Now, here’s one that we can all be very well assured is something NO ONE likes. Except for me.
At this point, you’re probably telling the person you share your dusty, Penny Arcade comic-covered cubicle with that I am making all this up. The first 2 were definite maybes, but now you are DAMN SURE I am just doing this for laughs and my 15 minutes of e-fame.
That, sir, is only because you don’t know me.
If you knew me- which I hope someday we do meet, only because I thought it was really funny earlier, during that inter-departmental meeting, when you made a little flipbook of your boss’s head exploding on the corner of your notepad- you would know that the only thing I like more than making jokes about suicide is drinking. My friends don’t ask me how I’m doing; they ask me how many I’ve had.
The only way a person could love drinking as much as I do is if they also love the consequences. While I’m not big on hangovers really, I absolutely LIVE FOR that moment when I’ve had so much to drink that I know vomiting is in my near future. This is a special time in every drunk’s life because it means you’re still in control. If you get to the point where you surprise-vomit, well, then you’re drunk, and the only thing you can do is pass out on a pile of coats somewhere. But if you catch it at just the right time- this time when you know it’s going to happen, but you aren’t really feeling it yet- you can do the greatest thing ever:
Force yourself to throw up, drink some water, and head right back to the bar for your 18th badly mixed G&T.
This is the number one reason I love this. Being able to drink more than is humanly possible (or healthy) is the only thing I am actually good at, and the only thing that keeps me from jumping off the Eiffel Tower wearing a ‘Big Fun’ t-shirt. This trick also keeps me from embarrassing myself (well…), and it keeps me at the top spot on the ‘People Everyone Wants To Party With’ hot list (which naturally excludes andyone on the ‘People Who Hate People Who End Sentences With Prepositions’ list).
The second reason I love this is because I love to tell stories, and no story that ends with ‘…and then I puked in the bathroom!’ is ever a bad story. Seriously.
The third reason I love this is for the same reason all of you hate it: It makes you feel really fucking bad about yourself, the life choices you’ve made, and the friends you’ve chosen to surround yourself with (also possibly the school you went to for undergrad, and that guy you had sex with just because he reminded you a little of your high school honors english teacher, Mr. Baker, who you’d always had a crush on, even though he was 12 years older than you and drove a 1989 Honda Accord).
It does the exact opposite for me; it reminds me that I think I’m awesome, I LOVE the life choices I’ve made (mainly the ones involving drinking), and that my I chose my friends really well because they all like it when I’m messy drunk, and they won’t remove me from their Facebook in the morning.
There is nothing better than waking up the next morning without any clothes on, under a set of towels you thought were your blanket, and remembering the silver grafitti on the wall next to your right hand where it sat on the toilet bowl: ‘Dave Rocks’. Or was it ‘Dave Sucks’? Wait, maybe it just said ‘Raul Dahl’.
Actually, who cares. Last night was great, and you were able to drink 6 more tequila sunrises and eat 2 orders of mozzarella sticks after you forced yourself to vomit in that dirty toilet in that dive bar. The world is finally at peace.
Until the depression kicks in and you start calling everyone you know asking what you said and did last night, especially all your friends who are people of color, because you know you sometimes say racist shit when you’re really wasted, but it only SOUNDS racist when you’re drunk, and it totally makes sense and is incredibly wise when you say it sober.
But until then, everything’s alright, and you wonder if Hanes makes shirt the color of whatever it was you threw up last night. Probably not, but I’ll google a few words just to make sure.
First off, I’d like to thank you for the link; I have returned the favor with much pleasure, especially given the content of your blog.
Secondly, I also love the moment of absolute control where you make yourself puke. Once I got shitfaced and walked around Boston with a bottle of Jim Beam in my backpack. Well, I was so drunk I fell down on it and whiskey poured down my back and ass and into my shoes. Later on as I sliced my fingers to ribbons removing broken glass from my bag, it dawned on me that now was the perfect opportunity to shove a beefy finger down my throat and expel Tennessee. And it was wonderful!
Thirdly, I want to have sex with you. But I’m gay. So that’s just not going to happen.
[...] and say, ‘Well, maybe SOMEONE likes that, too…’. And, as I’ve discovered, I wasn’t so far off (do they like these things AS MUCH AS I do? Probably not, but until my grant money comes in for [...]
You wrote “Roald Dahl” for the record. Because The Twits is a literary masterpiece.