Drinking Your Dinner is Challenging


Friday night is always pretty magical for us 8 to 5ers. It is finally time to unwind with no fear of the alarm come Saturday morning. Unfortunately, my body doesn’t comprehend this. I found myself greeting the day at a precise 8:05 am. Sigh. I tried to combat the wakefulness, smothering my head back in to my fortress of pillows. Nope, you are wide awake Becca. I eventually succumbed. The only possible option now was to go down to the coffee shop, fuel up with a latte (that I apparently didn’t even need) and start this Saturday off with what other than a blog post.

I have two distinct memories from my Friday. One includes my best friend mistaking a shot cup, that I had adopted as my ash tray, for her beloved Jager. This was almost immediately after the above picture. See that grin gleaming on the left? That would soon turn in to the most unsettling grimace as the floor became painted in the aftermath. She was a good sport about it. She is a trooper. It’s why I keep her around.

The rest of the night consisted of many more Michelob Ultras, a few more shots that didn’t taste like tar, and conversations about men, the mechanics of winking and Tampa. That same trooper I mentioned before is moving to Tampa, FL in exactly one week… and I am tagging along. This will be my first semi-vacation in probably three years. It will also mark a milestone for me. I will be taking my first solo flight returning to Lafayette. It will also be my first travel to somewhere I have never been. This may seem trivial to most, but considering my long term fear of flying and the fact that a year ago my sheltered ass wouldn’t have even gone, I am nothing short of stoked.

Bringing the night to a close, I realized that I had successfully drank my dinner. I was ravenous. Luckily, I did my big girl duties of grocery shopping last weekend, so I was pumped to get home and whip up a bedtime drunken meal. These are almost always regretful come dawn, and this one was sure to be no different. But first I would have to overcome this little problem..


My bread was doing a sad job of transforming itself into swiss cheese. Now, in my beer haze this was no simple feat. But, I will say that I was mighty proud of my end result and ability to avoid the canyon in my PB&J canvass. Oh, and I also ate almost an entire batch of beef stroganoff. Yes, I was a bit ashamed… for about 3 seconds until I peacefully passed out. Yes, I regretted this immediately this morning.   And yes, I will probably end tonight with an equally disturbing combination of eats. Nothing counts after midnight anyway, right? Note to self: stop drinking your dinner.

Posted on March 24, 2012, in Adventures, Cooking, Experiments, Travel, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 5 Comments.

  1. The title alone rocks, Becca!

  2. You can drink your dinner – it jsut has to be more substantail.
    I recommend Guinness and Tequila.

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