I, too, have gone back to tequila after puking my guts out from drinking the stuff. However, my tequila stories are relatively tame.
The first: A friend of mine and I killed a bottle of Two Fingers while we were cruising around, trying to pick up chicks. About 12:30 a.m., we go to pick up his girlfriend, whom I was meeting for the very first time. We are driving around Louisville, Ky., smoking a joint. Immediately after the doobie went the way of all smoke, I felt a technicolor yawn coming on, and heaved my guts out the car window, leaving a long trail of puke down Broadway. Later, my friend told me he got an unpleasant surprise the next morning when he went out to open the passenger door and found vomit in the door handle. Amazingly enough, his girlfriend is actually one of the few women who have a high opinion of me.
The second: Didn’t get smashed on tequila, but was drinking it at a pretty wild party. This girl and I were engaged in heavy petting outside on the lawn when her brother (who is a pretty good friend of mine) and another guy came outside. We rolled behind a car while we were half-naked, and lay there for several minutes waiting for them to go back inside. It was pretty suspenseful at the time (the brother and I weren’t that close at that point in time), but it is hilarious to think back on.
The third: Two other guys and I split a bottle of mescal. I was already drunk on beer when we started on the mescal. We ate the worm and that is the last thing I remember because I passed out full-length on the living room floor.
Sue, could you give us a few more details, please? Inquiring minds want to know these things.