remembering why i don't go out often

it started with a nice civil cocktail party in honor of a 10 year-olds birthday. said birthday boy was dressed up in a little suit, with a pocket square and tie, running around washing dishes and just generally acting like the hired help. it was strange, yet also entertaining.

one of the hedge funders there kept talking about how single he was because i suppose i was expected to care. kept hinting we should date because it was what he wanted. what i wanted was for the little man to leave me alone. and when i had had enough and finally decided to leave, he hugged me and thought it was funny to not let go. NOT FUNNY, LITTLE MAN. sometimes i like a little light molestation. usually the perpetrator is gay and nonthreatening. but that evening i DID. NOT. WANT.

i headed to a downtown speakeasy where a friend and her husband were celebrating him being made partner at his firm. veuve flowed like water. then husband's cousin showed up. bought us all tequila shots. and tequila is BAD news for me. really bad news. but i'd had enough to drink that i thought, "oh, one little shot won't hurt!" wrong. wrong wrong wrong. tequila is notorious for making me black out huge chunks of my evening. i vaguely remember cousin grabbing me and shoving his hand down the back of my pants and grabbing my ass. vaguely remember shoving him off of me. vaguely remember leaving the bar but then nothing after that. my phone had about a dozen text messages that i don't remember writing but that were strangely coherent. i don't remember how i paid for the cab, nor putting on pajamas.

what i do remember? feeling so sick i might vomit until 6pm the next day. baaaaaad.