Two Wrongs DO Make a Right!

Or, how Megarita's semi-toxic decision making finally pays off, thereby guaranteeing a lifetime of poor decision making.

I really, really needed to stir up some trouble this week, so I called Poisonous Playmate numero uno on Thursday and said, "I'll be at your house by 9. Be ready." Away I sailed, leaving behind papers in need of grading, students in need of assistance, and various work-related responsibilities that have been, of late, leaving me in need of some serious fetal-positioned thumb-sucking.

The night started off normally enough--a few Hoegaardens (although not with an orange slice this time--the bar near my house kept serving me Blue Moons with slice of orange during the Final Four, leading my friends and I to ponder what might be the most inappropriate citrus/beer combo. I think the final choice involved a grapefruit, unsliced)--a few more, a few inadvertant cigs, and some hilarious conversations.

The best of the latter involved a bouncer who shares a name with a football team. We'll call him Raven for now. He was talking to some other friends of mine while I debated the relative worth of Venture Brothers versus Aqua Teen with a young man who had a mohawk and something to prove. At some point the big boy asked who I was and my sassy friends said, "that's Megarita. She's a doctor!" He laughed and asked, "in what?" They said, "ask her," and so he interrupted my truly compelling impression of some cartoon character or another, and I told him I worked in renaissance stuff.

His eyes got really big, and he said, "that's the hottest thing I've ever heard."

This is not the usual response to what I do, needless to say. I laughed really hard, and then we sat down to chat for a while. Turns out the boy's got brains. At one point he said, "I bet you didn't expect a guy who looks like me to have gone to an Ivy League school." He wasn't wrong. I was ashamed. After a few SoC0 and Lime shots, we were all fast friends and he had gotten on his knees to ask me to marry him. Excellent evening.

Fast forward to the next day, when I was hosting a lecture series at work. It was a brown bag, so we bring our lunches. Only I couldn't bring the bloody mary and cheeseburger I really needed. I felt as though I was going to barf the entire time. I had to resist putting my sunglasses on inside. I was not at my Megarita Best. Worse, I knew an old pal of mine was coming to stay that night. Damn. More drinking. I wasn't sure I could survive. My liver said no, but my heart said yes. (note to self: possible memoir title)

And then my bad choices somehow paid off. I answered the door to my pal, we settled in for a series of gin and tonics (and by series I mean a lot), and suddenly, my hangover was gone. Seems that the proper assortment of hors d'oeuvres and gin are actually the equivalent of a cheeseburger for curing a hangover. Even better? I feel great today. Sure, I'm not super psyched about going out to play tennis when it's in the 40s, but I'm not laid up either.

So, feeling bad from drinking? Name your cures, or take my advice and simply drink more and watch how everything works out just fine. Trust me, people. I'm a doctor.