One Tequila, Two Tequila, Three Tequila Floor (or ER bed. Yay!)

Welcome to the Inaugural dare! Yes, I have decided to go with Jeremy's suggestion for the first challenge, if only because I am a masochist.

Jeremy actually wanted to amend this dare to have me doing one shot every hour. After considering this change for a good twenty minutes, we both decided it would be pretty sad if I passed away, and stuck with the original suggestion.

Weapon of choice: Tequila. I'm not much of a drinker, and DEFINITELY do not drink alone, so I've decided to put the housewarming gift I received last year to use.

I've got a new roommate, whom I didn't want to alarm (just yet), so I decided to take the solo-fiesta to my room. Armed with a bottle of Jose Cuervo, a few limes and a shot glass, I began my adventure.

9:30am: First shot, and my body isn't feeling the early-morning party. My mouth and throat burn like they've never burned before, and I can almost hear my stomach growl "why so early, homey?"

11:30am: I wasn't looking forward to numero dos, but this one goes down easy (all together now: that's what she said). My gums are vibrating.

11:35am: Few things are more disgusting than burping up Cuervo.

11:50am: Alcohol is a depressant, right? It's supposed to thunderstorm today, and I suddenly picture myself, five hours from now, drunkenly clutching a cup of green tea, singing Keane songs and weeping by the window. Curse you, Jeremy!

12:15-ish: I make my way out of the house for my first dance with reality. There's a flea market that's opened up not too far from my apartment, and I am in desperate need of a coffee table (somehow, eating dinner on the floor doesn't make me feel bohemian and cool. It just makes me feel poor.) I pass two women on the street, one of whom uses the word "slumgirl" to refer to some dirty broad she obviously hates. My first instinct is to punch her. My second is to let the unfortunate, presumably hygienically-challenged young lady she is talking about run her smelly smelliness all over this woman. I then realize that the fact that I don't act on my first instinct means I'm either a very rational drunk or sober.

This flea market has an "Adults Only!" section!! I didn't know flea markets sold porn. I wonder what discounted porn looks like. Is it just secondhand porn? If it is, would you really want someone else's porn? Sometimes, people are hesitant to buy previously-owned merchandise, since they don't know where it's been. But, with secondhand porn, don't you already know where it's been, and shouldn't that be reason enough to stay away? In any case, let me just say that a massive, shiny, colorful sign covering this section isn't exactly going to be a deterrent for young, curious, illiterate minds. Having not ingested enough booze to check the area out myself (I have often been called a young, curious, illiterate mind), I leave the market table-less, but with my pride still somewhat intact.

1:08pm: The dare-giver himself checks on me and asks for updates on my progress. He then suggests I down the whole bottle in one go, cementing my belief that he wants me dead. Sad face.

1:30pm: Oooo... cozy. This one warms my throat and chest, which is probably not a good thing, but gosh, it feels awful nice. Happy face.

1:52pm: Whoa... I think it's starting to hit me. That, or I normally walk into walls.

Wait. Forget it, I'm fine.

3:30pm: I down #4 to the tune of Andrew W.K. I guess I should want to throw a folding chair, but I'm kind of just in the mood for a sandwich. And a friend. Man, I am a walking anti-alcohol ad right now if there ever was one.

3:34pm: An hour ago, I announced that I was going to go for a walk. And by walk, I apparently meant nap.

3:35pm: I've got iTunes on shuffle, and Keane's "Bend and Break" pops up just as the clouds roll in. Maybe tequila makes me clairvoyant?

5:40pm: This one comes ten minutes late because I sort of forgot about the dare. My dad called about 20 minutes ago, and I held my breath while he debated whether or not to come over and say hello. Fortunately, he decides his time would be better spent at Stop & Shop. I guess I should be offended, but I'm still thinking about that sandwich.

6:15pm: A friend calls with some unfortunate news that has nothing to do with me, yet I'm very outraged and very loud. Am I usually this loud? My parents are always unnecessarily loud on the phone. Do I turn into my father when I drink? Or does my dad just lose his hearing after one Johnnie Walker too many?

7:30pm: My stomach is starting to revolt. I think it just flipped me off for chasing a healthy dinner of chicken and vegetables with tequila.

7:40pm: I'm just starting to really feel the effects of this day of boozing. I'm on the phone with my sister bickering about something called the Aristocats, and even though I know nothing about these fancy felines, I get very passionately angry while defending my argument, whatever that argument is.

7:45pm:

I watch this video four times in a row, which confirms it has finally hit me, and hard.

8:06pm:

Then I watch this.

8:13pm: I'm tired............

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Shortly after that last log, I fell into a deep, deep sleep, and woke up at 9 this morning, just in time for The Doctors (a show I definitely needed to watch after yesterday's events). I felt fine, just a little more tired than usual.

So would I do it again? Um, probably not on purpose. Health risks aside, it's very difficult for me to remember to do anything every two hours. Also, I tend to spill things on myself quite a bit in my everyday life, and spilling tequila means smelling like tequila, which isn't a very inviting scent. Lastly, I'm not enough of a drinker to enjoy pounding back shot after shot, particularly alone. Raging alcoholics, I know not how you do this.

Anyway, let's move on, shall we? I'm thinking of trying out Darren's dare next (scroll down to see it), unless someone else has a better suggestion. Keep the comments and the love coming!