BunnyChow Card #13: 4 Jan 2019
This year I decided to forgo the usual New Year resolutions of I’ll eat healthier (fewer carbs, more protein & veg), drink more water, exercise more, drop the F bomb less, be more productive, and most importantly drink less alcohol.
But that was a serious mistake.
On New Year’s Eve, I was invited to a New Orleans style party. It was held at a gorgeous old house converted into a club. The house had a central roofless courtyard which was the dance floor. The ambience was fantastic, especially as the host had invited a trio of the most magnificent opera singers to entertain us. The opera was followed by a fantastic brass band.
Things were going great… great company, champagne, pizza liberally doused with hot sauce and lots of water.
And then someone suggested some Jägerbombs.
Now I was ignorant of what goes into this Devil’s drink. Hindsight is of course 20/20.
Jägermeister, according to Wikipedia, is a digestif made with 56 herbs, fruits, roots, and spices, including citrus peel, licorice, anise, poppy seeds, saffron, ginger, juniper berries, and ginseng. And it has a strength of 35% alcohol. The name literally translated means “Master of the hunt,” AND I WAS ITS PREY.
A shot glass of Jägermeister dropped into a glass of Red Bull makes a cocktail called a Jägerbomb.
I hate Red Bull so I downed the Jägermeister shot neat.
Then a pretty girl wearing colorful striped pants with her hair done up into two tufts of ponytails, leaned over and said, “Jägermeister and hot sauce really messes with my tummy.”
Oh, the wisdom of youth. I should have listened to her. But of course I didn’t, and I had another shot.
Three hours later, at around 5 a.m. my stomach rebelled. Like the ocean throws all these lost flip-flops back onto the beach, my tummy returned my offerings.
Then it became vindictive and sent messages to the rest of my gastrointestinal tract. They in turn joined the battle.
The next day, with nothing in my stomach other than a slice of toast, a cup of tea and a gallon of water, I felt slightly better.
Fragile, but at least whole again.
And then my brain, always late to the party, decided it couldn’t be left out. It presented me with the weirdest dream. I was at an awards ceremony to accept an award for my writing. Yay!! But my hubby was mad with me because I had apparently confessed to an affair with none other than Mahmoud Ahmadinejad the ex- President of Iran. Go figure!
The dream seemed to go on forever. And then things became a little raucous as a food/ slipper/ shoe fight broke out. Thankfully hubby forgave me and rescued me from the assault.
I’m lucky to be a deep sleeper and I rarely remember my dreams. I’ve always envied people whose novels appear to them in their dreams. Now I’ve joined their esteemed ranks—inspired to write this blog post by my spinning brain.
But I’ve learned my lesson— Retrospective Resolution for 2019 and for the rest of my life— no more Jägermeister.
I wish you peace, lots of love and fun and laughter and joy and kindness and happiness and wealth and security in the new year. Oh… and good health, especially a stable gastrointestinal tract.
And may it be your best year ever.