Drinking on an empty stomach

People, I am surprised I made it home last night, honestly. And the reason I was completely unsteady on my feet and joyous at incredibly small details, not to mention essentially asleep while seeming to be awake, the reason was a single drink. One, people. Granted, it was a kick-your-behind martini big enough to count as two martinis, and as promised, it did indeed kick my behind. The bigger factor in Elizabeth's oh-so-inexpensive toastness was the lack of food. I know this, absolutely: I should not drink without eating. But it was late, and we'd just finished the first run of my new show with an audience, and by the time I enlisted someone to pay for the food (I myself having one dollar of cash on me, and knowing the nightmare of group payment situations with a card), the kitchen had closed.

I think the restaurant/bar across the street hates us, by the way, since it took far, far too long for us to get a drink. Then, you see, I had to drink it much faster, to get it down by closing time.

Regardless, I drank my one drink and about half-way through, everything became somewhat fuzzy and much more entertaining. I became less capable of walking around and longed only to lie down in the restaurant and sleep.

I figured it was time to go home.

Now, at noon the next day, I can feel the alcohol still lingering in my bloodstream, probably because it so rarely gets free reign like that. It's enjoying the stay.

I am such a lightweight.