I Digress to Regress

Lately, I feel as if my mind has entered a state of regression. Back to the thoughts of rum induced days of card games and note cards (as opposed to the current vodka induced days of car troubles and not getting carded) and a time when your biggest worry was hoping the bouncer would believe your last name was Lopez, as per your ID. More recently, my liver has joined the booze bound bandwagon to the past.
I awoke Sunday to a pounding sound originating inside my head. The night before started harmless enough with a glass of pre dinner wine at a friends house. The decision of the night was where a few of the regulars (to the bottle) would gather for dinner. Naturally, the options are whittled away by the best drink specials offered in the UCF area. We settle upon El Cerra who lures us in with promises of dollar margaritas, which for a dollar could only mean a cup of cheap, de-wormed tequila on the rocks with a splash of green mix (for color). Who could resist?
Apparently, our dollar drinks are lost in translation, or inflation, and were in fact about the price a margarita should be. Worry not, because this doesn't prevent a certain best friend from challenging a certain boy to a chugging contest not once, but twice. Drinking for my affection, obviously. At this point I am satisfyingly buzzed, but evidently we are here for an as yet to arrive dinner.
Through a certain degree of separation (no Kevin Bacon required), we wind up at the makings of a beer pong tournament. Suddenly I'm straight and underaged again. Unfortunately, my previously bragged about pong skills have diminished with age like a freshman's self dignity. This calls for an early retirement for team "Hey girl hey"... This beer gives me a headache and it's past my bedtime. Regression period over.