Tuesday, July 26, 2011

One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.

My bi-coastal 40th birthday bash continued in Seattle last weekend. A bash in which my BIL decided to have a 40 shots for 40 years. Oh no, I did not (could not, should not, would not) do all 40 but it was celebratory fun to encourage others to participate. By the way, my BIL is Russian and I learned one valuable lesson for my 40th year and one I can certainly share: DON'T DRINK VODKA WITH RUSSIANS. But there was ample tequila there too.

From a comment left last night, a fabulous reader reminded me about my sheer disinterest in all things Tequila. Since I am on vacation in Seattle and because this is the one and only state in which I suffered  abuse fromTequila, well, it is another great time to rewind. Original post in August of 2009 but right here for your reading (and scoffing at me) pleasure.)

_______________________________
Don Patron has an ugly cousin....

Mr. Patron: I realize we crossed paths again recently. You seemed kind of interested in getting to know me. I can not reciprocate your feelings. While you tried to seduce me in Mexico, I ignored you. You winked at me over the 4th of July holiday party scene, but you will see that I am quite resistant. Oh, your lovely words of encouragement on my birthday fell on empty ears.

These lips shall never touch you. Admittedly, you are sleek and fancy, and considered by all to be top shelf. But alas, we shan't get familiar, and here are the reasons why. You have some wretched compadres. Yes, perhaps far less stellar than you, but since you all share the same lineage in some form or fashion, I shall lump you all together. There is such a long list, I won't name names.

However,
The absolute worst is your ugly cousin, Jose Cuervo. I detest him most of all. He knows I don't like him and neither of us really needs a refresher on why I don't like him, do we? In fact, I haven't liked him for a long, long time. Let me explain.

I met Jose the summer before my junior year in high school. My friend LL and I went down to watch a rowing event at the University of Washington and somehow ended up on Greek Row. Some boys from Kappa Sigma invited us in for a little early-afternoon Jimmy Buffett party. How could we resist. Older, handsome college boys with Jimmy Buffett? In the door we go. (Foolish, foolish girls).

Your cousin Jose Cuervo mixed himself into some frozen margaritas. A cooler, more delicious elixir I had never before consumed. Since wine coolers and light beer was the extent of my alcohol repertoire, the frozen marga-treat-a was divine. Jose told me one more wouldn't hurt. So I had one more. And then one more. Jose told me he tasted even better straight from the bottle. Oh, and since we told our hosts we were freshman in college, they assumed we were already savvy in the ways of Jose's hedonistic world. Jose said it wouldn't matter. He said we seemed sophisticated and mature. Never mind I tripped over a rug in my attempt to sashay over to a cute boy, Jose said no one even noticed.

Jose said he would refresh me. He told me I was pretty. And the best dancer. Ever.

Jose said to drink and dance. I did. Jose said that it was hot in here and why wear my sweater when a tank top is fine. I listened, oh so closely. Jose had a firm grip. And then, Jose turned against me. He told me to take a catnap. In the middle of the floor. Then he said goodbye.

I asked him to help me get home. He laughed and said he was too busy with other party guests. Jose let two other people carry me to my car and deposit me on the floorboard. LL had to drive us home.

Jose told me to open the door at a traffic light. In the middle of 45th. With hundreds of cars around, since this was the University District of Seattle after all. Jose told me the only way to feel better would be to crawl out of the car. And throw up. On the pavement. In the middle of one of the busiest intersections we could find. Then Jose told me to get in the car. But he didn't tell me I had barf on my shirt. LL pulled off on a residential side street. Jose told me how calming the sidewalk would feel on my face. He told me to lay down. He told me to let that dog lick my mouth.

I barely got back in the car. Jose didn't warn me that we would pass my parents. Jose merely laughed and said "Arriba! Arriba!"

My parents did pass us. And LL pulled over. My mom came STORMING to the car inquiring on my whereabouts. Jose didn't tell me to keep quiet. Jose told me to speak up. Share my thoughts. He said I sounded clear, crisp, intelligent. My mom looked at me, looked at LL, and asked what was going on. LL told her I was drunk. Thanks friend.

I tried to tell my mom about Jose. I tried to point him out. But he had disappeared. Left me with a sordid tale, bad breath, and a shirt I would be soon throwing away. Oh, and punishment.

I never saw him again that year or the next. And then, as a freshman in college, I saw him resurface. He must have followed me to a party. Me, all sunny and bright. He, with all his liquidy amber glow. He came onto me. He said he was delicious. He assured me he had changed. He said it would be different this time.
Jose Cuervo is a liar...

He asked me to dance and after ignoring him for hours, I gave in. He told me we would take it slow. LIAR LIAR LIAR. Jose told me drinking was fun but shots were better. He told me dancing was fun but dancing on tables was better. He said to play Thumper. He said to play Quarters. He said smoke cigarettes. He said I looked hot. He said I was the funniest girl in the world. He said play air guitar. He said pee in the front yard. He told me those photos of me drinking shots wouldn't matter, they would only make me laugh. Oh, Jose, he is one smooth talker.

I had a headache that lasted one month. I cursed him and the day I laid eyes on him. I saw him influence others to run naked and jump off roofs but not me. He tried to corner me on other occasions. I screamed in his face. He tried to up the ante by introducing me to his friends Don Julio and Dona Carlota. I spit on him. Jose Cuervo is a sadist. I will warn others.

And while I do make a fantastic margarita (just ask JohnnyMac), and while we stock Cabo Wabo in our house, I know better than to dip in myself. So Mr. Patron, your interest in me is a dead end. I am wise now. And tell your horrid cousin, Jose, I don't even want his aroma within 20 feet of me.

14 comments:

Big Fat Gini said...

Tequila doesn't bother me so much. Vodka martinis, however? Totally different story. As I learned while visiting friends and family in Memphis two weeks ago. I still shudder at even the thought.

Possum said...

Na Zdrovia!

Bouncin' Barb said...

I had a much more intimate and satisfying relationship with cousin Jose'. He treated me well and so I can't complain. I did dance, and I did do some dirty dancing but I did not get sick. Just happier than a pig in shit as they say. That's an awful thing you went through. Wine did that to me.

Eva Gallant said...

I remember reading that post when it first appeared! It was what made me a follower! Happy 40th!

webb said...

Too funny. Too true. My first party with Jose resulted in my crawling home - fortunately from one townhouse to the next - and spending three days with a blinding headache.

Have learned to share just two small 'ritas with him now. NEVER more!!

He is a bad hombre!

mandatorybloghere said...

You are so funny

Just Stuff From a Boomer said...

Cabo Wabo or Jose, no matter what name he goes by, is not a friend of mine. Years ago, before we were married, my husband and I had a wild Halloween night with him at the home of some friends. Fortunately we lived close and could walk the 5 blocks home. I think I walked, I might have crawled. All I remembered was there were clothes from the front door, up the stairs and down the hall. I have no memory of any of it and haven't done that since. He's a sneaky son of a gun.

So. Cal. Gal said...

That's why Vodka is my liquor of choice.

the walking man said...

If you can't handle the tequila I suggest you try the peyote buttons. Wear loose clothing though.

Hookin It With Mr. Lick Lick said...

Yea, I never liked the smell of Jose or his cousins to even have a close encounter. Maybe if they took a bath????? Spruced up a little???? Nah....that's ok. lol

I can just see your mom..... :oI

Jenn @ Youknow...that Blog? said...

Happy birthday, JM! Welcome aboard the leaky boat ;)

Vodka all the way for me. I rarely drink anything else. Unless it's offered.

Maria said...

I LOVED this post when it came out originally. I SOOO needed this laugh this morning! Thanks!

Fragrant Liar said...

Happy birthday! Jose always tries to have his way with me, and he is very persuasive, which is why I don't dare look him in the eye these days. Cuz though I say I don't remember a thing, I do. Sshhhhh!

K A B L O O E Y said...

Good tequila = good times. Bad tequila, however, = hamster tongue and an epic headache. (But not a month-long crusher. upside down "!"Ay caramba! But I can't drink straight vodka because of a very bad incident that still cracks up my husband. Since it involved cleaning the inside of his car, which he did without a harsh word, he's permitted to chuckle. Happy 40th, JennyMac!