This is my friend, Jose Gold. I met him on my 21st birthday. I love him. We’ve had an on-again, off-again love affair for 19 years. He doesn’t really fit into my life, because he’s not good with kids, but like every other outstanding man I’ve been with, he will always garner my affections.
One of the guys in my dorm went to Mexico and returned with authentic Mexican tequila as a gift to me. I no longer remember that tequila’s name, but he was not my Jose.
Like any woman about to take her second lover, I was excited.
Having fun then, so two more.
Gawd, my friends were so pretty and funny. I had the prettiest, funniest friends. It was really hot in my room, so I decided to strip down a bit, like any reasonable person would.
Then I had to pee, so I tried, very hard, to walk to the bathroom. The walls in the hallways of my dorm were a good four feet apart. For some reason, I could not walk to the bathroom without bouncing off of them. And I bet my room was only about 30 feet from the bathroom. Like a pinball doing the pee-pee dance, I bounced wall-to-wall to the bathroom.
My pretty and funny friends thought this was hysterical, but I didn’t, because I was trying to make it to the bathroom before peeing, and I hadda yell, “Stop it! You’re gonna make me pee!” but it came out less hateful than intended, and a little bit weepy.
While I was in the bathroom, my head started to spin, and I felt a bit numb. It seemed someone had put trick toilet paper on the spool, and I’ll be damned if I could get it off. I had to lean in and focus, blinking madly and nearly falling off the toilet, to pull off a crumpled wad of paper. College was so challenging.
I think the authentic Mexican tequila is a patient lover. I think it took its time in fucking me up.
Back in the room, I do not know what the hell we were doing exactly, but the photos indicate we had formed some kinda band. Playing Pixy Stix on pizza boxes is thirsty work, so I had to do two more shots.
“Oh God. Oh no. Oh God no.”
There comes a time when you take the last shot, and you know it’s the last shot, because you have officially crossed from drunk as fuck into sick as a dog.
My friend Cara was kind enough to take care of me. She was so kind, that while I cried to her about how I couldn’t make myself throw up, she stuck her finger down my throat, God love her heart. She brought me a cold washrag, dragged the trash can over to the bed, told me to keep my face RIGHT THERE *smash, pet, pet* and slept beside me so that I wouldn’t choke on my own vomit and die.
(Choking to death on your own vomit while passed out is a common fear for college kids.)
“You’re such a good friend, Cara. I love you.”