I actually just talked to the person who made me my first drink. It was D-Day of my freshman year, and it was a screwdriver in the upstairs bedroom of a house in the white-coat ghetto. I could barely finish it, but this was where I discovered that (a) I hate screwdrivers, and (b) no, one drink won't make you barf.
I'm still not sure if it was meant to be a date. But that ship has long since sailed, and I'm happy with how things turned out. Also, I like drinking much more than I did then. A little is good for relaxing at a party, and a medium amount is good for losing myself in pop music and not thinking for a while.
And by "a medium amount" I mean about two strong drinks. A strategically spent ten bucks could give me alcohol poisoning.
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