So, where's that woman?

There's an old story with which I can identify somewhat. Thus, I'm
allowed to paraphrase it, to put myself into the story.

So, there I was, after my first X months living and working out on the
unnamed reservation in northern Minnesota. Got rather drunk, and said,
"Ya know, I really, really wanna be a member of the tribe."

Uncomprehending looks.

"You want what?"

"I really want to be a member of the tribe."

"But you're not an Indian at all."

"Not true, my Mom's Dad's Mom was full-blooded Ojibwe. Canadian, so a
Native living on the Reserve, rather than a Native American living on the
Reservation. But even so. My aunt did a geneological search, and came up
with a name, and as far as I know, I'm 1/16th Native, or something like
that -- can't do the math in my head right now. Beer thing."

So they look at each other, with an expression meaning "WTF is up with
this fat white dude?" And finally Speedy says, "Well, okay then. Here's
what you have to do... um..."

"Drink a pint of whiskey."

"Wrestle a bear."

"Make love to a young woman."

I ponder this for a moment.

"Okay, make love to a whiskey..."

Exchanged WFT glances...

"No, DRINK a pint of whiskey, wrestle a bear, and make love to a young
woman."

"Okay, no problem."

"Huh?"

"I can do that. No problem. This is really, really important to me. I
love you guys!" I say, teary-eyed. "Wrestle a whiskey, and what was the
rest?"

I was, of course, way too drunk to remember all this. It's all kinda
blurry to me. I'm not a really brave guy, so the bear-wrestling thing
seems kinda unlikely. Making love to a young woman, well, back when I was
a younger man, that used to happen from time to time. I still remember
how. Probably. As far as you know.

Anyway, apparently, I actually finished the pint of whiskey. Suprising,
cause I hate whiskey. Wine, maybe, but whiskey? Oh, well, must be true,
I trust them explicitly.

So, I was there at one point, and all of a sudden, I was gone. Nobody was
sure where I went. They were ready to call out the troops to go look for
me, but hey, how much trouble could I get into on a small, admittedly
wild, reservation, so close to the Canadian border?

I don't remember this either, but eventually I came back, stumbling out of
the woods, filthy, my clothes all tore up, bruises and scratches all over
my arms and back and legs and what-not, raised my head and said with
bleary eyes,

"Okay, so where's this woman I gotta wrestle?"