On Drinking Alcohol

On Drinking Alcohol

Never does having a drink sound like a good thing to me. If I’m upset, I complain. If I’m stressed, then I complain and run. If I need to relax, then I just go to bed. Drinking something bitter that will give me a fucking headache feels like a counter intuitive solution.

Since I’ve come clean about not really enjoying alcohol, this translated into a minor behavioral change. We go out and I drink pop. Woo. Still I’ve felt weird about admitting this because I’ve tried to like drinking for so long. I spent so many years in my youth drinking and trying to get used to its ill effects on my body (and mind). But now that I’m old and married and don’t need to chase down disappointing guys in bars any more, what remains is that I think alcohol mostly tastes gross. Which makes me feel like a child with an unsophisticated palate or some kind of tee-totalling wanker, but it’s the truth.

There’s really only a small window of goodness when it comes to getting drunk. Like 15-20 minutes of silly tipsiness, which, if there are people with you to enjoy the giggliness, is somewhat enjoyable. But after that, it’s just sloppiness and headaches. Plus, I can’t sleep when I’m drunk, so the next day is doubly horrible because I feel like ass and can’t accomplish anything.

Also, it’s not like I need booze to loosen my tongue. I mean, what outrageous thing could I confess drunk that I wouldn’t already say sober? What’s the point of lowering one’s inhibitions in such a costly way, then?

The last time I was drunk was like, what? Last year? I don’t know. We were at this awful bar with a live band and it was loud and every single man in the place with the exception of my husband and the husbands of my friends was gross. Short and fat and sweaty and ugly and badly-dressed. You couldn’t even enjoy staring at the scenery. That this experience is the apex of some people’s weeks cripples me with sadness. Going there, to look at that, and then wake up with some icky dude and have a headache? Kill me.

The only time I enjoy drinking is when the beer is really cold and I’m super thirsty. Or I’m in Europe and so my whole life doesn’t count and I can smoke cigarettes and be all continental.

(But when I’m thirsty, I really just want water. Because alcohol dehydrates – I paid attention in 11th grade Health class, see.)

Sometimes when it’s very hot out, and I’m feeling ambitious, I’ll make the world’s weakest gin and tonic with some Martin Miller and lime. The first few sips are nice and then I wander away and forget about it until it’s all melted and grody.

Mostly the whole practice just seems barbaric. Drinking fermented shit to kill brain cells for amusement?

I am the biggest buzzkill in the world.

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