I don’t drink alcohol very often. I used to, though. I started drinking in high school when I began dating an older dude who introduced me to the wonders of Black Velvet. He also introduced me to heartache when he dumped me and began dating another girl, a girl I considered a friend. I then took up drinking to dull the pain of a broken heart, as well as to escape being pulled in all directions by my parents and their terrible, ugly divorce proceedings. I drank pretty heavily for the next seven or eight years, but I never liked the taste of it—any of it. Beer I hated the least, so that was my beverage of choice.
While I was drunk, I slept with at least fifteen dudes. Some I still don’t know if I slept with, but the clues pointed me in that direction. I stopped drinking when I met my first husband. Most of my life had been spent trying to win the love of a boy, and that’s a different story, but once I had one, I didn’t drink much. The older I got, the worse my hangovers got. A few years later, though, my husband and I split, and even though I was happy about that, I was nervous. I was back in the dating game, and I pretty quickly got burned. And then I started dating a great guy who drank, so I went through another phase of drinking. Eventually, though, I slowed down and stopped, because I still never liked drinking. I liked being drunk, but I hated it going down and I hated the next day. Even if I drink a little bit, I feel like crap for a whole day. So I pretty much stopped. I drank a little in graduate school, mostly because EVERY. SINGLE. FUNCTION. outside of school involved everyone getting sloppy drunk, and I suppose I wanted to fit in, and to fit in I needed to be chatty, and I’m not a Chatty Cathy by nature. So even though I only got tipsy three or four times during my two years of grad school, I still drank way more than my usual.
And today, I don’t drink for all of those reasons mentioned, plus one more: Someone I love very much is an alcoholic. And I am so pissed at ALL THE ALCOHOL IN THE WORLD, by which I suppose I mean the culture we live in. For fuck’s sake, I can’t read a Facebook status, tweet, blog post, whatever, without the casual mention of alcohol. It’s fucking ridiculous. “Had a rough day, lol, going to get my drink on. Watch out, yo!” “Mommy needs her bottle.”
|We couldn't help but wonder when we'd get |
our own gin blossoms to giggle about.
I really do not understand the alcohol culture. Go out for dinner—drink! Stay at home with your partner—drink! Take out the garbage—that deserves a martini! It pervades EVERYTHING. And here’s a thing I don’t get: Mention how your kids make you want to drink, and you’re a normal mom. Mention how your kids make you want to take a toke, and by god, you’re going to get blasted and possibly reported to the authorities.
FUCK THAT. Our society tells us to go out and drink, drink, drink your life away. You’ll look cool, you’ll have that extra burst of confidence, you’ll be able to dance, you’ll get up the nerve to call that girl or boy, you’ll be friends with the cool people, the next day you’ll be able to tweet about how totally wasted, sauced, sloshed, tanked, pickled, and fucked up you were. At the same time, we’re pissed beyond all belief about the person who gets five DUIs. We’re outraged when a drunk fight breaks out and someone is hurt or killed. With good reason, these anger feelings. But it’s a very mixed message we’re getting. Drink responsibly. Talk about an oxymoron.