Getting Pickled − July, 2000
I feel like I've been beaten with a rubber hose then kicked in the head by a big fucking kangaroo. The past few weeks since arriving in Alice Springs have been nuts: unpacking, settling in, learning our jobs, meeting coworkers, meeting neighbors, getting familiar with the town, etc. The reason I feel like shit, though, is the unending string of drinking socials we've been to.
Three or four times a week, someone is having a wine-tasting, or a drinking party, or a barbeque, or a drinking party. Holy hell, don't they have water out here? All anyone drinks is alcohol! Not that I mind, but damn, even I have my limits. It's starting to get a bit rough going into work every morning with a raging hangover (and Bundaberg rum gives nasty, nasty hangovers).
But, you figure not everyone is the outdoor type, and here in Alice Springs there's not much to do that isn't outdoors. Except drink.
Damn. We've hardly been here a month and my liver is already pickled.
Three or four times a week, someone is having a wine-tasting, or a drinking party, or a barbeque, or a drinking party. Holy hell, don't they have water out here? All anyone drinks is alcohol! Not that I mind, but damn, even I have my limits. It's starting to get a bit rough going into work every morning with a raging hangover (and Bundaberg rum gives nasty, nasty hangovers).
But, you figure not everyone is the outdoor type, and here in Alice Springs there's not much to do that isn't outdoors. Except drink.
Damn. We've hardly been here a month and my liver is already pickled.
