Rum runnin'

I've been run over by a Mack truck ... or so it seems.

Last night was Waide's birthday, so after a lovely dinner at the best restaurant here in Chattanooga (St. John's), which included several glasses of wine, Jim, Waide and I headed over to the Pickle Barrel to further the celebration of Waide's 29th year on planet Earth.

I hadn't had a rum runner (my drink of choice next to margaritas) in months. So, despite knowing that most bar tenders somehow manage to screw them up, I decided to chance it. So, I ask my new favorite bar tender, Jeff, if he can make a good rum runner. He says sure. I'm not so sure, but what the heck - I wanted one and maybe I'd get lucky. Well, luck would have it that Jeff really did know what he was doing. Too bad I didn't. ...

Drink after drink after drink after drink I loved my rum runners. Combined with good conversation and the distinct aura of the Pickle Barrel, I was feelin' like life was pretty darn good. But, all good things must come to an end. It was time to go home.

Skip ahead 9 hours ... Rolling out of bed, everything hurts. From my head to my toes, I feel like I've been beaten by someone who was out to kill. I guess I'm somewhat of a lightweight now when it comes to drinking, but damn! I haven't felt this bad in years.

I think I'm going to go rest now. If I find the strength later, I may give an update on my condition.