I used to be able to drink like a tank.
I know, I know. It sounds like I still can!
Don’t get me wrong, I definitely can stand my ground when it comes to boozing, and can probably drink most people under the table. But back in the day when I was closer to college age than grandma age, I had some serious drinking stamina.
It was summer and I had spent my Saturday at Wrigley Field. This day consisted of me consuming only one hot dog all day long …
… as well as 10 beers. After the game, I got a call from a friend who said she was getting snazzy and going out drinking.
Somehow, I was able to make my way home and change out of my flip flops, jean skirt and Cubs tank into a very sophisticated white skirt, blank halter and heels.
To this day, I’m not sure how I managed to pull it together.
I cabbed it over to the bar my friends were at and promptly ordered a cosmopolitan. At the time, I was still of the mindset “fake it till you make it.” If I drank lady drinks, wore skirts and crossed my shaved legs, then that automatically made me a lady, right?
Fast forward 6 years and I have come to terms with my lot in life. Give me a Schlitz, sit me down, legs splayed open, next to an old man who looks like he just walked out of a country music video, shine up my glass eye and we’re looking at a pretty fun Saturday night.
After the bartender handed me my cosmopolitan, I shakily made my way over to my friends’ booth. I set down my drink, plopped myself down in the booth and slid my drink over so it was closer to my lips. As I was attempting to bring the glass to my eagerly waiting lips, I proceeded to basically dump the pink sugared concoction into my lap. Need I remind you, I chose to wear a WHITE skirt that evening?
Yeah, real smart.
While I was not at all concerned about the fact that I looked like I had just wrestled, and lost, with the Kool-Aid Man (OH YEAH!), I was VERY concerned with the fact that I basically dumped $12 down the drain. I quickly blotted my skirt, returned to the bar and, being the charming gal that I am, explained to the bartender very dramatically how some horrible, awful person had bumped into me and spilled my whole drink on my white dress. (Dimples, Double Ds activate!)
As I was waiting for the bartender to make my free cosmopolitan I decided to hit up the buffet they were offering at the bar (aka, the drink garnishes). I scooped up a handful of fruit in a napkin while I anxiously awaited my drink.
Somehow, I made it back to the booth with my martini in one hand and fruit slices in the other.
Now, you may think it’s weird for someone of that intoxication level to crave FRUIT (if it was a buffet of fried foods, perhaps, but fruit? No.).
Don’t worry, readers: I apparently had no intention of eating the fruit.
The bar we were at had upper and lower levels. Our booth was located directly under the upper level. Naturally, I felt this was the opportune time to show off my mad softball skills.
Over the course of the next hour or so I proceeded to THROW fruit slices up onto the upper level. Maraschino cherries, orange slices, limes and lemons all were thrown up, hitting god knows how many people.
I don’t know how I didn’t get caught, but my one friend soon realized I was a hot mess and it was time to tuck me in. She offered to head back up north to my condo with me.
We scampered into the first available cab, and it was then that waves of nausea began to hit me. Now, I normally don’t get sick when I’m drinking. The next day? Sometimes. But usually my body rebels AFTER I have passed out.
The cab driver began yelling at my friend about me vomiting in his cab. In between dry heaves, I became infuriated at this jerk yelling at my girl! I began to yell back at him, not really making any sense but calling him a lot of choice words.
At this, the cab driver pulled over and kicked us out. We were on Lake Shore Drive.
He basically cut over at the first exit and kicked us out. We had to walk off the exit ramp and cut over to an actual street before we were able to find another cab.
I really can’t blame him. I looked like I had just come out of a massacre movie, dry heaving and yelling at him about being a complete BLEEPING BLEEP who doesn’t know how to BLEEPING drive. And why didn’t he just shut the BLEEP up. Who the BLEEP did he think he was, yelling at my BLEEPING friend like that? He can forget about his BLEEPING tip. BLEEPING BLEEP!
Then I likely burped up some vomit and fell asleep.
Moral of the Story:
After a day of binge drinking, DO NOT get dressed up all fancy just to turn around and dump a pink drink on your white skirt, amuse yourself by throwing fruit at unsuspecting victims and get your friend kicked out of a cab on Lake Shore Drive because you were being verbally abusive to the cabdriver and almost puked in the cab.
At least at that point in my life I could still use the “I’m young and stupid” excuse.
What’s my excuse now?