Forbidden Island

In my circle of island friends, Thursday night is Pissup Night.

Due to major depression for most of the month of May, I didn’t attend one single Pissup Night.

Last night, as I was about to get started on uploading the latest found pictures to my website, I suddenly just stopped everything, changed clothes, and went out to Pissup Night. I found two of my friends there, and joined them at their table.

Until April of this year, we’d been going to Lost Weekend for Pissup Night.

But then the Tiki bar opened. Pissup Night has moved to Forbidden Island Tiki bar since then. Not sure when the novelty will die off and we’ll resume the MUCH cheaper routine of going to Lost Weekend. But for now, we’re still starstruck by the Tiki gods.

This isn’t just any old Tiki bar, folks. This bar was created by people involved in the Tiki renaissance. This bar contains artifacts from the days of Tiki yore, lovingly assembled by Bamboo Ben.

Now, mind you, I don’t know a damned thing about Tiki. I’m learning as I go. Several of my friends worship all things Tiki, so I’m drinking in their knowledge and finding this 20th century fetish, which began with our parents and/or the adults of our parents’ childhood, quite fascinating.

And OMG!! Check out all the pictures! (You may need to save off the images and use Photoshop or something similar to lighten some of the images to see the details)

Because I cannot have refined sugar, our waitress worked with the bartenders to blend me a real fruit juice/rum drink. I had two and was staggering drunk. Woo!
I’ve been calling that place the Hangover Factory since the first time I went – on opening night.

Glad I only had two drinks. Glad I chugged water when I got home. Glad I don’t have a hangover today.

On a diet-related note, citrus juice still hates my stomach something aweful. So, from now on, if I drink at the Tiki bar, I’m going to have to request straight rum. My friends were riling me about how rum is fermented sugar, so I found myself having to explain how I couldn’t have active yeasts and refined sugars such as candy bars or corn syrup. They understand, but like to tease and at the same time encourage the drinking.

On a depression-related note, my friends also talked to me about this latest round, and are worried whenever I start threatening to move back to the Midwest. I was told of someone we all once knew who couldn’t hack it in California, and so she packed up and went back home to Middle America. I am also compared to her because we share in common a relation to Mountain People. For me, it’s Appalachia. For her, it’s the Ozarks. And in both of our cases, we are bound and tied by a biological emotional chain to the idea of family.
So she got married and took her husband home, and they made a family.

I thanked my friend for illustrating his concerns, and admitted to him that although in the depressed fight-or-flight moments that I get, I wouldn’t actually act upon the impulse to move back home. I also admitted that if the depression got to be very severe, I might fly home for a short stay, but I promised my friends at the table that that would be enough to show me that I didn’t want to move back home for good. I also promised my friends I’d try to tone down the “I’M FED UP AND MOVING HOME” crap. I hadn’t realised consciously that I do that every time I get majorly depressed.

So in all, I had a good night out. I am going out again tonight to see other friends. So far, it looks as though I have emerged from my month-long stint in the pit of despair.


Oh, one last note – this is about the Endo. I woke up this morning with minor cramps that are still present. George will be on time this month. He’s due tomorrow. So that sucks…I’ll go through another month with debilitating cramps. I guess drinking doesn’t help – I’ll tone back down on that, too. Although I’d only had a total of seven drinks in all of the month of May, so I am VERY proud of myself.

Anyway, I’ve decided to extend the diet out to six months total. If I reach the six month mark (in October) and the cramps are still unbearable, then I’ll know that dietary modification has once and for all failed in the attempt at pain management.

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