Will the Circle be Unbroken

My paternal roots are deeply twisted around bottles of liquor. I am aware of, and embrace, the alcoholic branch of my family tree. As I was taught by ABC during Saturday morning cartoons, "Knowledge is power!" and since I know the repercussions of carrying on my family tradition, I opt not to imbibe copious amounts on a frequent basis (i.e. I don't get wasted on school nights). However, on random occasions, I do indulge the beer-swilling, shot-pounding party fiend that lives inside me. She's a loud, brash, unbalanced dancing machine, and thinks she's the heart of any good time. In fact, she's at best a silly, adorable mess and at worst, a slobbering, unchecked train wreck. Armed with this information, and annals of history to support it, I have been untethering her leash sparingly in the last year. But given her history, her bad behavior makes for colorful anecdotes that have been recycled in various bars with various individuals. Recently, a few of these people have been complaining that they've never been privy to the actions of my inner booze hound, and I repeatedly explained my concerns about letting her loose. Those concerns were ignored last week, and I have fears that she has done irreparable damage. I hear she was viciously name-dropping, and may have even been crude regarding tender, private acts I'd engaged in earlier that week. Even worse, she may have insulted the object of my desire. Why else would he have gone MIA for the last 10 days? My closest friends that have known my heavy-lidded, wobbly, slurring alter-ego have assured me that while she's an idiot, she's not an "assh*le," and that she could not have inflicted as much devastation as I fear. So, while she's been peacefully snoring through the week, I've been on edge at every vibration of my phone, waiting for the text message to assure me that she was indeed, cute and idiotic, not haggard and vile. Its times like this that I want to let her out of hibernation to drink me into oblivion. And so the cycle begins, again...

Another One Bites The Dust

Driving down 24 the other night, I had two sounds filling my car: Rolling Stones on Sirius and deep, rhythmic snoring from the male in my passenger seat. I had one thought in my head: It seems I am Nytol to men. A few months ago, I was out with a guy and as the night wound down, we decided to head back to his place. After some flirting and post-alcohol scarfing, we went upstairs. After turning off the lights and cuddling up, I was anticipating a little something. Instead, I got a lot of nothing. I heard his breath come and go in controlled pacing and knew my evening was done. Waking up in a strange bed at 730a without a good story to go along with it is just a waste of time. To be fair, he'd been sick and just gotten home from a month on the road. I can give a pass, chalk it up to circumstances beyond my control. However, two months later, I find myself with a different gentleman who also falls asleep on me. This is not an anomaly - its an outbreak, hopefully contained before it reaches epidemic status. The most disturbing factor in the latter occurrence is that I was the one who had been drinking Absinthe. And Jagermeister. And beer. After an evening of such liquors joining forces in my bloodstream, how is it that I was the person awake? I joined him at the bar around 1030p, and we left sometime near three. We had discussed our *ahem* intentions prior to departure, and frankly, falling asleep was not part of the itinerary. So while he sleeps soundly, cozy in the Mighty Shark as it navigates the slick roads of Nashville, my stomach is churning. Not from the aforementioned Absinthe, but from nerves. When we reach our destination, I will have to wake him up. From there, do I expect our plans to take shape? Or do I just watch him turn the truck on and give him a wave? Is he expecting me to make a move? Or will the previous conversation be attributed to drinking and never mentioned again? Thankfully, he woke up. And I had to use the defroster to defog the windows before I could get back on the road... Perhaps I'm not Nytol, just tryptophan. Much like turkey, it seems men need a nap between rounds.