A morning after

I’m kinda nursing a hangover this morning. I use the word “kinda” for two reasons. One: I realize kinda is not a real word, but, in fact, two words that, if I were in a state coherent enough to articulate my thoughts in a grammatically correct manner, the impact of said words would not carry the full weight of how much I drank last night. And two: I’ve been more hungover in my life, but this hangover is compounded by the no-short-supply of sunbeams that flood the kitchen and living room to greet my fragile eyes each morning. All said, Pigpen is having a much more difficult time than I. He’s been wearing his sunglasses in the house all day.

The cool thing is, we had a dinner guest last night. I’d say, as our first hosting experience in the new nest, it was a success. I tried out my squash enchilada recipe ala www.epicurious.com last night. I made the tortillas from scratch using instructions straight off the bag of Goya masarica. The preparation was time-consuming, but rewarding for the meal (accompanied by some white, some red, and a New Hampshire tax-free $25 handle of Jose Cuevo) was thuroughly enjoyed. The tequila was a non-stop ticket to this morning’s groggy start. And if you didn’t see pictures of Pigpen from the 2008 New Year’s outing, you wouldn’t have as clear an idea of how such a great volume of wine and hard liquor effects the poor chap. I think he’s back in bed now.

The guest of honor was our landlady, next door neighbor, and friend Cynthia. She is a self-titled “tequila slut”. This morning I recieved an apologetic email from her stating her embarrassment in staying too long and drinking too much of our tequila. Of course, Pigpen and noted nothing peculiar about her behavior, given the crowds with whom we were accustomed to rolling in Korea. In fact, I think she’d like Seoul very much. I think she’d do very well there. She is a professor of English at Dartmouth College, afterall.

One thing did bother me, though (Here’s another shout out to the land I love, Korea): I simply could not keep up with the rate at which she was sipping down shot glasses of drunken gold. This was embarrassing to me, and not because I was unable to match her glass for glass—I would not have seen the early morning light, nor be on the computer writing notes to my fans if it were the case that I strive for such remarkable feats of drunkeness. The problem was my inability to fill her glass for her.

As it was, I was pretty drunk—I’m going to justify my poor hosting abilities now. I couldn’t see when her glass was empty, for starters. It was in plain view, but I just couldn’t see. Also, since never had the occasion presented itself to pour shot after shot of tequila for an esteemed member of literary academia, I was unaware of any social expectations that might accompany such an occasion. Additionally, she was perfectly comfortable pouring the shots for herself and I had neither the words nor the faculty to explain what is the traditional Korean custom of which I had become very fond during my stay in the country.

I probably seemed a total bitch, ahem-ing Pigpen whenever the liquid in my glass lowered to an unacceptable level. In Korea, it is considered poor form to let the empty glasses of friends remain in such a state for long, or at all. I so wanted to impress upon Cynthia my desire for her to embibe my share of the alcohol, but had no chance save the first shot I poured her. Perhaps I should have let the bottle rest near the sink and not directly on the table where we were gabbing. The monotony of standing, walking, pouring, walking, and sitting would have done me in, though.

So, in an effort to remedy this situation—one in which I expectantly hope to find myself—I am writing about it in this blog. It’s my passive agressive way of saying, “Hey Cynthia. Drink the tequila. Drink it all! But, please, please let me pour the drink for you.”

That being said, I suppose I should mention she now knows of my blog and has committed to reading it from time to time. I feel a bit of pressure (now that I have a growing body of refined readership) to take out the “fuck yous” and “damn it all to hells” and, in their places, insert something more provocative and insightful. Or not. Probably not. But only because my mother informed me in a recent phone conversation that it’s “not very lady-like” to have a potty mouth. I certainly can not disagree. But in keeping with a long-standing tradition, I certainly can not do what she says either.

I wonder what Mom would think if she knew Pigpen and I had friends who are (gasp) older than us and who are (gasp) respected in highly intelligent circles and who, in fact (gassssssp), stay up late drinking tequila. She may just self-destruct.

Anyway, Cynthia, thank you for the lovely time. We still have half the bottle left. What’s your schedule like the Friday after next?

P.S. I just ran this post through a spell check which sited no misspelled words, including “kinda”. According to the dictionary it is now a real word:

kinda |ˈkīndə| informal contraction of kind of : I think it’s kinda funny. ORIGIN early 20th cent.(originally U.S.): alteration.