Ambushed in Margaritaville

I have all but stopped drinking. But I'm not anti-drinking; in fact, I usually quite enjoy it.

But I can't seem to function too well in my day to day life if I drink very often, so I made a decision to only drink at social functions where alchohol is served and since I go to so few social functions -- alchohol or non-alchohol -- I'm pretty safe.

One exception are my family reunions, where we tend to sit around a big table and drink wine and beer and have a great time.

So two of those dinners a my sister Susie's condo, and home to bed.

Yesterday, my brother and Linda and I went to Sisters to check out Lonesome Water books for any vintage Central Oregon history books, checked out Paulina Springs bookstore where I bought the latest Thomas Perry mystery, and then -- back in Bend -- met my sister and her two kids at Hola as they came out of the theater from seeing Rango.

I've got a very soft goal of checking out all the 'fine-dining' restaurants in Bend; I mean, at the rate I'm going, it will take forever. So Hola was a new experience. They had MARGARITA'S in huge letters in the window, so I figure when in Rome (or Peru in this case) do as the locals do.

I didn't know what kind to order, so the waiter helpfully suggested "super" margarita (sly fellow). Well, I quickly polished that off -- salt rimmed, and a lime slice (the lime slice really took the edge off.

I signaled to the waiter for a second one, and he looked surprised, but went off the start shaking up the ingredients.

"There's more in this container, Dunc," my brother Mike says.

"Oh!" I pour out another drink, and I see there is contents for at least a couple more. "Errr...."

Mike hustles off to cancel the second drink.

Turns out there were four margarita's in that container, and I hate to see anything go to waste.

So, three nights in a row of alchohol and I'm pretty wiped out. I've slept well enough, thank goodness.

So...from now on, when a drink says "Super" I probably should be paying attention.