Why I don't drink vodka

In my second year at my current job, I still didn’t really know anybody. I was newly 21, I hadn’t drank since I was in the 9th grade, and I didn’t go out that much. Thanks to a bunch of friendly people, that all changed when I was invited to a small party that summer. I’ve been out once or twice with co-workers after work before then, so I kind of knew these people, but I really don’t know them. This party was no different. I just sat there sipping vodka and listening to these great stories that happened before I started working there, making every attempt to not look like a nerd in front of my new friends. All drunken stories start out as either, “we decided to play a drinking game” or “we decided to do some shots”. This one starts with the game. Someone broke out the playing cards and we played Kings. We played four games in all. I lost all four games. I began drinking ruby-red vodka during the games, while pounding straight vodka when I lost (I did get some help with the last one). When the grapefruit ran out, I used cranberry. When the cran ran out, I drank it straight. The vodka never ran out. I wish it had. I held on to my glass like it contained the nuclear launch codes and my friends were terrorists. Throughout the night I ended up consistently slapping the ass of anything with a vagina, jumping in an above-ground pool with most of my clothes on, playing an additional drinking game with a girl who threatened to cut me if I slapped her fat ass again, and eventually passing out in a living room chair. Oh, but the fun’s not over for me. A couple hours later I attempted to get in my car and leave. If it hadn’t taken me ten minutes to do it, I would have gotten away. Luckily, someone talked me back inside (didn’t take much convincing). I snuck away about an hour later. The closer I got to home, the worse I felt. I was literally holding my dinner in my throat to prevent me from befouling my car. Sparing details, I got to know my mom’s toilet intimately for the next 3-4 hours before I realized I had to be at work in thirty minutes. I’ve never called in sick before (still haven’t) and I wasn’t gonna start now. I made it to the job parking lot with ease, but the closer I got to the building, the worse I felt. I was clocked in for a full fifteen minutes when my second wind of drunkenness kicked in and I couldn’t take my eyes off the floor without the room spinning. Although, I wouldn't really call it spinning. You know those big gyro-spinning contraptions they used to have at the fair where they'd strap you in, spread eagle, and it was supposed to resemble being in space? If they had one of those in a country & western bar in hell, that's what it felt like. It was bad enough to where I needed a ride home because I couldn’t drive. After pulling over twice to dry-heave, I made it home. I didn’t eat (or stand, for that matter) until the next morning. I have yet to take a sip of vodka ever since. Most. Drunk. Ever. On a positive note, a really funny rimjob story came out of it. So there's that.