Friday, September 01, 2006

The Guys Are All Cuter At Closing Time

Me too.

I've had a rash of friends experiencing the dreaded DUI curse lately. By lately, I mean over the past couple of years. By friends, I don't mean Mel Gibson.

I have been lucky enough to never go through this experience- at least as the driver. But I can't help but feel like every road block, every pull over, is part of the cops' quest to find me; the others that they round up are just bonuses.

Please don't misinterpret here. I am not for any of you driving drunk. You could hit me, at which point the cops would arrive on the scene and I could end up incarcerated for also being intoxicated. I have faith in you, but I'm too delicate for real jail. However, I am already a prisoner.

Allow me to explain.

The problem lies in the beauty of alcohol. I LIKE adult beverages and if there is any truth that you can speak about me, it is that I do not discriminate. I will drink nearly anything that is at least 40 proof at least once, but I do have my favorites. I do not drink daily; I average less than 25 drinks a month; less than one a day. But I drink those 25 drinks in two sittings which means that when it's on...

I am a rather social person. I like nothing more than meeting friends at the pub and discussing life's joys over a couple of life's joys. By the time one drink becomes 5, I'm ready to start doing shots. After doing a shot or two, I've made new friends and I'm encouraging them to sing karaoke. Sometimes these new friends insist on buying the next round. I don't like to accept drinks from people that I've just met but I'm also not going to let a perfectly good beer get hot. The next thing you know, the lights are coming on and it's last call.

The words "Last Call" make me really hungry. Usually, I haven't eaten since noon and it's almost 2 AM. The kitchen is closed so the "sobering up" plan involves a stick of gum, another cigarette and a giant glass of water. But you have to finish your beer first, so the water just sits condensing on the bar.

Now seriously, at this point I am in no condition to decide if I'm sober enough to drive or not. That's the rub! How can I, in all fairness, be held accountable for the decision to get behind the wheel of my car and drive home? I'm too drunk to make a judgment call like that. People, can't you see that I am a VICTIM?

Here's something annoying that increases my victimization. People who don't drink don't want to go to bars. WHAT? Now, how am I susppossed to get my car home if everyone in the bar at 2 AM has been there since 5? I can't let one of these fools drive me home! Plus, I know better than to go home with strangers. And don't talk that "get a cab" nonsense. There are all sorts of logistical problems associated with taking a cab. Plus, what's a cab running these days? $30 a ride? That's like half my bar tab! Ridiculous.

So. This is my year of not living dangerously. I'm going to TRY and quit smoking and I'm going to TRY and always leave the bar with confidence after only 3 beers. Who knows, I might actually end up spending my weekends doing something productive instead of recovering and rallying. I know, it sounds awful, doesn't it? What good is being single if you can't have 2-day binges? Why have blackout curtains if you're not nursing a hangover?

More than likely, I'm going to have to... oh god this hurts... limit my time in pubs and bars across this great land of ours.

This football season I'm hoping to get an invite to your place so that we can kill a 12-pack while the game is on. And get the guest room ready, because I'm not planning on driving home. And sell your Coors stock. It's about to plumet.


Killer said...

You need to move to an urban dwelling where the bars are within stumbling distance of your house.

Liz said...

Nice suggestion, Killer; one that I've mulled over many a time over many a beer. Is it pathetic to want to move primarialy so you can drink with reckless abandon?