Hello everyone. My name is Revis Edgewater. Well, that’s not my actual name, but it’s what you can call me. Although, I guess you don’t really need the Edgewater part. You can just call me Revis. Of course my wonderful, talented, beautiful, and intelligent host, Goldfish, calls me a suck-up (I’m not sure why) and doucheface (which I think is because I keep trying to get her to stalk me and she won’t do it).

Anyways, as some of you may know, I, along with Merbear (who is also wonderful), won Goldfish’s Mad Libs contest. The prize for this is the honor of guest posting on her blog, while she guest posts on mine. In my opinion, however, the real prize is her friendship.

Uh oh. She’s giving me the death glare. I should probably get to the point.

Goldfish recently told the story of an experience she once had with whiskey. Since she wants to hear it, I thought I’d share what happened the very first time I drank whiskey.

It was my junior year of high school. I was 16. My mom, who worked 3rd shift, had gone to work on a Sunday night, leaving me at home with my older brother Twindaddy (who is a year older than I am and who most of you already know), my stepdad (who is no longer my stepdad), and my stepdad’s friend. My stepdad and his friend had two bottles of whiskey, one was Jim Beam (or Jack Daniels. I can’t really remember which), and the other one was Crown Royal. Since my mom wasn’t home, they decided to share with us. Later on, I’m pretty sure they regretted that.

An hour into it, all of the Crown Royal was gone. Ninety percent of it was consumed by me and Twindaddy. An hour after that, the second bottle was almost gone, with a little bit more than half of that going to me and Twindaddy. Because this was my first time drinking any type of liquor, I was unaware how it would affect me. The Crown Royal was smooth going down, so, at first, I didn’t think it was doing anything to me. By the time we finished it, I was drunk enough to where the Jim Beam didn’t burn going down either. Since I didn’t feel the burn, I didn’t think it was affecting me. Then, it all hit me at once.

I ran to the bathroom as quickly as I could. When I got there, the toilet lid was down. Lifting it would’ve been too much work, so I did the next best thing: I puked into the bathtub.

It took me a few minutes, but I finally got it all out of my system. When I was done puking, I felt the need to share it with someone, for some reason, so I called out to my brother, “Hey, Twindaddy, you gotta come look at this!”

Normally, if I’d have made such a proclamation to him from the bathroom, he would’ve run the other way. As he was drunk, however, he decided to come investigate what I wanted to show him. He took a look at the bathtub and burst out into laughter for about 5 seconds. That’s when he vomited all over my puke. When he was done doing that, we laughed about it for another few minutes.

At this point, my memory becomes a little vague. It was somewhere between 4 and 5 in the morning. I went to sleep. I’m pretty sure my stepdad ended up cleaning our puke, so as not to get in trouble with my mom. Around 6:30, my mom got home from work and attempted to wake us up to go to school. Our inebriated state was soon clear to her and she was none too happy. Now, the way I remember it, she told us we still had to go to school. So, I got dressed and went to school only to realize later that Twindaddy stayed home and slept.

I remember getting into my first period class and sitting down. The next thing I remember is opening my eyes, looking around, and not recognizing anyone in the classroom. Looking at the clock, I saw that it was third period. I asked the teacher, while getting a note to take to my third period teacher, why she didn’t wake me up. She said that she could tell by looking at me that I was sick and she felt that I needed the sleep. If she only knew.

I made it through the rest of my school day without incident. I walked straight from school to work and put in my time. It was when I got home that I was told that Twindaddy didn’t go to school (even though we went to the same school, it wasn’t unusual for us to not see each other during the day). I was outraged. “Why did I have to go to school, but he didn’t,” I demanded. “This is a load of crap (I didn’t cuss at my mom. Actually, I still don’t)!”

My mother then informed me that what she said was that if I wanted to go to work, I had to go to school. I protested this. “If that’s what you had said,” I argued, “I would’ve stayed home in bed all day.”

Then, she tried to turn it all around like it was all my fault, saying something like, “If you didn’t get drunk, none of this would’ve happened in the first place.”

I tuned out the rest of the preaching, mostly because I was so tired by then that I was pretty much asleep standing up. You’d think that this experience would’ve put me off of whiskey, but I continued to drink it for years afterward. I guess I don’t learn.