notmypresident: (Possessed)
I don't know how folks can have a drink at lunch time and expect to do anything afterward.  Maybe that's the point.  Or maybe I'm just so not used to alcohol that a single drink can lay waste to me.

After a morning treadmill session (450 calories), I went into the city to have lunch with my court reporting friend who is kindly helping me through this initial process of working for the San Francisco court system.  He's been an official reporter for four years now, so I figure he's got all the ins and outs.  Sure enough, he took me around to meet some of the "key" people.  I had asked him if we could do that before this Thursday's "interview" so that at least some folks might recognize my face and make a favorable association.  I was amazed at how casually I was able to schmooze, something that doesn't come easily to me in my personal life.

Afterward we went out to lunch, and that's where I had the one strawberry margarita.  Very, very tasty but boy, did it hit me in the head like a horny mule.  Wow.  I would never have ordered it had I driven into the city, but I knew a long BART trip was ahead of me and so figured it could do no harm.  My friend even encouraged the drink, saying I really needed to relax and let my hair down.  Oh, if only.  So here I am at the tail end of the buzz with work to do and realizing (once again) that I don't like to drink alcohol. 

Now where did I put those goody two-shoes?

Wish I could take a snuggly nap with the Favorite Bear of the Moment.

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