one tequila, two tequila ... oh god, where am I?

I went to high school with a guy who had an absolutely adorable full head of blonde, curly hair. I always really liked him as a person and knew that years down the road, when I got to talking about the glory days of high school, I would most likely wind up asking, "hey, remember him? I wonder whatever happened to him and that gorgeous friggin' hair?" His hairstyle is different now but I still remember him as Cute, Curly-Haired Blonde Guy.

Okay, I told you that tidbit of a story in order to tell you this one.

There were many nights in college that involved a ridiculous amount of drinking at a local watering hole but one during my Junior year of college has always stood out. A group of us gals went out gallivanting in big ol' Olean, New York and wound up at a bar whose name I have long forgotten but could probably give you if I were to drive by it today.  It was like most other nights and involved sitting around a table while talking, throwing some darts, doing some mingling, and drinking many, many bottles of Labatt Blue. While making one of my trips to the bar to get the next round, I found myself standing next to some guy who was cozied up to said bar and I immediately noticed his hair; nearly identical to the gorgeous curly gold locks that belonged to the guy from high school.

Oh my god, I'm so totally close to shitfaced right now that I have no problem telling you how much I love your hair and immediately running my fingers through it as if we're the best of pals and I'm not a completely random, pretty-close-to-drunk-girl getting all up in your 'do.

We must have struck up conversation because the next thing I knew, I was telling him I'd never had tequila before and in a flash, there are two shot glasses in front of us. And then there are two more. And I believe another two. This was, of course, after having had several Labatt Blues to start off the night.

Now, plenty of times, I've managed to drink so much that I've spent the evening getting sick. I can't mix things for shit. Beer, wine, liquor ... I can drink those tasty beverages if I drink only one of those tasty beverages. But the minute I start combining them, it is not a sight you want to see, I assure you. For reasons that still baffle me, I didn't get sick that night but like most things in life, it was a trade-off. I swapped my ability to hold my booze for my ability to remember what immediately followed that last shot of tequila.

I bet you're thinking events of a questionable nature transpired with Random Blonde Curly-Haired Tequila Provider, aren't you?

They did not.

Somewhere in the midst of the tequila shots, my memory up and left me and I don't remember anything that happened between the last shot and walking into Shay-Loughlen Hall (not my dorm) with the bartender from the bar. I was told the next day that we took a cab back to campus but I have absolutely no recollection of getting from Point Drunk to Point You Stupid, Stupid Girl. Oddly enough, once we got back to the dorms, I remember the rest of the night as clear as day. I kissed said bartender once we got to his dorm room, I remember Titanic was on the television in the background, I remember lying on the floor in blankets, and I remember ... stuff. Many times, I've thanked whatever higher power may or may not be out there that I also clearly remember that what did not happen was *the* full-on drunken mistake that easily could have happened.

I no longer drink tequila unless it's in a margarita and even then, I will only have two. I no longer can watch Kate Winslett and Leonardo DiCaprio join forces in any cinematic endeavour without giggling. I still hate Celine Dion (although that may be because she's simply annoying as fuck). And I most certainly no longer make out with strangers when I'm drunk.

So, let this be a cautionary tale. A ginormous passenger steamship may take two hours and forty minutes to sink but I assure you, sinking one's memory may only require a cute boy and a few shots of tequila.