Margaritas for One

I have always been a fairly independent person. I have no problem going to the movies alone (and in case you're wondering, I saw Best in Show, The Family Stone, and Brokeback Mountain solo,) I live alone, and I pick out my clothes all by myself every morning.

I even dine alone. Breakfast at Starbucks, lunch at Rice while reading their free copy of The Post, and the occasional slice of pizza at Pizza 33. But I have never gotten drunk alone outside my apartment. That is, until Monday night.

After a jam packed weekend of beach days, bbq nights, and movies with freinds, I wanted a night alone. And I wanted a burrito. I happened to walk by my favorite joint, Baby Bo's, and popped in for my standard take-out of a chicken burrito with whole wheat tortilla, brown rice, and black beans. However, while I was waiting for my order, I noticed a delicious margarita sitting on the bar, next to a woman reading a book. And now I swear that inanimate objects talk, as this margarita begged me to join him.

Next thing I know, I changed my order to "stay," plopped down at the bar, and ordered a margarita on the rocks, no salt. Then I ordered another. I felt so liberated. I felt like such a New Yorker. I felt drunk. I started talking to the girl sitting next to me, a "regular" at the restaurant who eats there every Sunday, and takes pride in texting the waitresses the Yankee scores while they are working. Next thing you know we went back to my apartment and started (come on, do you really think I would throw you that bone? I went home and drunk dialed everyone.)