I'll never forget the first time I got drunk, no matter how hard I try. It was January 22, 1993 and I was seven weeks from my 21st birthday.
Yes, I'm serious.
(more) See, I never got drunk in high school because my old man had been in AA since my birth. He was also angry and paranoid. Coming home from a party drunk was out of the question. Shit, he was so paranoid that GOING to a party was off the table. Luckily, I was fat, so the unlikely event of being invited to a party was... well, unlikely.
But here I was, an adult now, and Bruce was coming to hang out and listen to music and "should I bring some liquor?" Well time to test out the newfound freedom of living in South Minneapolis and cutting loose.
"Cutting loose" in this case meant drinking a combination of vodka and Diet Coke. No, they don't go together. But it didn't matter. Once I got past the first few sips of what tasted like a more fluid type of superglue, I began to drink more liberally.
Al, my housemate, normally worked nights. But this was his night off, so my Friday night being his Saturday morning, I burst into his room to tell him I was drunk. The next couple of hours were spent listening to Ween while Bruce and Al torpedoed my drink with more vodka every time my back was turned. I drank half the bottle.
Did you know that no matter how much time elapses after you throw up vodka and Diet Coke onto a shag rug and no matter what you use to clean it and no matter how hard you try, you can smell it until your rug until your lease expires?(less)
At some point, someone in the house had decided that adding a generous splash of vanilla flavored vodka to a can of Fresca was delicious. It tasted like an orange creamsicle, one housemate declared, demonstrating a particular lack of grapefruit flavor awareness. One can of Fresca almost filled a pint (more)glass; the vodka took it to the brim.
The beverage soon took the name Creamsicle.
Before that was the Lazy Irishman, a descendant of an Irish Car Bomb that was born on a day the house had run out of Baileys Irish Creme. Pouring a shot (or more) of whiskey directly into a pint glass full of Guinness was, apparently, quite tasty--and because it lacked the cream-based Baileys, it didn't curdle and could be sipped slowly instead of chugged.
A visit from a friend from Toronto prompted discussion on a Canadian version of an Irish Car Bomb. It was decided that authentic maple syrup would replace the Baileys; the hypothetical drink was dubbed a Penalty Box, but the beverage itself never came to fruition.
Beverage genesis dated all the way back to the golden age of college, when it was discovered that adding coconut rum to a $.50 bottle of WalMart generic raspberry soda tasted like a candy commonly purchased during Passover. The drink was passed around to all of the Jewish partygoers and proudly dubbed the Drunken Jew.
A similar concoction made with pineapple soda was named the Cabana Boy, but was never nearly as popular as its raspberry counterpart.
Because I want to see her naked and quite possibly have my way with her, I fill her glass to the brim.
I have taken to Merlot because she loves the shit. Normally, it's whiskey or something else you don't have to capitalize. No pretense. No regional specificity(more). Just beer or whatnot.
Regardless, I guess I am a wine aficionado, now. It's not even worth it. I am dumb for barking up this tree. Three weeks ago she made it plain how insane she was, but I persisted. I just can't admit defeat. I will have her, even if I hate it. (less)