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My name's Jake (Hi, Jake!), and I'm no longer a virgin.

Now, before you get all excited for me and start giving me pointers about getting that fish taste off my tongue, I should clarify: I'm no longer a sushi virgin.

That's right. I, Jake, an almost 38-year-old man living in a major metropolitan city, had never eaten sushi. Until tonight. And it wasn't half bad.

And WHY had I never eaten sushi? No big reason, really. I've just always preferred beef and chicken over fish. And nobody's ever asked me to try it. And I really love my beef and chicken.

The straight tuna and salmon chunks—which my friends tonight said were more "hardcore" sushi—were actually my favorite. Right after the spicy tuna rolls. Which I almost could say I loved. I wasn't a fan of the crab and lobster rolls. And I can probably live a pretty happy life never eating another turtle roll.

And while I don't see myself actually craving sushi anytime soon, I can say I tried it. And I'll no doubt try it again.

It helped that I was with friends who promised to make my first time special painless. And that they promised not to laugh. And that one of them (a friend of my friend Bill, who organized the evening) was pretty hot and his knee kept touching mine under the table. Except the guy has said "nice to meet you" to me all four times we've hung out. So I don't get the feeling I'm really on his radar.

But there's more! While I was losing my virginity all over the place tonight, I decided to go whole fish hog and order an alcoholic beverage. Seriously. I have never ordered a drink before tonight, either. (Hell, I've probably consumed in aggregate the equivalent of two whole drinks in my entire life.) But I was with friends, I was feeling all grown-up … and the hot guy had already lost interest in me so there was no harm in letting him know what a social misfit I'd been for the last 37 and a half years. So I ordered a cosmo. And I drank half of it. And it was good.

And now I'm home drunk off my raw-fish-eating ass and packing my shorts and sunscreen because in 10 hours I'll be winging my way off to Florida for a family vacation—where my 4-year-old niece and 6-year-old nephew will experience the magic of Disney World for the first time. And they're almost as excited as their uncle Jake, who is such a lifelong Disney freak that he actually went and got a Mickey Mouse tattoo on his ankle. And we all know he wasn't drunk when he did it. Loser.

Be good while I'm gone!