I may still be hungover from Friday night’s dinner at Ivy on the Shore here in Santa Monica.  I’m not getting any younger, so starting with Happy Hour at five with two martinis, then drinking two more at the restaurant after accepting a glass of “welcome-in” champagne, adding a couple of glasses from my wife’s bottle of wine, and capping off the evening with a generous pour of Limoncello for dessert, turned me into a  stumbling, bumbling drunk.

I woke up Saturday morning with a headache, and the Sheryl Crow hit, “All I Want to Do,” playing on my wife’s phone.  Coincidentally, it was the background music as part of a friend’s Smilebox tribute to their recently departed dog.  It was late morning, long after when “the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard.”  After I finally got my nauseous self out of bed, a run on the beach was predictably painful.  As a result, I remained abstinent from alcohol until after the Cubs’ loss.  We did finish off the to-go bottle as a nightcap late last night after getting back from Dodger Stadium, but it’s been strictly diet colas  ever since.   One big negative about Marriott Hotels is that they only serve Pepsi products.

Saturday evening my wife and I were “bleacher bums,” as Yasiel Puig and the Dodgers easily outscored the Cubs.  The unexpected “all-you-can-eat” Right Field Pavilion deal took away some of the discomfort of the hard, wooden seats, but did little to settle the obnoxious fans in our section.  I’ve been making a big deal out of Birthday 66, having posed for a picture in front of the “Trail Ends Here” Route 66 sign on Santa Monica Pier. A similar picture of me was taken at Pier 66 in Seattle, peering through the symbolic numbers.  Puig’s uniform #66 took away any buzz that was left from Friday night.  He hit a double for his first RBI, and followed with a solo Home Run against the Cubs vulnerable pitching staff.  He was indeed Muscle Beach strong in leading the Dodgers to victory in Game 1!

During my 66 Birthday celebration in Seattle, I had my picture taken in front of Pier 66.  We also went to see Tom Petty, who died a month later at age 66. Today I’m flying out of Alaska gate #66, so the number continues to be a reoccurring “sign of the times.”  I should probably get my next tank of gas at Phillips 66 (See Post #234), and go to Vegas and bet on  rolling Double Sixes – Boxcars.  Maybe the Cubs can score 6 in the 6th tonight?

The bottom line of this past weekend in Santa Monica – “All I want(ed) to do is have some fun.”

My Hangover’s Hungover.

Too many drinks,
With little to eat.
This morning I’m lucky,
To stand on two feet.
.
Yesterdays breakfast,
Is on the front lawn.
I seem to ache more,
As the day goes on.
.
Hung at my hang out,
And drank until drunk.
Last night is a blur,
And I’m still in a funk.
.
My Hangover’s hungover,
Longer than should be.
I have a headache,
Of the worst degree.
.
It’s no wonder my friends,
Have left me alone.
All night paying homage,
To the porcelain throne.
.
My Hangover’s hungover,
Much longer than fair.
I’m feeling so bad,
And need nursing care.
.
What’s the recipe,
To cure this malady?
Hair of the Dog,
Is just not for me.
.
Run down and ragged,
My head could crack.
Shouldn’t have chugged,
That first six pack.
.
Plop, Plop, Fizz, Fizz,
I need a quick cure.
How much pain,
Can one man endure?

.

Wrung out, strung out,
And in no condition.
I hurt everywhere,
And have no ambition.

.

I can’t remember,
What happened last night.
My eyes just can’t take it,
Turn off that damn light.

.

I had foolish thoughts,
After drinking alot.
That’s when I ordered,
A second, last shot.

.

My hangover’s hungover,
I drank until drunk.
I must have imbibed in,
More drink than I thunk.

.

Copyright 2010 johnstonwrites.com