To Kill Ya

I drank tequila last night. I never drink tequila. Never. Tequila is absolute blow lunch material for me. The only reason it exists is to be blended with lime juice and ice on summer days. And even that is pushing it.

I don't even know how it happened. I was sitting at a table at the bar. The bar I go to where they know what beer I drink. Sitting with a couple of people I know. And a couple of people I don't really know. Everything was proceeding normally: discussion on Tubby Smith, Steve Alford, Rudy Giuliani, the usual. Then someone said something about Patron. And then there were shots. Someone put one in front of me. And, God help me, I drank it.

I almost threw up right at the table. But no. Like a trooper (or do you spell it trouper, in this instance?), I kept it down. It was not easy. But I did it. Kept my lunch down. Then proceeded to drink more. Then a girl with braces bought shots of Tequila Rose. Which shouldn't even be considered an alcoholic beverage. And I drank one of those. Then we started writing things on the chalkboard in the women's bathroom. About sluts. And I was telling dirty jokes to a minister.

I think it is safe to say that the evening degenerated from there.

I knew it was time to go when I was seriously considering going to a scary dive bar with people I didn't know at an hour by which I'm normally fast asleep. And considered turning around and going back when I was halfway home.

I was thinking about eating Mexican for lunch today, but I don't know if I can be in the same building as a bottle of tequila right now.