I told a story in my first blog post about a night of too much whiskey. Here’s a story involving tequila, and how we went from casual lovers to mortal enemies. It may be a long one, cause it was a long, long night.
I have these two friends, fellow lovers of a good buzz. One night we had a fantastic fucking idea. Let’s see how many tequila shots we can do before we get to the bar tonight. We gave ourselves 45 minutes, 30 minutes of “pre-gaming” before we left and 15 minutes for the car ride to the bar.
Yes, we were doing tequila shots in the car. Yes, I know that’s stupid. I blame the tequila for our stupidity. So 3 of us, 1 large bottle of tequila. Line up the shot glasses and let’s drink bitches.
Let’s think for a minute on the repercussions of just 3 or 4 tequila shots in 45 minutes.
We could have stopped at 5.
We should have stopped at 7.
But no, this was a contest of wills and no one wanted to be the bitch that bowed out first. My friend A. was the first to give up at 5 shots. She was lightweight though. All eyes were on me and B. Everyone knew one of would be the winner of this contest in idiocy. Question was who would give up and be named beer bitch for the night and who would bask in the glorious light of victory.
Neither of us. We tied at 10 shots. 10 shots of tequila in just under one hour. The fact I am alive to even write this astounds me to this day.
A., bitch who gave first remember? Remember how I said she was a lightweight? After an hour or so at the bar (where we continued drinking I should mention), she started throwing up from the tequila. B. tells me we are leaving, which I’m upset by because I’m drunk and having fun. B. goes to get the car (we have a sober friend driving. We aren’t completely irresponsible.) And I go to pick A. up off the bathroom floor. Except, I can’t hear people barfing. It makes me gag. Which makes me throw up. And A. is barfing.
B. comes back to find both of us, in stalls across from each other throwing up. I thought I would throw up, get up and be okay. Not so. After all that alcohol found its way up, everything went downhill. Room was spinning uncontrollably, words didn’t make sense, black out was imminent. Couldn’t walk, bathroom floor felt so good, so cold. Just wanted to rub my face on it. Then security found us. Last thing I remember about that night was a very large man picking me up, throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me to the car. I remember thinking the ground looked so far away. He must have been very, very tall.
I woke up the next morning naked in B.’s bathtub. Apparently, I just kept talking about how I wanted to shower but I kept falling down. So I took a bath and after I had been in there an hour, someone, who wasn’t as drunk as the three of us, had come to check on me to find me passed out. Whoever that was let the water out so I wouldn’t drown. Took me 2 days to feel somewhat normal again.
That, dear friends, is how me and a man named Jose ended our relationship. We haven’t spoken since. He comes around every so often to tempt me back, but after the horrible things he did to me that night I don’t think we can ever be friends again.
Moral of the story: If someone challenges you to a Tequila-Off, just say no. Don’t be afraid to be the beer bitch. Learn from my mistake. Or don’t, and see where you end up naked.