Tiny vessel syndrome afflicts petite women between the ages of 21-30. Unlike its cousin the Napoleon complex, tiny vessel syndrome is specific only to short women who compensate for their diminuitive size by trying to outdrink their altitudinous friends. However, due to our Lilliputian size, this plan usually backfires. Tall people have an easier time processing their alcohol because the alcohol just stores in their feet whereas for short people the alcohol goes straight to our head.

One Friday evening long, long ago (May 2007 to be exact), I started off at Sapa for their amazing happy hour menu of $1 oysters and $5 martinis and wine. I had about 5 glasses of white wine in the span of an hour on an empty stomach (does anyone really go to Sapa for the food?).

After Sapa, my roommate Vic and I ventured to Loreley, a Belgian beer garden in the lower east side, and ran into our friends Sabbie and Suze. How serendipitous! Of all the places in New York, what are the chances that you run into your good friends at the same bar on a Friday night? I celebrated this coincidence by ordering a Hefeweizen the size of a lamp post.

Then we went to Fontanas and this is where things get fuzzy. My friends kept trying to put me in a cab and I refused. I crossed my arms over my chest and said, “No!” I’m sure you people can tell by now that I’m about as compliant as Hugo Chavez. I should have listened to my friends though because I fell asleep on the couch. IN THE BAR. The bouncer kept asking Sabbie if I was okay and she said, “She’s okay. She had to wake up really early today.” Then the bouncer said that I couldn’t just sleep on the couch and they had to take me home. Geez, can’t a girl just sleep on a couch at a bar??? But the bouncer was really nice about it and he escorted us out the secret “back entrance”. Oh, and I should also mention that Sabbie and Vic had to prop me up and carry all 100 pounds of my dead weight. My one rock star moment and I wasn’t even conscious to revel in it.

The next day I was surprisingly not too hungover. I went through the contents of my purse to make sure I had everything. Cellphone? Check. Debit card? Check. Keys? Check. I consider the night a success when all my items are intact. I also checked my text and call log to see if I made any embarrassing digital communication. The only text I sent was to Sabbie. It said, “Pimp.”

On Saturday, we decided to celebrate Cinco de Mayo by going out to this Mexican restaurant in Brooklyn. My friends recounted the sequence of events from Friday night and expounded on how obnoxious I was behaving. How do I know I was being so obnoxious? Because my roomie actually said, “You were being so obnoxious.”

Let me explain. Evidently they were encouraging me to go talk to one of Sabbie’s guy friends but I wouldn’t because I thought he was interested in this other girl that was at the bar. So instead of just talking to him I decided it was a great idea to chug Hefeweizen and pass out on a couch. Yes, dear readers, now you can see why I’ve had a dry spell for the past seven months. I cockblock myself with my inability to hold liquor.

In my defense, however, I did refrain from lunging at him because Sabbie warned me that he treats women like shit and if I ever did hook up with him I should “wear a condom”. So this is probably the first time in history when alcohol actually prevented a woman from getting a venereal disease.