tHe dANGerS oF pArTY pUNch & pAnTS

Oh, yeah.. I think you know what I am talking about...

For some, Party Punch is just that, punch served at a party. But to those of us who know better, party punch is the drink of those who love the fruity-deliciousness of alcohol. I happen to be one of those people. A lot of people tell me that the only bad habits I have are smoking weed, cussing like a blind carpenter and party punch.

Ahh, sweet, sweet party punch...you make my life just a little bit better.

But for some reason, I never let someone else make the punch. Out of all my friends and family that booze it up with me on the weekends, I make the punch. Me and only me. I have the control over the amount of alcohol at is mixed with Kool-Aid, sugar, Hawaiian Punch mix, and what-not, making it safe for me to enjoy. Other wise, I'm going home without my pants on.

It happens to me more often than I like to admit but, I hate pants. They are the devil's attire and frankly, I can't stand them. Shorts are the way to go, ladies and gentlemen. Shorts; God's gift to the pants challenged. That would be me. Party Punch makes me realize a lot earlier that me and my pants hate each other. Normally, I wear shorts under my pants to make myself feel more comfortable but, that can only go so far.

So, I start drinking as soon as the weekend hits. I currently work two jobs and when the weekend comes, it is time to party. Punch not withheld, mind you. And I'll be damned if some one tries to tell me that I need help. Two days a week I get plastered, that's it. The rest of the week is dedicated to work, writing and the occasional karaoke bar or booty call. But even with that said, I need to quit.

So, why not indulge in Party Punch?

Because of my earlier comment....Party Punch and my pants. One takes over and the other gets lost. No, I'm not talking about sleeping around and spreading it for anyone who promises a good time. I just take my pants off; I'm wearing shorts under them but its the principle of the thing. I own 5 pairs of pants, not counting my work attire. 2 pairs of jeans, 1 pair of royal blue pants, 1 pair of navy blue pants and 1 pair of black jeans....that's it. There aren't anymore and if I decide to take a pair off and leave them where I was partying at the night before..bye bye pants.

Last weekend, I decided to hang out with my sister and a few of my friends. It seemed just like harmless fun until someone broke out the party punch. I drank it because I was too lazy to get up and make it properly. It tasted like cough syrup and burned on the way down. My major concern was that it wasn't made with Grey Goose, my choice of liquor for party punch. After the first cup I forgot to ask about the ingredients. I forgot a lot of things after the first cup. Nope, this wasn't Grey Goose in my punch....It was Everclear.

Technically, if you aren't a hardcore drinker, you can take about 3 shots before you crash and burn. Party Punch comes in a 54 oz cup. See? The math just doesn't add up...and off come the pants.

So there am I, at 4 o'clock in the morning, singing songs by Pink, in the middle of the *Paradise parking lot, in a pair of shorts and it is below 60 degrees outside. (*For those who don't know what Paradise is...It is a strip club in East Texas)

At around 10 o'clock the next day, I found myself in my house and no pants in my room. I went through the normal check list of where I usually leave my pants:

1.Pool 2.Roof 3.Laundry Room 4.Shed 5.Neighbor's Roof 6.Bedroom Again 7.Tree 8.Neighbor's Backyard 9.Neighbor's Tree 10.Car 11.Any Place I went Last Night

I try to hold off on #11 until I'm outta options but last weekend, I was outta options..

"Thank you from calling Paradise"
"Ummm..this might be strange but..I was in there last night and I may have lost something..."
"Well, what did you lose?"
"See..ummm.. I kinda lost my pants..black jeans, FUBU brand..."
"Yeah.. We have your pants... You can pick 'em up at the front desk... Just ask for Samantha."

Ain't life grand? Beware of the Party Punch...