Weekly Feature: Drinking Stories

A few words of wisdom: if she was a lesbian when she was sober the she’ll still be a lesbian when she’s drunk…and puking on your shoes.

While on a six month deployment in city far away from home, I learned that there were exactly three things to do: Jacuzzi, watch porn and drink. At the hotel where I was staying, there was a homeless group of us all from different parts of the country and from different companies on extended work assignments. We naturally banded together and drank quite a bit. I became very fond of Cosmos and even had the bartender at the hotel trained to make them perfectly so they went down so smooth and packed a wallop.

These folks were truly just friends. None of us slept together and there wasn’t any huge social drama scene going on. We would drink and laugh and share the stories of our crappy day at work. We would eat meals together and socialize. At this point, my female partner and I had been together for nearly 14 years and I had no interest sexually in any of the men in the group.

One night after the bar in our hotel closed, four of us decided to find the next largest hotel with a bar and go there. And the Cosmos came flowing like water. At some point, I realized how drunk I was getting and thought I should put some food in my stomach to perhaps take a little bit of the buzz off. I ordered a spinach salad. It was actually rather good going down, but did nothing for taking the edge off. The buzz was so good in fact, that when that bar closed, I made the suggestion that we go up to my room where I had a bottle of vodka and continue the celebration.

We got some cans of Squirt from the hotel vending machine and proceeded to continue drinking. Patti had a round and then called it quits. Tim had two more rounds and then got obnoxious, so I locked him out of the room.

That left just Bob and me.

In my drunken stupor, I had failed to notice was that Bob kept complimenting my hair, saying how nice it was. He moved a bit closer on the couch and then he began touching my hair. At this point, I vaguely start thinking this a little too intimate. But before that thought gets solidly implanted in my head, I ralph spinach salad and Cosmos.

Yes, I barfed, I threw up, I chucked Cheerios, whatever you want to call it. But I did, and did so in prodigious quantities. Over all over Bob’s shoes. Mortified, I ran to the bathroom and got cleaned up, expecting Bob to be gone by the time I was done. But upon exiting, I realized that Bob was still there. Is it just me or am I wrong in thinking that when one party barfs, the date is over? As in, no, even if I were straight, I wouldn’t be sleeping with you tonight.

He still kept complimenting my hair, and I just couldn’t quite get what he thought was going to happen, so I finally said, “I’m just not feeling too good”, and that I’d see him tomorrow. He left peacefully (thankfully) and was a true gentleman, never mentioning the barfing or the subsequent awkwardness.

I never did quite understand what he thought was going to happen, perhaps that if I got drunk enough, I wouldn’t be a lesbian anymore? I also think back on that night and know that I am very lucky that Bob was indeed a gentleman, as he could have been a real jerk and made things bad.

I guess I learned that I need to pay attention to the subtle clues and Bob probably needs to learn that when the girl barfs, the date is indeed truly over.

Image by wili_hybrid story by nom de plume