A Tequila Story

Chuckieeverdapper's blog is a rich mix of honesty and vulgarity that either leaves me horrified or in a fit in my cubicle for trying to cover up my laughs that usually ends with a much messier result. In some posts, both occur. He brings out my inner sicko and has inspired me to share some of my not-so-flattering drinking stories.

In high school I was never noticed by the boys, but then again I never put out. These were the days where I still cared about things like pleasing my parents. As soon as I stepped onto my college campus, however, something changed. From orientation to graduation, there was always a boy. My longest dry spell was 3 weeks without a date.

The third guy I dated in college was Gary. He was extremely tall and rocked the skater alternative look. I still have a picture of him dancing at a rave with his wallet chain dangling out of his pocket. That feels like a decade ago, before people started dying on e. I met him through a mutual friend at a party my freshman year and I couldn't believe it when he professed that he had such a crush on me.

When he invited me to drive over to his college for the weekend, I was so excited. As soon as I arrived, he grabbed me by the hand and we walked a few blocks away to a Mexican restaurant and split pitcher after pitcher of margaritas. This was the beginning of my first attempt at drinking. I'd eventually quit until 2 1/2 years later when I met an Irish guy named Drew, and I'm pretty sure everyone knows the story from there.

From the restaurant margaritas we moved back to his place and continued the tequila consumption to the point where I'm not going to be able to give you any more details of the night. I think I spilled the bottle of tequila. I remember making out with him in his cheap bed furnished by the apartment complex. I remember him reaching under the bed and grabbing a condom out of a plastic container, only to put it away again when I told him I was still a virgin.

I woke up still drunk the next morning. Gary slept while I went into his bathroom and decided to shower. I put the shampoo in my hands and ran it through my hair, but something was wrong. My hair was not as long as it was the night before. I looked at the drain. My mother always told me that my hair would fall out if I dyed it.

The screaming woke Gary up. Frantic, blood curdling screams. He got up and ran to the bathroom and tried the door, but it was locked. He called in, but received no response, just screaming.

Gary had to break his bathroom door down. He ran in and yanked back the shower curtain. He found me crouched on the floor of the shower, clawing at the drain. "My hair! My hair!" I sobbed. Gary turned off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapped me in it, and carried me out of the shower.

He sat me down on the bath mat and rocked me, "Shh, shh." My sobs turned into whimpers. "Tell me what happened."

I told him about the shampoo and how my hair should have touched my shoulders, but didn't, and how I was trying to get my hair out of the drain. He laughed. "It's not funny!" I said and I cried all over again.

Gary said he had something to show me. We got up off the bathroom floor and he walked me over to the mirror and made a fist and wiped the fog away. He showed me my reflection. My hair had not fallen out, it was just really tangled from whatever happened the night before.

And this is reason number 1 why I have no business drinking tequila.

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I was partying in Savannah a couple of years ago for St Patrick's Day. It was 4 in the afternoon and I just realized I could no longer see straight. Someone called my name, I turned around and stared at the culprit without recognition.

"Jamie, it's Gary!"

He was bald now, and I only recognized him by his height. He's the only guy I know who's 6'7."

"Gary!" I slurred and I ran across the street and jumped up and wrapped my legs around his hips and hugged him. And by jumped up, I probably mean climbed up: he's just that tall.

He laughed and set me down. Behind him a girl was standing, glaring at me. "Jamie, I want you to meet my fiance." Oh. Shit.

"Hello, I've heard so much about you!" I lied and smiled big so maybe she'd believe me. Then I made up an excuse and started running down River Street, mortified.

Gary has every reason to believe that I'm completely psychotic, and I wouldn't blame him if he did. He invited me to his wife's graduation party recently and I refused to go because I don't think I could ever face either of them again.