I don’t mean to be overly dramatic about this. Please don’t read this and imagine me as some guy that is going to be suffering from DTs within the next couple of days. I only drink socially. It never occurs to me to have a drink when I’m alone at home.
But after a tumultuous, on-again off-again relationship, alcohol and I are parting ways. Thankfully, I think I’ll be the one to keep the friends after the split.
If you’re out there and you’re reading this and you drink, you know as well as I do that it’s never good to be the drunkest guy at the party. Saturday night, I was that guy. Or at least, I’m fairly sure I was.
Sarah of Drinking Liberally had invited me to her husband’s birthday party. My original goal was to stick around long enough to say hello, then go home and prepare for something I was a little nervous about that was going on the next day.
One drink led to another, which led to another, which led to… Fuck, I don’t remember.
I do remember that there was a stunningly beautiful woman there. And I know she was beautiful— I noticed her long before being fitted for a pair of rum goggles. She was so gorgeous and so young-looking that I thought she was some 20-year-old that I wouldn’t know how to talk to. Turns out she was my age, had a great sense of humor, and seemed very smart.
I’m sure I made a hell of an impression— I forgot what I was saying to her in mid-sentence. As I replayed it in my mind later that night, trying to remember what I was babbling about, it occurred to me that I got my age wrong when I was telling her how old I was. I didn’t intentionally mislead her— I simply forgot about having a birthday last August.
If by some random miracle, she’s out there reading this, I’m sorry. I don’t think I did anything horribly offensive (At least I hope), but I’m not typically the babbling jackass you saw the other night.
If I did anything horrible and offensive at the party, please allow me to apologize. I don’t really recall it all that much, so if you told me I fessed up to being the second gunman on the grassy knoll, I’m not sure I could do much to dispute it.
But rest assured, it will not happen again. I don’t like being out of control.
I can go months on end without touching alcohol. So this isn’t a thing where I’ll be running off to AA meetings or anything.
The problem is that once I get started, I don’t stop. I was telling a friend about this last night, and he compared me to the X-Men character Juggernaut.
You would think I would know better by now. My Father’s own love of alcohol led to his painful and prolonged death at about this time last year.
I can’t walk that road. I’ve got entirely too much to do.
I’ll stil go to all the drinking-themed events that I always have, so I’ll see all my friends. But I’m through with alcohol.
You probably won’t see too many changes— I loosen up and speak a little easier when I’ve got a few drinks in me. But the fine line between locquatious and incoherent sneaks up on me. And talking does me no good if I fail to make sense.
So you’ll all see me again soon— But I doubt you’ll ever meet the fool from the party the other night again.