College

College. 

Still considered the best four years of my life.  I attended the University of Dayton.  It was and is still considered a big party school.  At one time, it didn't make Playboy's top ten party school list because they considered us professionals and therefore unqualified for the list.  What isn't to love about that?

I did my share of drinking freshman year, but managed to get decent grades.  I learned how to tolerate Milwaukees Best Light, which was overwhelmingly the drink of choice on campus.  There was the occasional bottle of Boones Farm "wine" or shots of Rumpleminz, but generally beer was the go-to beverage. 

I didn't drink much during the week, but when the weekend came, it was on.  My friends and I would walk to the student neighborhood which we lovingly called "The Ghetto".  The University is still to this day trying to stop students from using this nickname, but each year they fail.  The Ghetto is a neighborhood that was built in the early 1900's and the houses were owned by employees of NCR, which was a hub company in Dayton at the time.  Over the years, the University purchased the homes as families moved away and NCR left and the neighborhood became upperclassmen housing. 

Each weekend there would be lots of parties.  The hosts would typically get a keg and a stack of plastic cups and everyone was welcome.  It was an understanding that what goes around comes around, so there were never fees to enter.  You just knew that one day you'd return the favor by having a party of your own.  Occasionally the keg was accompanied by "Harry Buffalo", which was juice mixed with Everclear - pure grain alcohol (One had to drive to Indiana to obtain Everclear because it was not sold in Ohio.), and diced up fruit mixed in a clean trash can.    You could light that stuff on fire.  And the longer the fruit sat in the liquid, the more alcohol-logged it became.

Needless to say, the parties were carefree and fun...until the alcohol hit you and you inevitably ended up with your head in a toilet or row of bushes.  Harry Buff vomit was certainly very colorful!  But, it was all part of the deal.  And we went back every weekend for more.

I met my husband one of those fateful party nights during my freshman year.  One of my good friends insisted on entering a Fraternity house to use their bathroom (brave girl) so I reluctantly waited for her.  Mind you, we and our friends had "pregamed" in my dorm room before hitting the parties in order to get a nice buzz going.  It was almost Christmas and we were all feeling festive.  It was also very cold, so I borrowed my roomate's winter coat, and lined each pocket (4 total) with a can of beer.  So, while already feeling buzzed and waiting on my friend, I cracked open a beer and observed the rooms around me.  Everyone was drinking.  The music was on, and there were people everywhere.  In the front room, twinkling in the main window, was a Christmas tree, complete with lights and Goebel beer cans.  They called it, "The First Goebel".

My world then changed in an instant, as I watched a very cute freshman guy walk into the house with his friends.  I had seen him before, and I envied him from afar.  Having liquid courage on board,  I grabbed one of his friends and asked about him.  The friend insisted on introducing him to me.  I later found out that the cute boy agreed to meet me in exchange for a beer.

And that, my friends, was the beginning of my boozy life with the man who became my husband.