05 August 2006

Those were the days

When did my body lose the ability to actually process alcohol? And really, why? How come when I was in my 20s, I could go on 3 day benders, and not only not be hungover, but be in full control of my faculties? How come I could drink vodka with Russians, like a Russian, and only have slightly shaky hands the next day? How come now when I put back 3-4 shots, a couple glasses of wine and a mixed drink, I AM STILL DRUNK THE NEXT MORNING WITHOUT FAIL? Where's the fucking logic?

I'll admit, I may have overindulged back in the day (I wasn't an alcoholic, I was a professional!), and I'll admit that I rarely tipple it back these days (once a month maybe?) but I do not understand why it is that upon my return home, I no longer crave the egg, cheese and jalapeno sandwiches my sister and I used to require as a pre-bed snack after a heavy night of drinking. I do not understand why crackers don't take the edge off the squinty-eyed, stomach-rumbling, stumbling-and-bumbling state I've put my body into. I also don't understand why I have to lay in bed with at least one hand on the wall all night long, and periodically peek an eye open to make sure that, no, the room isn't really swaying back and forth, and furhtermore it's a bit of an impossibility even with a hurricane because I live on the 2nd floor.

We used to drink until 4am, pass out, then wake up at 6 and resume drinking, for several days on end. There was chugging of silver tequila, straight, from 20 oz coke bottles. There was perhaps once a mad-cap adventure to Vermin that involved several bottles of Boone's Farm, Jaegermeister, and some other libation I'm forgetting. I could put away Jameson's by the pint and talk stone-faced to the popo without acting the fool!*

Now? Now I flirt sloppily with the valet, stumble in front of on-coming limos, nearly fall off yachts into the bay, fall down the steps in front of my bosses, speak in any foreign language I know to anyone who'll listen, and am still not sober come noon the next day.

I think my body's saying Haha, fuck you! for all the, ahem, professionalism I exhibited in my younger days. I drank a lifetime supply of alcohol from my 21st birthday until about my 27th, and it seems my inner bartender has cut me off.

Could someone pass me a Diet Coke?

* The author in no way advocates, suggests or approves this behavior by non-professionals. Don't try this at home.

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