“Blurred vision and dirty thoughts Feel (out of place), very distraught Feel something coming on” Somebody Put Something In My Drink – The Ramones
The Tuesday before Halloween, my favorite holiday, I attended a masquerade martini party that was “invite only”, but there were people I didn’t know there; people with masks on.
I made my mask (above) deciding to go with a sort of white peacock with pronounced cleavage look (or mispronounced if that’s not your thing – you’d be surprised eh em).
My bestie and I stuck together on the two for one martinis, splitting as we went. Even though she can outdrink me 4 to 1, she was trying to slow her roll a bit. We both are conscious about not becoming “unconscious” drinkers.
Bestie placed a Black Dahlia in front of my feathered face and said we were sharing this LAST one, then we engaged in conversations with others.
Very soon after, I felt odd. I remember chatting with this one girl about bad kissers (see previous post) and then this guy kept kissing up on me that I didn’t know. I pushed him away and he said something to the effect of “Oh, you’re not ready yet”.
At the time, nothing made sense. I recall my friend who likes to fight getting into that guy’s face, telling him to back off of me. He plays for one of these Tampa sports franchises, so his intimidating build coupled with about 7 martinis and flaring, overconfident nostrils frightened the smoochy guy into exiting.
Everyone thought Bestie and I were just really wasted, and I was so out of it, I didn’t know what to think. That’s when the “barfs” hit. Bestie and I were in parallel stalls ralphing in tandem. Harmonized puking - the stomach song that has no words, just notes that distort your mouth and expel forcefully into the plumbing (with proper aim).
We never get sick from drink. I drank twice the amount at the same party the month before and was fine. Bestie is a pro, this upchucking was not her M.O. EVER, and I haven’t yakked from a drink since the last century.
We had been drugged. Luckily, it was the drink we shared so we had split the “Mickey”, if you will, and weren’t as bad off as we could’ve been, though we didn’t piece it together till the next day.
I’ve heard the horror stories from girls (and some guys too), but I had thought I was in a safe place. In many respects I was, as nothing happened, or did it?
Who knows what that shit did to my liver or something squishy and vital to my existence? I can still remember the Pythagorean Theorem today, but what if I can’t tomorrow? (As if knowing it at all changes anything.)
Scary when you think about what COULD happen. Makes me want to have a drink, but not a martini fo sho.