Whiskey gives me nightmares.
No, really. Whiskey gives me nightmares.
I’m talking the kind of nightmares where you’re fighting with your boyfriend about real-life things and when you wake up you have to think really, really hard about your night to determine if you were dreaming, or if you finally bitched about all those little things that have been bugging you lately, like how he always takes the best pillow. I’m talking about the kind of nightmares where you’re at a strangers house looking for water and you drink liquid clothes soap instead.
Maybe that’s why I don’t drink whiskey. It’s the kind of drunk where I’m confused about my level of drunkenness. The kind of drunk where I don’t feel drunk but I probably (okay, most likely), am. The kind of drunk where after pounding 4 glasses I want to pop open a bottle of eight dollar and fifty fucking cent champaigne and eat a shit load of hummus or something stupid like that.
Or maybe I don’t drink whiskey because its disgusting and it makes my head hurt in the morning. Who knows.