Irritable Male Syndrome

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

I didn't touch booze until I turned 23. Sure, there were times that my dad let me take a pull from his can of Stroh's, but the true tests of liver fortitude didn't commence until well after my 21st birthday. Considering that now I can't keep my hands off of the stuff, I'd like to think that's surprising.

I didn't drink until my last two years of college because, for one, I had a girlfriend at the time that didn't drink. I was getting constant sex, so I had no need to fill off hours with copious amounts of booze. It wasn't until a year later that I'd realize that booze and sex are practically inseperable.

Secondly, I found drunks to be utterly retarded. The one thing that bothered me the most was drunk-talk. The "Dude, I am so drunk right now" stuff that every drunk in the history of time has repeated. It's the drunk mantra.

Dude, I am so drunk right now.

Great. Really proud of you there, Skippy. It takes great skill to pour overpriced liquids in your mouth, huh? Yeah, didn't think so. That's akin to a woman proudly telling everyone in her immediate vicinity that she's pregnant, like it's some great feat and nobody in the history of time has ever been pregnant before. Any woman can spread her legs and allow a man go to town.

I digress.

Last night, the Drunk Mantra was all mine, and I honestly have no idea how I go there. Dude, I was so drunk.

Now, I've not been drinking as long as many of you out there. I was a definite late bloomer in almost every respect--I was 5'1" until 10th grade, I didn't even start puberty until about the same time, and the first time I ever got drunk was off of Old English Special Reserve (Raspberry!) malt liquor late in my junior year of college. You'd think, though, that after 7 years of continuous booze-fueled weekends, that I'd have some sort of guage on my tolerance level.

Nope, there are times like last night when the full out palsy drunk sneaks up on you. Even this morning, I still don't understand how I got so annihilated that, when I checked my phone to see what time it was(it was 11:00am, by the way), there was a text-message from a friend that said "Are you ok?". You know I'm in bad form when people are concerned about how drunk I am. Rarely will anyone question it, because I'm usually a subdued drunk, and people have a hard time figuring out just how far along the beer soaked Yellow Brick Road I am. For the record, I'm usually farther along it than most people think.

I even limited myself to beer last night, which is the easiest way to keep myself out of trouble. I didn't do a single shot, nor did I drink any hard alcohol. How, then, did I get so drunk that I stumbled out of the bar early, perhaps tried to kiss a friend on the nose--which, looking back, I think she mistook for an attempted make out session--and don't remember the 2 block walk home, getting into my apartment, getting naked or setting my alarm? Hell, I barely remember my drive to work at noon today. I should've been here at 9.

I love you, Beer, I really do. But, all I'm asking for is a little consistency. Once you've determined that it'll take 15 of your friends to get me shit-faced, let's keep it at 15--not 35 one night, and 5 the next. Considering your decision to keep your legs closed and be a frigid bitch, I think it's the least you could do for me.


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