I had been in serious relationships for a grand total of about six and a half years, and I felt like it was a rite of passage—reclaiming my sexuality by confidently approaching someone, sexily batting my eyelashes, and having a passionate evening together, no strings attached. You know, Sex and the City style. After all, my birth certificate reads Samantha, so.
Carl, who was from Mexico, was cute and had a nice smile, but I was baffled. It was then I suddenly noticed my best friend was somehow talking to him, and she was pointing at me. In my distress, I whirled around and noticed a giant bucket in the center of the party. And it was filled with bright "All my friends are hookup and im like" yellow liquid with festive fruit floating in it.
It tasted like mango, and it was so, so delicious. It was then that I made my first mistake: An hour or so passed like this, with my best friend and I mingling throughout the party. I had all but given up on talking to Carl when suddenly, he approached me with a bottle of tequila.
But hey, at least it got him talking. He had the most lovely accent, and I was totally charmed. But suddenly, my happy thoughts were violently interrupted when I felt something happening.
And I became keenly aware that I was smushed between two people. For like, a really, really long time. I have never barfed so much in my life.