Jack and Coke...

... burns a hole right through my stomach.

Why am I so damn competitive? I see men doing something and I have to do it. Absolutely F#n HAVE to do it. This has prompted me to learn how to shoot, how to drag race, how to ride a motorcycle, to swear with the best of them, pull punches with the best of them, and always always smile and laugh where any other normal girl would cry. And let me tell you, I have loved every single second of it, except for jack and coke.

I hate it! It makes me throw up! I wasn't even drunk last night and I had to throw up as soon as I got home. GROSS!

Here's what happens, me and Tracie are at home when my friend Jon calls me, "Come down to the Mission Ale House. I'll buy you a drink." Ok. So we head down there, Jon is hanging out with two of his friends, Chuck and James. Once we meet up though we decide to head down to Los Gatos where another friend of ours is DJ'ing. At the new spot Chuck buys a JnC that Jon refuses to drink. Everytime I see this drink one word appears in my head, "yuck", immediately followed by the thought, "stop being a girl. A silly little drink can't beat you! You're tough!"

So I drink it. I don't wince. And to Chuck's raised eyebrow I refuse his offer of a chaser. I can handle it. I order a second. I finish it. I still don't wince. I get home, I throw up.

So the moral of the story is: I'm a pink MAC brush owning, panty wearing, whiny girl who got beat by a little glass of jack and coke. This story sucks.