There’s no feeling quite so bad as waking up with a hangover so fierce that you instantly remember why you once pledged to never, ever drink tequila again. But if there is anything worse, it’s waking up with said hangover because one’s mother is calling at seven-damn-thirty in the morning, bright and chipper and demanding to know why you aren’t. Rather than going into the whole hangover issue, I explained to her that I’m at a hotel getting some mental R&R.

Naturally, she reminded me that she raised four kids with next to no help from “that man you call your father” and that she never got to take such breaks or go on single holidays even though her sanity was stretched thin on a daily basis.

While I struggled not to hurl up whatever was left in my stomach from last night’s marathon hurling session, she continued reciting her litany of what rotten kids we were and how none of us appreciated all of the sacrifices — her time, sanity and youth — she made for us and blah, blah, blah. (I pretty much tuned out, my attention temporarily diverted by the massive amounts of tequila-scented sweat that started oozing from every pore on my body.)

Oh, sure, I could’ve pointed out how flawed her memory is, because I distinctly remember a number of times she sent us to stay with our grandparents and how she did, indeed, go on several of those single holidays trips that cater to divorcees. But that would only have launched a different — yet just as seemingly endless — litany about how much better of a grandmother she is than her own mother had been.

Being quite familiar with what keywords trigger her different litanies, I decided to just keep my mouth (and eyes) shut and pray for the room to stop spinning. Right about the point where I was thinking about offering to pay her way on one of those walking holidays that old ladies love if it’d get me off the phone, she suddenly paused long enough to take a breath.

That’s when I jumped in: “Listen, Mom, I’ve got to go. The maid’s here to clean my room. We’ll have to talk again soon but — oh, look. My cell phone battery’s dyi — click.”

Five minutes later, I was up and heading toward the hotel gym. Oh, sure, I still had a hangover but after a phone call like that I decided my day could only get better… as long as I stay away from tequila.

Emailing under the influence: we’ve all done it. Yes, that includes me and I know for a fact some of you have, too, particularly on Tippling Tuesdays. (Note to Eric: No, I’m not. Note to Stan: DD. Note to Richard: In front. Note to Melissa: Now THAT sounds interesting!)

Like me — and Eric tomorrow — you’ve probably woken up the next morning hoping that somehow the interwebs failed and your message didn’t go through. But, sure enough, it did and there’s no way you can take it back. Oh, sure, you promise yourself you’ll never send an email while drinking again. Maybe you even go so far as to change your computer logon password to some crazy foreign language phrase as a way to stop yourself from doing it, then discover that even in a drunken stupor your fingers retain muscle memory. Sucks, doesn’t it?

But it doesn’t have to thanks to Mail Goggles, a nifty new Gmail feature which, when enabled, requires you to prove your sobriety by solving a series of 5 simple math problems in 45 seconds or less. Can’t do it? Then you’re probably a bit too tipsy to be sending email. (Got that, Eric?)

Unfortunately, by default Mail Goggles is only active late at night on the weekends. If you want it to screen drunken emails on other nights you should probably be sober when you set it up. (Understand, Eric???)

UPDATE: More on tech solutions to prevent drunk dialing, and maybe even drunk-texting, too.

Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine
I’ll taste your strawberries, I’ll drink your sweet wine
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
‘Ere I forget all the joy that is mine, Today….

Apologies to the late John Denver (and to those of you who are old enough to get that song stuck in your head), but today seems more like a martini day, if you ask me.

Even so, despite the truly weird weather we’ve been having in Kansas, the strawberries are fat and ripe and oh, so juicy.

Which is why this Tippling Tuesday is all about the berries. The strawberries, that is. And, no, I do not recommend drinking this one through a straw no matter how tame the first one tastes. Trust me.

Strawberry Adult Drink

Ingredients

3 ounces vodka
3 ounces freshly-squeezed lime juice
1 cup strawberries, hulled and halved
Ice cubes

Directions

1. Put all ingredients in a blender and whir the hell out of it.
2. Strain into two tall glasses.
3. Garnish with a wedge of lime and a strawberry.
4. Repeat as needed.

(Recipe adapted from here.)

After the second or third round you’ll know just what the man meant when he sang:

I’ll feast at your table, I’ll sleep in your clover
Who cares what the morrow shall bring….

Have fun, Venomites. And sleep tight.