Chug, Chug, Chug

Full disclosure, I think about my ex on a daily basis.

It is naive of me to think that she does not have alcohol in the house.

It is naive of my to think she is not frequently drinking to excess.

It was an ideal, my ideal, which was unconsciously imposed upon her. It goes much deeper then sobriety, almost to the extent of being weaved into the fiber of my being. It is beyond my understanding (at least at this very moment).


I have been shown, time and time again, that alcohol and its abuse* will be and has been part of our relationship.
*Let me offer one point of clarification in regards to abuse. First, I recognize that is my subjective opinion. By no means am I generally stating that the behavior that was demonstrated during the times of intoxication was asbolutley unacceptable, in fact the opposite is probably true. Alcohol often gives us, by means of a societal rationalization of the behavior, a justifiable reason to "act the part." Case in point: If one were to go to a "frat party," a certain standard of behavior is accepted because of our collective understanding of what goes on at these type of events. This behavior, independent of any egregious break of a societal norm, is "allowed" in this setting and almost encouraged

Side note: The one and only time I went to a frat party I decided to take advantage of the accepted behavior and "act the part."

Entering the circus ring we call the "frat party," the ringmaster skillfully conducted his opening ceremony consisting of shots on the bar and shouting to the audience "Yo, we got free beer," to a loud uproar. As or our timid group of quasi military cadets, progressing through the crowd in single file, excusing ourselves at every chance, we quickly and without notice settled down into the corner near the crowded beer pong table and sunken plush couch.

I was out of my league, surrounded by yelling college students, groping the legs and torsos of the women they were pulling into their crotches. "I'm going to get some beer," a friend said, offering a fleeting glace my direction, as to reaffirm my desire not to partake. "I'm good, thanks" I meekly stated.

"Look at her, shes hot" shooting a glance into the crowd. Snapping my neck, as to see this once in a life time event, "who." "She's looking over here, I think she wants to dance" he said in a commanding tone, gesturing me to get up. "No, dude, shes looking at you" I quickly shot back, putting my hand behind his back while gently urging him out of his plush seat.

Following this, I did what all guys do, decided to rise to my feet, look back at my friends and take my first step in her direction. We lock eyes, and she turns towards me. Short of a stroke, I begin to lose feeling in my extremities as I continue to pull my body in her direction. "Hey" I raise my hand and gesture towards her. "Hey" she replies through the crowd. Its game time no going back. "Yo, whats up man" I say, a little louder then the last. She looks puzzled as I raise my hand higher and stride right past her. "Damn I blew it," I think as our shoulders meet. The invisible man behind your target is always the best out.

To spare the pleasantries, of course I receive a wave of grimaces and negative remarks as I return to the fold.

What was different? Why were these guys able to grope their way to teenage heaven?

Alcohol...alcohol was the difference. Nearly everyone, and I do mean everyone, was drinking. The "nearly" represents yours truly, who did not possess a beverage. That realization lead me to understand the true power of this symbol, and what one could do while the alcohol was flowing.

"Dude, give me your beer" I said him, as he sat mesmerized on the plush couch, ever so slowly sinking into the soft cushions and folded springs. "What, why do you want my beer, you don't drink," he said. "I know, and I still don't, just drink half and give it to me" I replied. He obeyed, and handed me the beer. I walked into the back kitchen area of the frat and put the beer to my lips. Pshhhhhh..."this tastes like piss," not that I've ever partaken in a warm glass of urine, but wow, I'm sure its close.

"Fuck it" I though to myself, "Its my time." I collected myself, closing my eyes, turning slowly, towards the entrance to the main room.  I begin my walk of intoxication, forcefully striking a thick wooden table as I walk by, like a coach smacking his players asses as they stride onto the field. "I'm fuckin drunk" was the first thing I decided to yell. Not the best choice, but fitting at the time. Raising my Olympic torch, I walk with a confidence that was not yet found at that part in my life. Bumping through the crowds, "Yeah, this is fickin awesome" I'm yelling at the top of my lungs, competing with the blasting hip-hop. I was free, and no-one cared I was yelling, as I scream almost directly into their faces.

I'm quasi stumbling through the crowd towards the still sedentary group of guys I arrived with, and inadvertently shoulder the women I was originally looking at. I extend my arm to catch her in a embrace, pull her close to my legs. Let the grinding begin.

It was amazing, the look on their faces, twisted in a showing of emotion ranging from disbelief to anger and the impetus for these emotions was occurring right in front of their eyes. I committed a mortal sin, punishable by banishment. I am faking it, and they know it. How sweet this was.

I left that night with a understanding; one that has carried with me to this day. I have no need to escape, relax, or whatever one chooses to label it. I need no beverage because I can "act the part" without even being cast for the play.



Oh, and in regards to progress towards my long term goals; does thinking about it count?