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...
11 April 2008
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...
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