I cannot drink. I just can’t. I’ve largely avoided it. But we went out Saturday night – only the second time we’ve been over to the Quarter for a short night out. We were home by ten, I think.
The thing that scares me about drinking now – for me – is, aside from completely destroying the next day with the resulting upset stomach and all, how little it now takes me for to completely blackout. I don’t remember much of anything after my second (I don’t think there was a third) gin martini.
I hazily remember the few blocks we walked after RF’s, the bar-and-bites place where we had our martinis. Beyond that, it’s black until I woke up in my chair at one in the morning.
On my Facebook timeline this morning, a video I’d streamed live from the French Quarter appeared. I started watching it. It was a fake second line. I didn’t even remember – the second line or the recording.
That scares me.
It’s also why I don’t drink anymore.
[UPDATE 11OCT2016, 1255 hrs: The full story, according to Misty, is that I drank two and a quarter martinis, which, in retrospect, were quite strong. I didn’t finish the third martini. From there, we went out onto the street, saw the faux second line and went home. We were home before 2100 hrs/9 PM.]
 That’s pretty good, I think, considering the town is pretty much alcohol-run.
 Gin: It’ll make you sin.