed drink for the entire evening, long past the stage when all the ice in the drink melts and the condensation on the outside of the glass makes a puddle on the table, and on through the stage when the glass and its contents reach room temperature. Let me tell you, there’s nothing like a diluted, room temperature Tom Collins or Margarita. Mmmm mmmm.
Last week, I had the Mother of Stressful Days™. I spent most of the day working with a group in another city, trying to get good copies of some files I needed to produce a usable copy of some software that my entire team was waiting for. About 4pm, just as I was about to try out the latest copies, I discovered that a coworker in yet another group had inadvertently removed our team’s entire build archive, including all the work I had done thus far that day. And, even better, it was going to take several hours for everything to be restored from backup. So, I went home then and there, comforted with the knowledge that I could have accomplished just as much if I had not bothered to come to work at all. Clearly, a drink was in order.
As soon as I got home, I started rummaging through our liquor stash. I wanted something that didn’t taste like alcohol, but would get me shit-faced anyway. The tequila and vodka were eliminated right away. I didn’t even consider the bottle of Glenlivet left over from a recent family visit. I know it’s supposed to be good scotch, but scotch is yucky. A room-temperature, 3-year old bottle of champagne that may or may not still be fizzy? No. I might have tried it with some OJ if it had been cold, but I wasn’t willing to wait. I pulled out a bottle Bailey’s that was a definitely possibility. But then I found it, exactly what I was looking for. A bottle of peach Schnapps. Oh yeah. A fuzzy navel is exactly what I needed, something sweet and peachy and wonderful. This would make everything OK.
The fuzzy navel was my drink of choice in my college years. The taste of it brings back memories of stale cigarette smoke, bad cover bands, and jerky, drunk fraternity guys. I can practically see the dark little dives where we used to hang out, illuminated AND decorated only with neon beer signs. The floor was always bare concrete, I assume to make it easy to hose out all the vomit, cigarette butts, and other detritus on Saturday mornings. Ah yes, those were the days.
Anyway, after dinner I made myself an extra-large fuzzy navel, stuck a straw in it, and parked myself on the sofa for an evening of TiVo’d episodes of “Rock Star: Supernova” and “The Daily Show.” I didn’t even wrestle DC for the remote, that’s how pleasant I was feeling. By 9:30pm, three-quarters of the fuzzy navel was gone and I was fighting to stay awake. By 10, DC shook me awake and told me to go to bed. By 10:15, I was sound asleep for the night. Yes, it was a thrilling night, just like my college days, only without the cigarette smoke and drunken college students. God, I’m such a party animal. Woohoo.
Last week, I had the Mother of Stressful Days™. I spent most of the day working with a group in another city, trying to get good copies of some files I needed to produce a usable copy of some software that my entire team was waiting for. About 4pm, just as I was about to try out the latest copies, I discovered that a coworker in yet another group had inadvertently removed our team’s entire build archive, including all the work I had done thus far that day. And, even better, it was going to take several hours for everything to be restored from backup. So, I went home then and there, comforted with the knowledge that I could have accomplished just as much if I had not bothered to come to work at all. Clearly, a drink was in order.
As soon as I got home, I started rummaging through our liquor stash. I wanted something that didn’t taste like alcohol, but would get me shit-faced anyway. The tequila and vodka were eliminated right away. I didn’t even consider the bottle of Glenlivet left over from a recent family visit. I know it’s supposed to be good scotch, but scotch is yucky. A room-temperature, 3-year old bottle of champagne that may or may not still be fizzy? No. I might have tried it with some OJ if it had been cold, but I wasn’t willing to wait. I pulled out a bottle Bailey’s that was a definitely possibility. But then I found it, exactly what I was looking for. A bottle of peach Schnapps. Oh yeah. A fuzzy navel is exactly what I needed, something sweet and peachy and wonderful. This would make everything OK.
The fuzzy navel was my drink of choice in my college years. The taste of it brings back memories of stale cigarette smoke, bad cover bands, and jerky, drunk fraternity guys. I can practically see the dark little dives where we used to hang out, illuminated AND decorated only with neon beer signs. The floor was always bare concrete, I assume to make it easy to hose out all the vomit, cigarette butts, and other detritus on Saturday mornings. Ah yes, those were the days.
Anyway, after dinner I made myself an extra-large fuzzy navel, stuck a straw in it, and parked myself on the sofa for an evening of TiVo’d episodes of “Rock Star: Supernova” and “The Daily Show.” I didn’t even wrestle DC for the remote, that’s how pleasant I was feeling. By 9:30pm, three-quarters of the fuzzy navel was gone and I was fighting to stay awake. By 10, DC shook me awake and told me to go to bed. By 10:15, I was sound asleep for the night. Yes, it was a thrilling night, just like my college days, only without the cigarette smoke and drunken college students. God, I’m such a party animal. Woohoo.
posted by Jill at 9:05 AM
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