I ran with a pretty tame crowd as a high schooler. We considered it a wild night if we’d wrapped a musical theater production and all piled into someone’s basement to watch the entire Star Wars trilogy on VHS and surreptitiously make out with each other. I liked it that way, and never sought out anything more raucous, so the first time anyone actually offered me a drink was in college. And when I say, “offered,” I mean, “forced me to consume through endless, irritating cajoling.” My housemates heard that I’d never been drunk and insisted that we do a shot together. It was some vile concoction called Black Haus, and knocking it back nearly made me gag. They pushed for another shot, but I stood my ground. I loved them, but I wasn’t going to guzzle a substance that tasted like blackberry-flavored cough syrup to prove it. Keep reading »
