So nice I had to taste it twice

Man, I know I gotta go, it's the same thing every time,
But I don't think another drink's gonna make me lose my mind.
So I think about my next drink,
And it's you and me and the bottle makes three tonight...
(Big Bad Voodoo Daddy)

Because I was desperate, and suffering from massive writer's block last night (that video drained me like a feeding bat), I just posted a picture of some MD 20/20 and mused that perhaps the strawberry-kiwi might not have made me vomit as much as all the grape Mad Dog I rabidly (!) consumed as a teenager. Nilbo commented:

Yeah, because it's all about the flavour and not the alcohol content that makes you puke.

Okay, point taken. It all tasted like paint thinner anyway, no matter what fruit picture they slapped on the label. I can't even really blame it on the cheap wine, either; perfectly acceptable, respectable, overpriced alcohol makes me sick, too, if I have more than one serving. I can vomit Moet Chandon Brut with just as much vigor as I can heave Andre's Spurkling Bargundy. And I have.

Many a miserable night have I spent embracing the toilet while my stomach says "Nope, that's gotta go...and that...and that..and that..." It seems odd that I haven't been completely soured on beer, as many times as I've made myself sick with it (I was going to write "as many times as it's made me sick" but then I realized that I really had more choice here than the beer did). Same for wine. I even used wine puke to make a presentation for my mom once. Do I hear a chorus of "If you were my daughter I'd kick your ass!" ? And let's not even talk about Kessler's, which may be smoothe as silk goin' down, but it's lumpy as metal shards wrapped in burlap comin' back up. Nilbo also commented:

Kinda why I avoid Lemon Gin. Put me off citrus fruit for years.

For all the pukin' I've done - and I'm kind of an expert at it - there are only two things I cannot, absolutely cannot, consume anymore as a direct result of tasting them while vomiting: Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and vodka. The PB&J aversion stems from an incident when I was seven years old, ate a PB&J sandwich, and then vomited in a grand and rococo fashion. It turned out to be the flu, and had not a thing to do with the sandwich, but logic plays no part in this. The association is now there, and to this day, I can eat peanut butter, or I can eat jelly, but dear sweet parasailin' baby Jesus, don't put 'em together if you mean to put it on my plate.

Then there's vodka. The sweet nectar of potatoes. Rasputin's holy water. 'Twas ruined for me at the age of 13. Again, the problem stemmed from the fact that my company for the night included Juanita, bad drinker, terrible friend, dumb twat. Juanita, Sue and I were out walkin' the mean streets of Grand Haven one night, lookin' for trouble, and we found it at the bachelor pad of several young men, all of whom were too old to be consorting with 13-year-old girls. A couple of the guys were probably aware of this, and they disappeared shortly after we arrived, I guess so as not to be liable if anybody decided to play hide the sausage with teenage girls.

The one dude who stayed was the object of Juanita's desire; he was just her type (male, breathing, use of both legs, etc.) and she wanted to make a move, in her completely clumsy teenage way. Juanita started to play a game where she and dude would draw cards, and if her card was higher than his, he had to kiss her. Yes, that's right - her lips were the punishment for losing. This was fine until dude decided that Sue and I should play, too, especially Sue (she was the cute one - I was the funny one, Juanita was the...um, the ugly, not-so-bright one). Unsurprisingly, Juanita did not like this change in the game one bit and declared an end to cards.

I suppose dude decided the next best way to get some from teenage girls was to provide access to alcohol. Well, what took you so long, my friend? He went to the kitchen and returned with a fifth of the cheapest of cheap vodka (I don't remember the brand name, but it had a red label. Anybody?) and some water glasses. No ice, no mixers. Crappy vodka and questionably clean glassware. Dude started to pour shots into the glasses, and when he got to mine, Sue volunteered, "You'd better give her a lot!"

"Yeah," Juanita helpfully piped in, "she's a hardcore drinker!"

There's no tellin' where they got that idea, but once they'd said it, I sure as hell wasn't gonna look like some wimpy, wussy little pussy of a drinker. When dude handed mine to me, almost a full water glass, I took it...and I gulped it. Gulped it, like hot jizz on a winter morning. Juanita, Sue, and even dude looked on with a new respect as I drained the glass and slammed it down on the table. God, I was cool. So very fucking cool.

Um...I don't really remember much after that, though I'm sure I was sick quickly enough after that little escapade that we didn't hang around long enough for dude to start jigglin' the jailbait. I'm pretty sure I threw up all the way home, a nice little trail in case we got lost and needed to find our way back to dude's house, and I would also put money on the fact that I threw up even more after Juanita and Sue had left me to the mercy of my parents.

So please don't ever offer me vodka. Even really expensive, hoity-toity, la-de-freakin-da, fru-fru vodka like Grey Goose. I am traumatized, and will make the association that vodka=nausea for the rest of my life. I just can't drink the shit.

Because I will Absolutly vomit.

Go on, tell me your drunken vomiting stories. You know you want to.