I Left Tequila. But Tequila Came Back for Me.

From teen trauma to tequila I trust—with no lime or apologies.

Originally sourced & hand-cut Stepdad Collage, May 2025

I met Jose Cuervo in 2003. He was sitting on the kitchen counter at a party in Huntington Beach, entertaining a circle of the new “cool” friends I’d made that summer. Once they introduced me, he was pretty fun. Even after my mom called to say she’d talked to Kirstie’s mom and knew I wasn’t at Kirstie’s house—and that I was grounded into oblivion the second I got back to Upland—I was quickly cajoled back into carousing while Room on Fire blared from someone’s dad’s expensive stereo. Too loud, too cool; exactly how Jose wanted me to feel.

Because Jose was like,
“Sweetheart. I got you.”
Yeah, motherfucker got me.
Got me puking for two straight days.

I avoided tequila after that.
Well, until I moved to Los Angeles.

I found myself flirting with tequila again at The Gold Room in Echo Park. But that was because The Gold Room Special— a can of Tecate, a street taco and a shot— was $5 and I was desperate, not because I thought tequila was a go…