I’m starting a new series for Tuesdays: Recent drunken stories.
The first one is actually, conveniently enough, involving tequila. I’m going to give everyone a little recap on Cinco de Mayo 2011.
This night was debatably one of the best of my life – the night I met my ridiculously wonderful boyfriend.
The evening began with me picking up one of my 21-year-old friends in my car immediately after co-op and promptly getting about 32 Coronas (for three os us…) since they didn’t have 24 packs. Obviously that was the smart choice. I then carried said Coronas into my on-campus building in a laundry basket covered in a towel. Real stealthy.
I came home to two bottles of Jose and a container of Margarita mix. I knew where the evening was going.
We basically invited everyone we knew to our dorm room for a rage-fest filled with Marg shots (someone sits on a chair with their head back while someone pours a shot each of Marg mix and Jose into their mouth), Tequila shots and Coronas out the wahoo.
Anyway, after quite a few of these, my summer roommate (shouts to Rachel) decided to call one of her friends in Pike. Naturally, he was already so drunk that his big brother had to accompany him to our building. I learned later that Rachel had told said big brother that he should just come up to the room because she had a “hot roommate” which apparently meant me. I was unaware of this obvious set up.
Back in Allie-land I heard a boy speaking a different form of English – he had an ACCENT. If you know me, you know I’m incredibly attracted to accents. So, of course, I went up to this man with the wonderful pick up line of, “Are you Southern?”
From there we talked for a while, spent a while in my room “changing the music” and building up sexual tension and eventually (finally) I grew the balls to kiss him.
And that’s the story of how I met my man.