For Tequila

In about 60 minutes when I clock-out for the day, I’ve had one plan that I’ve been anxiously awaiting to begin. I plan on getting drunk. I bought me a nice big bottle of tequila. I’ve got a nice array of lemons & limes to accompany the many shots that will be had when I get home tonight. I haven’t gotten drunk in a very long time. I haven’t gotten drunk on tequila in an even longer time.

I’m proud of myself for not taking the shots that called to me every single night since I bought it. I bought it on Tuesday. My husband & I are warring with each other again. My mind kept trying to convince me that I needed the shots to get some really good rest for the next day. Ya know, just a little stress reliever. The sensible bitch that I’ve listened to for far too long told me that I’d be a really pathetic mess if I went to work hung over the next day. BUT now, it’s Friday! I have no work responsibilities to worry about until Monday. I’ve been drinking loads of water, starting yesterday to help with the inevitable hang over. I think the bottle is big enough to keep me nice & high all weekend.

Tequila & I go way back. Although our relationship has been a little rocky at times, my mouth is still watering now in anticipation of that delicious burn. I think I discovered tequila when I was about 13 years old. I remember being at a boy’s house in the neighborhood. I can’t remember his name. Let’s call him Adam. Adam invited me & a few girls over because an older friend of his has scored some beer. I have no idea where Adam’s parents were but they weren’t home. I went to the shindig because all my girlfriends were going. I had no interest in the beer. I hate beer. I always have & still do. The best I can do if beer is the only option is hope for Corona or Tecate, & take it like my shots with lots of salt & lime. Of course, at some kid’s house where the ages ranged from 13-17 there was no lime to be found. I was nursing my beer. I was really glad that Adam had a loud stereo system & lots of music to choose from. I loved to dance. Oh, how I loved to dance!

The guys didn’t like that I wasn’t hammering down the beer like the other girls. I crinkled my nose at them when they asked me to try. I also have a really high tolerance for alcohol. It’s in the genes. Thanks, Dad! Adam decided that it would be a good time to break into the liquor cabinet. Sounds like an after school special, doesn’t it? That’s when tequila & I met for the first time. It wasn’t easy to drink without my fixins but it only took a few shots & I was as high as I wanted to be. Some people don’t like the stuff straight up & they need the froofroo margaritas & whatnot but me, I love that burn. Tequila & I became really good acquaintances from that point on. It’s not easy for a 13 year old to get their hands on tequila so I’d say that tequila & I didn’t become lovers until I was about 16 years old.

At 16 & 17 years old when tequila & I were close as thieves I used to carry salt & limes in my purse or jacket pocket in a little plastic zip-lock. It also got a lot easier to get. When a young girl with my proportions stands out front of a liquor store with cash in hand & a flirty grin it becomes all too easy, despite what John Quinones says. I became known as "that girl with the tequila" or "the girl with the big. . .(put your hands in front of you to indicate large breasts). I was usually easy to remember also because I wouldn’t share. Whatever size bottle I was able to get my hands on would go right into my pocket or purse next to my fixins. Lots of people asked but most got the same reply, no. The only time I was known to share was if you were holding a bigger bottle that I wanted to share later. I can’t even imagine how much of my unknowing parent’s & my grandparent’s money went to Mr. Jose Cuervo in those years.

The love affair was starting to turn sour. I was waking up all the time, having to run to the bathroom or grab my trash can so I could vomit. That still didn’t deter me. I just told myself that I had to take things slower. The next night I’d have my bottle in my hand & it would be nearly empty again. Then, came one of THOSE nights. You know the ones, the nights when you bounce from one backyard party to the next & EVERY party has a tequila option. I remember sitting at a table with a man in his late 20s (who seemed really old to me at the time) & matching his shots every time. Then, I remember things in a very hazy way. I didn’t black out. I know the way I behaved that night. Of course, whenever I was asked about it in the future I feigned total memory loss. I also know the serious trouble that I could’ve gotten into that night. The lies & the danger scared me enough to end my affair with that hot delicious liquid.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The desire for the stuff has never left. I have taken shots sparingly from time to time but I haven’t gotten totally shit-faced drunk since that night. Well folks, that’s the plan for this weekend. I know I’m complicating my life. I don’t care that it isn’t healthy. I have a plan & I’m intending to follow through on it. It’s been calling me all week long. I didn’t even crack the seal, just left it sitting in the freezer on top of the ice.

I don’t plan on talking to my new therapist about this. I could’ve done that on Wednesday. The plan was set already. I didn’t discuss it because I know I’m being childish & I don’t care. I think I’ve allowed everyone around me to indulge in childishness for far too long & you know what? It’s my turn now. Lecture me if this turns into a pattern. Plan an intervention, if I need the stuff to get up in the morning on Monday. If not, sit your ass down, shut the fuck up, & have a shot. See? I’ve grown up some, I even share now.