Politics Hello, Hangover
posted by on November 8 at 14:06 PM
Woke up with my first hangover ever this morning. I blame the Spitfire. If the election party hadn’t been so crowded, I wouldn’t have ordered that double vodka soda, which I only ordered because I wasn’t looking forward to waiting in line again, and which, by the way, really seemed like a triple vodka soda. (Thanks, Spitfire!) And I blame America, because if there wasn’t so much to celebrate I would have just left after the beer, or the half of a friend’s whiskey neat, or after the first vodka soda. And if I hadn’t been so deliriously happy in the cab on the way home I might have rembered to hydrate before bed, which I especially needed to do because I went to the Spitfire right after bikram yoga.
But whatever—isn’t it really exciting to be excited again? (Now I’m repeating myself.) Wasn’t it great to look at those TV screens and scream because you were happy about what you were seeing? Wasn’t it great to have any feeling whatsoever—happiness, no less!—about Montana and Missouri? And then, this morning’s icing: Rumsfeld is out. Isn’t it fun to say? Rumsfeld is out. Rumsfeld is out. Rumsfeld is out. Rumsfeld is out. Heezowwt! Outta there! Out, damn’d spot! Out I say! Take me out to the ball game. We need a new dance. A Rumsfeld-is-out dance. I’m thinking…
My hangover is starting to disappear.
I enjoyed the Spitfire drinks. Had the Maria Cantwell (margarita?) and the Pro Choice (martini?). When I got to the Dems parties, by the time I'd said hi to everyone, they had closed down all the bars!
I wore a nametag ... but didn't see a lot of people at the Spitfire I knew until I went back around midnight (we all went looking for real drinks).
But if you pass him on the streets he will give you a head-splitting yawn. Coffee up Frizzelle!
A nice touch at spitfire was the contrast between the increasingly dower Fox News talking heads right next to the giddy CNN folk.
Anything that causes Brit Hume to list at that despondent of an angle is good in my book.
Careful Frizzelle, your hangover may not actually be fading--you're just still drunk! That's the worst.
RARELY do I do a happy dance in two consecutive days. I mean, c'mon. For a happy dance to really mean anything, it has to be reserved for extra special occasions, not just everyday random happiness inducing commonalities.
I did a happy dance last night when Santorum went down to defeat (that feels soooo good to type). I managed to refrain from any further happy dances at the rest of the night's continuously happy news.
I did another happy dance today when I heard Rumsfeld is out! Please send him directly to the Hague for his no doubt impending war crimes trials.
RARELY do I do a happy dance in two consecutive days. I mean, c'mon. For a happy dance to really mean anything, it has to be reserved for extra special occasions, not just everyday random happiness inducing commonalities.
I did a happy dance last night when Santorum went down to defeat (that feels soooo good to type). I managed to refrain from any further happy dances at the rest of the night's continuously happy news.
I did another happy dance today when I heard Rumsfeld is out! Please send him directly to the Hague for his no doubt impending war crimes trials.
Wise words Hannah, wise words. I stayed away from the election themed concoctions last night, but the bourbon with beer backs, topped by a celebratory glass or three of champagne caught up to me at approximately 1:30pm today.
While ordering a drink at Spitfire last evening, with little aforethought, I told the young, hot guy next to me that he looked like "James Carville's love child." He took umbrage saying "I'm not that ugly..." I agreed, apologized and got a hug in return. Maybe I should have compared him to the young Yul Brynner. Being unsure of where to post this reflection, "Hello, Hangover" seemed appropriate. And now let's give all of the new "in" crowd a well-deserved 100-day honeymoon.
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