I haven't been drunk in three weeks

I haven't been pissed, trolleyed, hammered, or what have you for nearly a month, except for last night on the Lower East Side & Brooklyn, where a married girl gave my mojo back to me. (It's unfortunately not as shocking as it sounds. It's kind of a long story. OK, so basically, when I get drunk, I get louder, and when we rolled up to the bar in Clinton Hill, I was relaying my "I totally forgot to pack my mojo" story for the dozenth time, because self deprecation is like, my thing. Then this girl in front of the bar was like "oh hey, it's right here", and digs into her pocket. I take it back. I'm all "Hey, thank you so much, where did you find this" and being all charming and stuff. She's laughing. I'm reeling. I think it's going great. In a swerving, transparent maneuver, I hesitate to follow my friends in, seeing as I'm trying to pick up a girl. She says "go ahead, go ahead in", and I'm all "duuurrrrrrr...", and she says "no, really...go ahead", and very deliberately shows me her left hand, all but pointing out the ring around her finger. Drat)

The exhange rate these days is terrible. It costs me twice as much dollars as it does pounds - for Scotland & England - and something like 1.43 dollars to each Euro. In London, this wasn't as much of a problem, because adequately priced cheap swill was reasonably available. 2-pound beers? A-OK. I drink Sportsmans at the Levee. My standards are LOW.

Dublin, on the other hand was anachronistically overpriced. Anachronistically is probably the wrong word. But "ironically" is terribly overused. And "anachronistically" is close. What I'm trying to say is that a city in a country that is often visited with the intent purpose OF GETTING DRUNK should not cost me the equivalent of $7 per beer. MY STANDARDS ARE LOW. I'm wearing cutoff shorts. They're the same shorts I wore yesterday. All I need is cheap beer, and I'll recommend your country to friends. But no. My fellow travelers and I were led only to crappy non-high class, overcharging bars, and I never got my drunk on, for the entire three weeks of my vacation. I felt the toxins abandoning my body. It was sad. Those toxins love me, and I love those toxins. And I was starving them. It became hard to live with myself. I have to give acknowledgement to the Hospitality of the Irish though - in the airport, where I arrived 3 hours early for a flight that was delayed another 4 hours, a group of Irish bought me two rounds of beer! That was especially cool, because by the time I got home, I had a negative-two dollar balance in my bank account. Oops! These Irish people were on their way to a wedding in Milan, and I was sitting alone at a table. At first, it was just three of them. Then the other dozen came by. I felt mildly awkward. But that was mostly because that married girl had found my mojo somewhere on the streets of Brooklyn, where I must have dropped it on my way to the airport. In return for their attempts at crowding me out, the wedding-goers roped me into their rounds. Sadly, all the alcohol wore off by the time the flight finally left, and AerLingus CHARGES you for booze on the flight. Screw you, AerLingus. Air India kicked ass. Free booze AND a bollywood flick. Quality.