Dancing Margaritas

The gaggle of blue legs surrounding me managed to create a mild sense of wonder in the few remaining brain cells that I had not yet destroyed.

“Who do these legs belong to?” asked one brain cell to another, “and why are they blue?”

Brain cell number two was not certain, so he roused a few of his buddies, the ones that possessed the power of speech, in order to find out.

“What are you doing here?” my little talking brain cells asked the legs. The legs were non-responsive and other brain cells sprang into action. Thanks to them I was able to fully open my eyes and I scanned the room.

“Why, these are police officers!” I thought.

Then I spied a strange bearded man standing behind them.

“Who is that man with a beard?” I asked one officer. Again, he was non-responsive. Perhaps I only thought I was talking. I noticed that the Bearded One did look worried.

Fully alarmed now I asked, “Was I raped?”

The evening was beginning to seep back into my memory. It had started hours earlier as I prepared for a glamorous evening of drinking at one of my favorite bars. I was a cute little thing and knew it. I had on a sexy little black dress, my lashes had been combed and were long and silky with mascara, and my hair was to die for.

I was also alone. I never went out drinking with a herd of other women. Men, yes. But, never women. They would have interfered with the number of free drinks offered to me by strange men.

In a triumph of memory, I recalled most of what had happened. I had stepped outside to ‘get some air’. While outside, I spied a neon sign in the distance. It was mesmerizing. It was a huge sign with blinking and dancing margaritas on it. This was where I needed to be!! Scanning the parking lot with my coquettish eyes, I couldn’t see my car.

“Where the hell did I park it” I wondered. “Screw it, I’ll just walk.”

I wobbled my cute little self across several empty lots, my eyes fixed upon the Dancing Margaritas. It was like I had died and the Dancing Margarita sign was the brilliant and irresistible light calling out to me to join my loved ones in heaven.

I arrived there, breathless with excitement, waiting for my loved ones to show up. Instead the Bearded One greeted me. Hell, he’ll do. He bought me drinks and we were laughing and having the best time when he leaned over and whispered,

“Hey, I got some coke at my apartment, do you want to go over there?”

“DO I WANT TO GO OVER THERE?!” What idiot wouldn’t want to go? I’d stuck gold. Booze AND coke.

Black out.

These black outs of mine where beginning to occur with annoying frequency. People would tell me all kinds of lies about my antics when I was in the throes of one.

“Yeah, man, we were really trashed when we all went over to Dave’s house (who is Dave? minor point.) You were hilarious. You took off your top and jumped on his coffee table and broke it!”

Lies! I did no such thing! I was far too tiny to break a coffee table! Really, these people were insane. I should stay away from them.

Apparently, the Bearded One had not raped me, according to the police.

Mr. Policeman told me, “Ahh, this man became concerned when you got up on his balcony railing (third story apartment) and threatened to jump.”

“LIES!” I told the police, “I would never do something so stupid!”

My protestations fell on deaf ears and I was escorted from the Bearded One’s apartment, stuffed into a police car and carried off to one of Denver’s Detox Centers.

By now, I was conscious enough, yet not sober enough to know better, to create quite a scene once I had been safely deposited into the hands ot detox personal, stripped of my lovely frock, and put in a padded cell. I screamed and cursed and carried on about ‘my rights’ for hours.

“I have rights, you know!” I screamed to one in particular. “ Didn’t anyone ever tell you IDIOTS that drunkenness is not a crime!”

It had entirely escaped my attention that I had not been arrested, nor was I detained in a jail cell. No matter. It was an outrageous violation of my American Right to get drunk!

Dawn arrived and a phone call was made to my ex-husband.

“Would you please come pick up Ms. So and So? Yes, she is at the detox center on Colfax Ave. Thank you. We’ll see you soon.”

My disgusted ex came and got me. I was disgusted that he was disgusted. No wonder we got divorced!

I wasn’t even a little sorry or embarrassed. I was right back at it again a few nights later.

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police and drunk