Nurse the Hate: Hate El Toro

When I was in college I developed a short lived taste for El Toro tequila. My roommates and I would buy a fifth before going out and use it to "pre game". (We liked the little plastic sombrero on the lid). It really seemed like a good idea to knock that back and then go out to the bars. The problem, which should have seemed obvious, was that we would be so shitfaced when we went out that we were those guys you try to avoid when you go out to a public place. The ones that have a crooked grin for no good reason. The kind of guys that start up bulldozers just to see what will happen. The kind of guys that are going to shovel gyros down their throats from the street cart vendor at 2:30 am. Real train wrecks.

Tequila is a cruel mistress. There are lots of things that seem like a good idea during a tequila binge that just don't hold up in the light of day. (See the bulldozer incident above...) Additionally, tequila makes you think you have it all together when you are, in fact, a staggering shell of the human being you were just hours earlier. It was on just such a night that I ran into this girl that was a lab partner of mine in some horrible class. She was really cute, and looked like a Midwestern version of Liv Tyler. We got along pretty well, but I wouldn't call us "chummy" or anything. She sort of grunted at me, and once in awhile I got her to smile at some of my running sarcastic commentary during the class. However, when I ran into her on this night it was like I ran into some dog face I had served with in Nam. "Hey!!!!! (hugging her) What's up!!!! Let me get you a drink!!!!' If I had been her, I would have gotten away from me as soon as possible and maybe filed a 24 hour restraining order.

Yeah, I must have been pretty suave on this particular night. I definitely recall buying her and her kind of annoying roommate some shots of El Toro after whisking them both to an unfashionable bar nearby. I think I figured the relative solitude and bleak atmosphere of The Brass Rail would help my chances. Plus, since that bar was usually only visited by older Townies, my chances of losing the ladies attention to other wolves my own age was probably pretty low. Maybe it was the shots clouding their judgement. Maybe I was keeping it together. Maybe it was my cool acid wash jeans. Who knows? For whatever reason, the three of us soon walked to their nearby apartment at closing time. I couldn't believe it. My little scheme was coming together...

We spent a little while looking through their record collection and drinking 16 oz cans of Stroh's beer. This I vividly recall, because in the back of my head flashed a horrible memory of getting the shits in High School the last time I had a Stroh's. "Must not get shits tonight. Must play it cool." We put on X "Big Black Sun" and talked nonsense for awhile as I tried to put a plan together in my swimming head. Soon, the roommate went to bed, and it was just my cute little lab partner and I. Yes!

This is when things start to get really cloudy for me. I definitely remember making out with her on her bed in her room. I also remember wrestling with her bra like it was a live octopus before finally getting it off her. I also remember her breath tasting like beer and cigarettes. It was when I focused on that cigarette breath thing that my stomach started to flip flop around. I didn't feel so good...

There is no shame in barfing after a college drinking binge. It's almost a right of passage. Who amongst us has not been there? We can laugh about it now. There is no shame in it. It's fine. Part of growing up... There is great shame in barfing on top of your cute lab partner's head when she is giving you oral sex on her bed. Needless to say, that ruined the mood. I stumbled down her hallway looking for the bathroom and grabbed a towel to try and clean up the barf on her bed, head, and arms. She just sort of stayed in place in frozen animation in the same position as when I had left her, like if she didn't move the horror of the moment would be somehow lessened. She looked like one of those frozen figures at Pompeii. Wow, was this bad... I tried to mop up the yellow-brown liquid the best I could, and quickly made my exit. I think I said something along the lines of "Ummm...I'm really sorry. I think we, ah, got most of it. I should probably leave..."

I don't drink El Toro anymore.