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But I
Didn't Eat the Worm
My, oh
my. Let me tell you something…
Tequila is good for the smile but wreaks havoc on the head come morning.
I suppose most of you have already learned that lesson, but it was my turn
at the chalkboard of drinkology Saturday night when several of my co-workers
and I decided to do some bar hopping. Well, bar hopping means two bars
in this situation, but I want to sound cool.
4:45 PM. My cell
phone rings and I answer the call excitedly knowing it was Anna and she was
ready to be picked up from work. I had the day off, but couldn't
concentrate for my enthusiasm to feel the sweet freedom of my first night
out in literally years. Not months… years. Let me say it in
Spanish just to drive the nail in harder… Años. All those years of
being the good girl who stays at home were about to be burst like a piñata,
letting all that gooey candy of anarchy spill forth. I couldn't decide
what to wear. I couldn't stop watching the clock. I even found
it hard to stop counting my drinking money for fear it would dissipate and
I'd be stuck at home yet again. Anna's call shot me out of the house
like a cannon and I sped the few blocks to work to get that party started.
Anna lives about 45 minutes away so it was discussed that I'd get her and
she'd change at my house. After, we'd meet the rest, some 9 or 10
people, at the Mexican bar down the street at 6:30 PM. Anna threw her
clothes on, we both agreed we couldn't wait for those sweet, sweet
margaritas and off we went an hour early.
By
5:30 PM we had two margaritas apiece and were already giggling like
schoolgirls. The tequila was so strong in the drinks it made you feel
as if you could breathe fire. Anna had a plate of nachos in front of
her and kept saying over and over again in a slightly stewed mantra "I
loooove food!" I kept leaving cigarettes burning in the ashtray so I
figure I was feeling pretty good myself. By the time everyone else
arrived, Anna and I were jumping up with an excited squeal and hugging
people about the neck. Then the liquor flowed…
Three,
four, maybe five margaritas into the evening it was decided we would leave
that place and force our designated drivers into chauffeuring us across town
to Hammer's. Hammer's just opened and is quite virginal in it's
business virtues so it's easy to drink several drinks and pay for the only
one they remembered to write down. Rounds were bought and then Tim and
Cynthia had the idea to start the shots of Cabo Yabo for the entire table…
their treat. Josh had already torn off to the back to sweet talk some
older ladies and woo them with his boyish good looks. We weren't
surprised to find out, during the second round of shots, that he had freely
given them his underwear upon request. I made everyone present swear
to me that they would clobber me over the head with a chair before I'd strip
my skivvies. For that I was moral. But what happened next is a
macho man's fantasy…
Deep
in conversation with Sarah, I felt a hand fly out and grab my breast.
Interesting. I looked over to see my best friend Julia grinning.
She, a designated driver with not a drop in her gut. She being told by
the fellows that since she and I are best friends we may as well make out.
She decided to get a grin by grabbing my breast. I grabbed hers back
without any emotion or words and went back to the conversation to my right.
Again, titty pinch. Again, I pinch back. This turned into an all
out, two handed, simultaneous booby fondling that could resemble some
bizarre taffy pull. And yes, pictures were taken that I found the next
morning and thought. "Well, hmmmmmmm. I don't recall being a
lesbian." Thank you, Tequila, for making me bi-curious. And here I
only use to joke about "getting it on" with Angelina Jolie. I wonder
if she feels as firm as Julia does over her clothes.
I
notice around 10:00 PM that my eyesight is a bit blurred and that I said
"stink" instead of "steak". The Madori Sour in my hand is feeling
rather heavy and the urge to just nap a little on the table is getting
stronger and stronger. I can hear Tim talking smack about how youth
will out-drink experience so I sit up and throw back yet another shot of the
Cabo, neglecting to suck the lemon wedge afterwards because, well, it was
just too damn far from my fingertips. I glance around and notice the
designated drivers have long since abandoned us and we're down from 10
people to just five. I could count… I'm impressed. Josh won't
stop laughing that he has no underwear and I manage to make a half-assed and
very unfunny SpongeJosh Nakedpants reference. Someone is introducing
me to their friend "Pookie" but I'm not paying attention because, once
again, I've accidentally flicked my straw across the room by talking
animatedly with my hands. Who names a person "Pookie" anyway?
By
11:00 PM, Cynthia and I have had to escort each other to the bathroom a good
half dozen times. I curse the fact that I wore chunky heeled boots
with every step I take and every move I make. (The Police… gotta love
them when you're drunk). The door to the stall wouldn't latch and I
didn't give a damn. I consider it an easy way out in case I can't work
the zip on my jeans… or my belt. Those trendy new belts with the long
hippy laces sucketh mightily, let me tell you. I can hear some girl
crying and another announcing loudly that she just got married. I tell
myself it's time for me to go pass out at home, because I can feel the mean,
angry head of the tequila rising up to start spitting out insults to
strangers. The cursed drink can take me from lesbian to aggravated
battery felon in an hour. I recalled the last time I drank tequila and
whipped a gallon of Liquid Tide at my room mate. Yep, time to go home.
At
5:00 AM, I wake up fully dressed and alone in my bed. I have my
cigarettes in one hand and my cell phone in the other. My boots are
killing me but the jack hammer headache riveting my brain to my skull soon
makes me forget I even own feet. I look at my clock and realise that I
had the wits about me to set my alarm for work. Responsibility is my
greatest geekness. I take a few Advil and slip into my jammies and
pass back out with only a prayer that I swear to never, ever drink tequila
again.
So
what did I learn from this evening of debauchery? Simple.
Freedom tastes like tequila and feels like Julia's breasts. Oh come
on, you didn't expect me to say anything terribly intelligent did you?
I killed all those brain cells somewhere between Cabo and Yabo. |
