By: Drinkless Sakyong
I remember one of my last drunks. Not fondly. A friend of mine, a ukulele slinging cowboy from Nashville, well, currently from Nashville, originally from Twin Falls, was playing at the Neurolux. A couple girlfriends and myself met up at the wine bar downtown where we wine tasted enough to get a little buzz. Next we walked to a sushi bar to eat a little before the show. Saki is always a good idea at a sushi joint. We tried a couple exotic varietals of Saki. I am allergic to Saki. Even more so than regular alcohol. I don't know what it is but it always ends in a bad drunk. This time was no exception.
We went to the Neurolux and I thought I was fine. I proceeded to drink more. At this point it was probably vodka tonic or wine. I had a few more and then decided I needed to go or something. I went with my friend Sam outside and managed to talk him into driving me home. The ride commences. I forget where I live, or I don't want Sam to know, or something. Who knows. We head back to the bar. I can't walk. Every third step on the way to the door, I fall. Once.flat.on.my.face. My friend, the singer, was going to crash on our couch but after seeing what shape I am in, he declines.
I go home, finally remembering where I live, and have to explain all the cuts and bruises from falling multiple times, to my boyfriend, and why I left with Sam. And why I think this is okay. Why do I think this is okay?