This evening I have plans to go out to a popular 90s night with friends.The place is kind of a dive and basically 90% of the patrons are college kids. Being 27, I fit right in!
It’s very fun, though I typically prefer the Saturday night music (early 2000s) because I’m a product of Beyonce. Anyways, while it’s a good time with lots of dancing, I find that alcohol is a basic requirement. And by alcohol, I mean I lots of alcohol. To deal with people shoving into you as they mosh to Smells Like Teen Spirit. The problem is: this bar has really shitty booze. They have this homemade stuff that is supposed to taste like fireball whiskey, but really it tastes like cinnamon cough syrup. Of course I’ve taken shots of it on a number of occasions because I’m super classy.
So as I prepare myself for the night, I’m trying to figure out how much I need to drink to reach the perfect level of fun dancing drunk, avoid making poor decisions, and wake up hangover free tomorrow morning so I can go to a Zumba class at 10:00.
You’re probably thinking “well that’s easy, just have two or three vodka sodas and drink water before going to bed”, and I hear you. But… what you don’t know is that this place is like the Bermuda Triangle. I don’t think I have ever been able to go and have the next morning be rainbows and unicorns. To prove my point, here are a few examples:
- The invention of the Finger Linger. This was the high (?) point of a night out with friends. Not quite sure how that came about, but obviously it involved alcohol and unnecessary flirting, which for me is a somewhat harmless (?) byproduct of the drinking and dancing combo. For those of you who don’t know what Finger Linger is… it’s when you run your fingers up and down a guy’s chest and linger toward the bottom of their abdomen. Usually a good Finger Linger starts up by the collarbone and includes a down, up, down motion. Anyways, that night I think it was someone’s birthday and I ended up buying a couple rounds of shots, mixed the cinnamon cough syrup with cheap tequila, and woke up feeling like hell.
- The Cold Kiss (aka Mother’s Day Eve). Was the night before Mother’s Day. I mentioned this in Blame it on the A A A A Alcohol. The night was the result of a much needed ladies’ night during which I also bought a bunch of rounds of drinks, drank so many vodka sodas that I lost count, and ended up making eyes at a guy across the room. So when I see him up close, he grabs me and kisses me. Despite my state at that time, I was immediately aware that it was a bad kiss and I needed to escape ASAP. His mouth was very wet and cold. Like he had just popped an ice breakers gum. I know the commercials say “break the ice”, but I want the world to know that cold kisses are not desirable. So I ended up just walking off. I may have said I needed to go to the bathroom, but honestly probably not. I found myself on the back patio and saw a gate open to the dumpster. Somehow this triggered me feeling nauseous (or maybe it was the cold kiss), so I walk over to the dumpster ready to ralph in the corner, when someone who must have worked their told me that I couldn’t be out there. So I go back inside, find my lady crew, and dance the rest of the night away. Until we go to leave and somehow the bartender lost my credit card. I’m concerned, but drunk, so we just went home. The next morning I feel awful and end up dry heaving for what felt like forever. But was not forever because somehow I was able to pull myself together (with the help of my sister) just in time for us to get Mother’s Day brunch with our parents. Who also happened to be hungover. #classyfamily
- The Bait and Switch (aka Father’s Day Eve). Just a month after The Cold Kiss, we went out to this bar again for one of my roommates birthdays. We started drinking at other bars so there were no bad shots (thank god) but it meant the night started at like 6:00. By the time we’re dancing, I unknowingly black out, only to come to making out with this guy on the dance floor in what one calls a classic DFMO (dance floor make out). Everyone checks in with me and I’m fine and just continue. Eventually I get bored of the situation so I tell him I need to go to the bathroom. And being me, I grab two of the girls that were out that night to come with. In the bathroom mirror I notice a giant hickey. We all notice it really, as it was basically the size of a fist. #howwww! And I say something along the lines of “Idk why guys do that, if I’d been making out with one of you, this wouldn’t happen” (it’s true). Next thing I know, we’re back on the dance floor and I’m making out with one of the girls I was just talking with in the bathroom! Needless to say, she was a much better kisser than whatever guy was macking on my neck earlier. The next morning, I wake up with a giant hickey and that Ana girl in my bed, and frantically search for a scarf so I can go meet my father for a 8:00 breakfast.
So I assume after those three long-ass examples, you now understand my concern.
I haven’t been to this bar in maybe 8 months, and I haven’t drank like that in almost as long. I’m feeling like I might just be screwed.
On the bright side, I’ll have another great story to share…