:: Where's the booze? ::
I would hazard to guess that every Friday since I've been back from Alberta - and a lot of Fridays before I even moved there as well - I had at least one beer. It's just what we do. The question on Friday after work is never "What are we doing?" it's always "Where are we drinking?" My point is that, yesterday, for the first Friday in many moons, I didn't drink a drop of alcohol. I just hung out with Doug, and while we did go out, I just didn't feel like drinking.
Now, to the point. Almost without fail, I've never felt hungover on a Saturday morning, and I've rarely puked in the A.M. either - except once or twice years ago. But today I woke up bright and early for baseball, after a night of no-alcohol, and I puked. Sure a lot of it was phlegm from having allergies etc, but still, I've come to one conclusion: My body needs alcohol. It loves it. Not to the point of being an alcoholic or anything of the sort, but after being conditioned to feel woozy every Saturday morning, I'm sure my body was not impressed when it woke up this morning stone-cold sober, without a Gary Busey-esque level of toxins in my body.
"Where the fuck's the beer?" it asked me, before imploring me to run to the bathroom and hurl up something that, rest assured, wasn't booze.
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