I Have Met My Martini Nemesis, And It Has Defeated My Limits of Tolerance - 2005 06 02

It's good to try new things now and then; one should never be, or get, stuck in any sort of rut. It's bad for the soul. Sometimes the new thing works out and you incorporate it into your lifestyle of choice, and sometimes the new thing is put on the list of that which you have vowed to touch never again.

Today was one such experience of the latter kind.

You know, all of you, about my intimacy with, and love of, various types of vodka cocktails and martinis. You know I consider vodka to be the king of alcohols - and I say boo to those who would dismiss or negate my claims, stating that martinis are for those who don't like the taste of alcohol. I drink tequila straight, bub.

Today I felt it was time, however, to take a trip to the other side of the martini coin. Today I tried the gin martini, sweet, no olive. Now, I have had gin many times in the past - and liked it - but I've never tried vermouth, so I was somewhat unprepared for what was about to happen to me post initial sip. How can I phrase this in comprehensible terms... if I could imagine what it would be like to drink cologne, that's what this martini would be. It was not entirely unlike the time I drank whiskey by accident and felt queasy for two days after. I had not a fifth of this martini, about an hour and a half ago, and I can still feel it in the back of my head and the pit of my stomach, like something is going to leap up from there and emanate out my throat and mouth like some slimed up alien alcohol queen.

Never again, my dears. Never again. I'm trying everything I can to get that sickly sweet feeling out of my gut. It's sitting there like nauseous lead.