fancy hangover

Two dates a week goes cross-country. Last night, fancy cocktails at a fancy bar with fancy man. Now, I have a fancy hangover.

It's official: I can only drinks two drinks. I hear you: did you specify Grey Goose, drink water, eat dinner? Yes, yes, and yes. But I have no tolerance.

Exercising helps hangovers, or so I read so...I tried to sneak in the gym this morning, but they have a thumbprint system to gain access. I pressed my nose to the glass, hoping someone would see me and let me steal some exercise. But no luck. Gym was empty.

So, last night, Temple Bar. Aside from needing a flashlight to see, I love this place and remember it from years ago with the popcorn and salty sticks in tiny bowls (thank you, A. for jogging my memory), elaborate cocktails, post-work Brunette Quartet times. The cocktails are now $12 and well made. Also, chicken wings: messy but worth it and guacamole: I've had better.

My date was incredibly good company, albeit 25 minutes late. Since I'm often late, I didn't really mind and he was traveling from Washington Heights, which to those of you not in NY, is far, quite far. I hovered over a party that was on their way out and snagged their chairs. I wasn't going to pay for my beverage, so why not get the most spendy? Lemon Drop for me, extra sugar on the rim please.

My date was lovely. Divorced. Not a hair on his head. Cute glasses. Funny. Smart. Touched my arm at multiple intervals. He was a journalist and switched careers, as I did, so we had some common ground and he's funny. He may be more friend than husband material, but that remains to be seen. And shouldn't there be some overlap?

This afternoon it's on to Date 2. Different guy. It's a first date yoga class.

Om.