Just Add Tequila

You know how those nosy cashiers try to drum up a conversation at checkout? Well, good on them. Sometimes I just want my tequila, limes, and KY jelly with a side of no questions.

“Hi there. Wow, that’s quite a big bottle of 1800. Didn’t know we carried this.”

“Right.”

“So, where’s the party?”

“IN MY LIVER.”

I got the awkward smile I intended, paid my tab, and walked away.

Everything’s better with tequila. This is why my baseball mates and I often keep a square bottle on ice for post-game recovery. Fuck the wraps and ice baths. Tequila cures most. Like most straight alcohol, tequila does not taste good. Better brands aged longer certainly taste less awful. They’re called, “sipping tequila.” I sip not. I need training wheels — lime and salt. Lick, slam, and bite. All is well.

Even when I’m bartending, I don’t even ask if patrons want training wheels with their shots. They get them. If they want to nut up, they can ignore the wheels. After the second shot, they get wheels and safety nets (ice water). After three, I just say, “Nope.”

At my midlife crisis vacation in Cabo, the resort gave me a quite phallic bottle of Clase Azul tequila, with all sorts of training wheels. There was fresh lime, lemon, and orange plus sea salt, spicy salt, and black salt. This certainly reduced the sting of turning 50 and pickling myself solo. I highly recommend this tequila if you suffer any of the following:

  1. An awful marital situation you can’t leave due to needy children or judgmental parents.
  2. A cratered 401K that you haven’t paid much attention to.
  3. The flu because you forgot to get your flu shot and your head is leaking.
  4. A Bumble date that could not have gone worse if a swarm of locusts attacked.
  5. Thirst.

Sure, you could save a few bucks and order some sparkling water or, maybe, a fancy Arnold Palmer, but why would you? Who are you really impressing? The bartender hates you because you’re not spending any money and 20% of $3 is sixty cents she’d rather you keep and put toward some hair coloring. Anyone drinking with you hates you because you’re acting high and mighty. Oh, you say you’re running a half marathon? You’re on a diet? Important meeting tomorrow? Grow a pair. Put down the sissy drink and join the party, will ya? Go big. Order a double. If you get your shots in a rocks glass, you’ve entered my league and I welcome you. Cheers.

Now that marijuana is being legalized, I assume we’ll have similar bouts of sissiness when it comes to inhaling herb.

“I couldn’t. My work does drug testing. I’ll just vape some strawberry cream.”

“Just fucking ew.”

“What?”

“Your work sucks. You work at No Fun Inc., and because you choose to work there, you also suck.”

“Hey.”

“I swear to god, if you vape that milkshake I will pelt you with Brussels sprouts. Man the fuck up.”

Some would say I am a bad influence. Friends often avoid me. Many hide their wives, pets, and children from me. Hence, my evil plan succeeds.

Places to meet your soul mate.

It strikes me as ironic when I meet a woman in a bar who tells me how she doesn’t expect to meet anyone in a bar. Hello-o? A bar is the ideal place to meet your next mate. There you can see how well he plays with others and how well she can handle her liquor (or “truth serum,” as often is the case). If there’s music playing you can study his movements to see what he’ll be like in the sack. If she’s flailing her arms while wearing fingerless gloves, eighties-style, she’s bound to pound the baby batter out of you. Request some Go-Go’s and make your move, Bucko!

Other places that (insensible) people suggest as preferable places to meet a mate include:

  • Church – (*yawn*) Really? I assume this is because it means you share the faith. I’m here to tell you that’s unlikely. One of you is going to be more superstitious than the other (read “holier than thou”) and soon you’ll want to smite her.
  • Grocery Store – People rarely go there to browse. It’s get in, get the eggs, milk, and muffins, pay, and get out. Now, in the odd chance you find a smartly dressed person lingering in the personal lubricant section, it does merit further investigation.
  • Networking Event – If you’re an extrovert, this can work. Then again, you’ve probably dated many of the people attending the event, which will turn into one, massive cock-blocking party.
  • Youth Athletic Event – ONLY if you have children participating is this acceptable. Still, beer drinking is discouraged and children are clumsy and noisy, so I’d skip it. (Can you tell I’m childless?)
  • Marathons – Rarely do I find myself anxious to penetrate a sweaty person wearing a knee brace and safety-pinned number. It’s better when I cause my mate to sweat without chasing her. However, two runners in one family will help you meet your medical deductible sooner.
  • Concerts – What? I can’t hear you. Did you say you love the head twat silly steppers? I never heard of them. I said I never … oh, never mind.
  • Coffee Shops – Zombies go to coffee shops. These people are either half-asleep or in a mid-afternoon coma. If you ask one for her number, she’ll probably punch you in the dick for startling her.
  • Online – Ever see those fast-food burger ads? Does the burger you unwrap ever resemble the one in the ad? No, it doesn’t. Guess how closely his dating profile pictures will match.
  • Through a Mutual Friend – Your friends are secretly either jealous of you or annoyed by you to some degree. If they are trying to hook you up it is because they want to live vicariously through you or put an end to your incessant whining and pet accumulation.
  • The Gym – We’re all wearing headphones in the gym so we aren’t distracted by the awful music they have piped in and the obnoxious grunts of sleeveless monkeys. It’s all sign language in the gym and there’s no clear way to sign that you want to do naked pushups without risking a severe beating.
  • Reunions – Haven’t we already done this? Twenty years around these people wasn’t enough? Now we have to do it every five years as well? I think not. Unless, of course, that blowjob queen you keep bragging about to your friends happens to be attending.

Go to a bar, people. Drink until somebody gets cute and hope the fellow patrons follow suit.

Blame it on Tequila

I haven’t done much while drunk on tequila that I regret. I don’t regret lying about it either. I have heard tales from friends behind and in front of bars, though. Most involve odd combinations of sexual adventures, vomiting in planters, and public urination.
Here’s a list of things tequila almost made me do:

  • Dance without realizing nobody is dancing with me.
  • Lick salt off a woman’s torso while she was sprawled out on a bar at the House of Blues. (Did you know tequila kills germs?)
  • Smoke a cigar that tasted like a mud puddle.
  • Forget where I parked.
  • Hands-free urination in a stall because I needed to hold the walls and stop the bathroom from spinning.
  • Challenge a woman to a sidewalk sprint.
  • Bounce quarters.
  • Pass out while inside a woman.
  • Watch infomercials.
  • Let a (less) drunk woman drive my sports car.
  • Burn the roof of my mouth on hot pizza.
  • Knock on random hotel room doors and run away.
  • Pee in a sink.
  • Try to negotiate at a fast food drive-thru window.
  • Eat fried ice cream.
  • Microwave an aluminum leftover container.
  • Hang my head out the car window while driving.
  • Eat oysters.
  • Buy clothing I would never wear.
  • Tell someone I can’t stand that I love him or her.
  • Sing Elton John songs in public.
  • Bark at a dog locked in a car.

Tequila is great for lowering inhibitions. Mine are naturally high. Still, no amount of tequila could make me do any of the following:

  • Vote for The Donald.
  • Admit that Chris Brown is talented.
  • Have sex over Skype.
  • Paddle boating.
  • Call Mike Tyson anything except “Sir.”
  • Buy a pet parakeet.
  • Drive a motorcycle.
  • Post a profile photo of myself making a duck face.
  • Pick up dog poop with or without a bag over my hand, unless I’m about to throw it at Glenn Beck.
  • Give up drinking tequila.