Spanish lessons in the drunk

As time goes on, I've realized that what they say is true.  Enjoy your younger years while you can because it just goes downhill from there.  Not that my life is going downhill, per say, but it is definitely more serious and less fun than it used to be.  Aside from spending my days in a beige box*, I find myself worrying a lot more about money and bills and finding food to cook.  My point is, I miss the good ol' days.  I long for the 'lax feel of college and the parties, and the routine carelessness of high school.  I miss being in a house that I didn't have to pay for and wearing clothes that magically appeared**. I crave the food that was there when I was hungry, whether at home or in the cafeteria (SLUSHIES!).  So, in my infinite spare time at work (haha, yea ok.  More like the time I spend daydreaming and wishing I was somewhere else), I've been taking a drive down memory lane.  And I dredged up this gem...

In high school, I practically LIVED at JD's house.  We would spend days together eating Chinese food, watching (awful) movies, and lounging on the ginormous bed in her room.  Since where we live is kind of boring, one weekend we decided it would be a good idea to drink.  Now, this was waaaay before I got to college and learned to hold my liquor like a champ.  So I may or may not have been a little tipsy.  Or shithoused.  Whichever term you prefer.  Anyway, after going through a good maybe half a bottle of something mixed with iced tea (I only remember that because it was hard to drink tea for a little while after that), I was pretty woozy.  Yes, woozy.  That's the right word.

Honestly, I have no real memory of what happened in the gap between drinking and what came next.  JD could have shit her pants and I wouldn't have been able to tell you about it.  But I do remember suddenly being in the bathroom with my face on the floor and my butt wedged up against her towel warming rack.  Which was on. On high. With no towels on it.  So I start yelling her name.  Or at least that's what I thought it sounded like, but who knows.  And then I stared at the heater.  Intently. Reading the caution label. God only knows why.  But by the time she made it into the bathroom, I was yelling at her in Spanish:

JD: Hey, are you ok?!
Me: Cuidado! (with frantic waving arms)
JD: What?
Me: CUIDADO!! Caliente!
JD: Um...

My babbling continued until I had successfully (or not) conveyed to her (in Spanish) the cautions on the heater warning label. And then I told her I thought the warm was going to make me barf.  At which point she smiled at me like I was a crazy person, patted me on the head, and walked away. 

Yessss. 



*true, my cubicle is a sizable one and is really more a rectangle, but still.  It's a box. rown and poorly lit by fluorescent lights that hurt my eyes. And there are no windows.  It's just so...bleak and stifling.
**Also known as hand-me-downs.