Drinking Buds

I was at a pal's apartment drinking margaritas, and we were have a great time. He was getting pissed with me for throwing limes off the balcony, but other than that it was great.

Margaritas are civilized. They're not like tequila puffs. Do you know tequila puffs? You mix tequila and 7-up in equal parts in a plastic cup. Then you slam the cup down on a picnic table and shotgun it. It's like inhaling sweet foam. We got into them and then walked barefoot into the desert, down a gravel road where rattlesnakes warm themselves at night. Then the indian wouldn't let us ride his horse. But that's another story.

We ran out of tequila, but my pal happened to live across the street from a liquor store. Call me impulsive. Maybe I'm adventurous. Whatever character flaw you want to blame, I scored a bottle of mescal.

Back at his place we cranked up the tunes. We were feeling good, singing, laughing and checking out the moms around the swimming pool. I didn't even care that we ran out of limes - I was drinking mescal straight out of the bottle. Mescal is like Cracker Jacks, they put in a prize. When you finish the bottle you get a worm, which I ate.

Even a bottle of mescal, which probably tastes like turpentine if you ain't hammered (I wouldn't know), doesn't last forever. We were out of booze again, so we went to the bar.

Drinking mescal makes you ask the deep, philosophical questions. Like, did the mescal make me to it, or deep-down am I really that much of an asshole? For whatever reason, for no reason, as we were walking down the street, I swung around and punched my buddy's nose.

"Enough of this bullshit," he said, and stomped away. Who could blame him?

I went to the bar and had a couple of beers. But it was a country and western bar, and I got bored. I hopped on the bus back to his place.

No matter how much I pounded on his door, my buddy wouldn't answer. I walked downstairs, out onto the lawn, stepped over the limes, climbed onto a fence and then reached up and pulled myself onto his balcony. I went inside but didn't see him around. I found a pizza. I ate it. Then I stretched out on the couch and fell asleep.

The next morning, he walked through the living room, and muttered something like, "What the hell are you doing here?"

I took that as my cue to leave.

But then a funny thing happened. A couple of days later, he phoned and asked if I wanted to come over for a few beers. Who the hell would want me coming over? I wouldn't want me coming over.

I went, of course. We didn't drink beer. We drank martinis until his wife kicked us out. We went to "The Princeton" on the waterfront, but they kicked us out for being too drunk. I remember being insulted - it's not a high class place. Then we went to "The Marr," a stripper bar, and then "The Drake," where I ran the pool table. And then we went to "The Coach House" where my buddy got up on stage with the band, playing air guitar. That was okay until he fell off the stage and rolled across the dance floor.

The bouncers rushed out from behind the bar. They grabbed him and ran him like a battering ram, his feet barely touching the carpet, and threw him through the swinging doors. The next day he accused me of deserting him. I was in survival mode.

About that time, I started thinking. Sure, I like to drink. But the only time I went on truly marathon drunks, it was with my buddy. I thought about my bad behavior - the limes, punching him, eating his pizza. And was doing exactly what he wanted me to do: acting worse than him.

He liked to drink, and he had his reasons. But he liked having someone around behaving worse than him. Then he could always say, "I'm not as bad as that guy." I was giving him carte blanche.

To my way of thinking I was killing my liver for his reasons. It would be bad enough if I was doing it for my own reasons. But his reasons? No way. I cut back and probably pulled myself out of a downward spiral. I even tried to get him to stop, which failed.

Since I stopped drinking and started nagging him, we don't see each other that much. He occasionally phones and complains about the drunks who come around.