Excited it is Friday? Already making plans for where to go and what to do? Going drinking? I bet, no matter where you go or what you do, there is going to be one adult beverage you wouldn't touch with a ten foot poll. We all carry scars from the hangovers we barely survived. 

There are plenty of times that a group of people and I are all sharing our hangover horror stories. People say things like, "Oh, no! I can never do a shot of tequila EVER again." And, "If I even smell whiskey I want to throw up." The more conversations like these I had, the more I realized something. We all really do have have that one liquor or drink that is our kryptonite.

I, myself, can never have an Irish Car Bomb ever, ever, ever, ever again.

One St. Patrick's Day, I went out with a few friends and experienced my first real Irish Car Bomb. It was love at first taste. But, it ended very badly between us.

Car Bomb after Car Bomb, I drank through the evening. My friends had stocked their fridge with enough Guinness, Jameson, and Bailey's to feed an army. Get an army super, dumb drunk, I should say. That night, I tried to be an army of one and drink as much of the stuff as I could.

Hind sight is always 20/20, but I wish I had known how horrible what I was doing was. When I finally stepped away from the counter top full of empty shot and pint glasses, the blackout hit. I apparently just sat in a lawn chair holding my skirt down from the wind and smiling at everyone without saying another word.

My friends knew something was up, They let me know that they were going to drive me home. I had to start speaking so that I could tell my friend the way to my home. This, apparently, sent my into a talking frenzy. My conversation choice was terribly weird. After hours of silence, drunken me wanted to discuss quantum physics. Discussing the universe the whole way, my friend and I made it to my house. When he parked the car and got ready to hop into my friend's truck that was following us, he asked if he could help me inside and I said that I wasn't ready.

I had decided at some point during the car ride that I wanted to sleep in the lawn that night. My brother came to investigate the situation after seeing two sets of car lights and no one come inside. He found me there cuddling the grass and ran inside to wake our mother. They both came back to my side with bread and water, trying to lure me inside to my bed. I refused and said something I will never live down in my family. I looked up at my mother and said, "Mom, I am a professional bartender. I know what I am doing."

Yup, what an idiot. For the rest of my Thanksgivings, Christmases, and other family gatherings, the phrase "I know what I am doing" will follow me. I could not have foreseen this embarrassment when I woke the next morning. Actually, I couldn't see anything through the blinding pain. I wanted to throw up, eat a million cheeseburgers, and crawl into a coma all at once.

Since that heinous morning, I have never touched an Irish Car Bomb. If someone offered me money, I won't drink it. If I have to choose between losing a tooth or drinking a Car Bomb, pass over the veneers. Would I rather taste Bailey's, Guinness, and Jameson just once more or never be allowed pie. Screw pie, I can get a cupcake. I want Irish Car Bombs to know, it will be very hot in hell for them.

As you can see, I have very strong feelings towards Irish Car Bombs. All of this disgust and hate from just one bad night. But, we all have had one of those horrific hangovers. So, tell me about yours.