vices

I made it through my first weekend without alcohol. It would be a bold-faced lie to say it was easy. I don't think there's been purely alcohol-free weekend in my life since before my Gamecock daze. HOW PATHETIC!



What exactly legitimizes an "alcoholic"? How do you measure this? In dirty martinis and buckets of sangria? Shots around the world and tour de franzia races? My God, it was actually suggested to me on Friday night (whilst at a benefit, in a BAR) that I was in fact, being anti-social. Anti-social!? I gripped my uncomfortable rectangular Fuji bottle and promptly defended myself. Are you telling me that my choice to become "anti-alcohol" had effectively deemed me "anti-social"? Do you have to get liquored up to have a good time?

Then I began to question whether or not I really could be social without alcohol. As the bar began to bulge, I became soberly aware of my surroundings. What was this stomach-churning bourbon smell, infiltrating my nostrils? Why was every single Bobby and Betty feeling the need to rub against me and elbow my rib cage? Why did this (clearly drunk) person feel the need to tell me that he was a "loser" in high school, but now hangs out with Gisele Bundchen?

AHHHHHHHHHHHKKKK!!!!!

It was all I could do not to perform a running, double front handspring up and over the crowd and behind the bar. At which point I would hopefully bang my head into a bottle of Patron and knock myself out.

Still.going.strong.