I'm finally learning how to say no to taking shots. Or maybe a better way of putting that is I'm learning how to dispose of shots when I don't want them. I can drink beer all night long and be fine, but if I do more than 4 shots, there is a 95% chance I'm puking sometime before the end of the night. Me and shots are just not amigos, I guess. Haven't been for years. I'm perfectly content to just get housed on beers, get in 18 holes of Golden Tee (actually I'm OK with 36, but I guess sometimes there are other priorities) and not do a single shot all night. But yet, almost every time a shot is put in front of me, I can't say no. I stomp my feet and complain a lot, then end up giving in and taking it. Similar to Ron Burgundy and the cat poop.
But now my new leaf is finally turned over. There was a brouhaha on Friday night, one of those nights when the Shot Posse (Katie, Kelsey, Lauren, or some combination thereof) is out and in full force, and there was a steady stream of shots being thrown in my face. And I was waiting until the group would cheers and throw them back, and then I would throw them in the garbage, drop them into empty mugs on the bar, hide them behind the Megatouch...anything and everything to avoid taking them. I think I only took one all night. And lo and behold, I still got drunk, but I didn't throw up when I went home that night.
The lesson I didn't learn this weekend: to stay away from four-team parlays during the NFL playoffs. Both weekends now, I've gone 3 for 4, only for the "safest" game of the four to let me down. Oh well, at least yesterday it was the Patriots and the last game of the weekend to crush me, as opposed to New Orleans pooping the bed and killing my bets immediately. There's not many things worse than losing a four-teamer on the very first game. I'm still pissed at the Saints.
Almost makes me want to take a bunch of shots.
