I have two party tricks when I am drunk (Ahem. Technically I have three). I disappear for hours on end and I say, “Yes”, to any suggestion I am faced with. So, technically, really, the first two equal the third.
It’s just mathematics.
When I was fifteen, RG decided to teach me how to drink alcohol.
“You should know how to drink scotch properly, so that you don’t do anything stupid,” he said while pouring Glen Moray into a glass of ice.
Unfortunately, he didn’t calculate that adding scotch to me was never going to subtract stupidity. There is only one multiplication table I know.
Nightly, he would pour me a glass and educate me on the various ways of drinking. I really excelled in A Lot 101.
My home school meant that I didn’t have to engage in underage drinking with friends.
“Why do I want to go and buy goon illegally when I can drink single malt at home?” I responded when turning down invitations to a totally dope party.
When I turned eighteen, however, I graduated from both high school and home school and took my knowledge to the streets and bars.
At this point, I think I have a PhD. Permanently. Hideously. Drunk.
During my very drunk nights (once called “Week Nights”), my party tricks created either problems or adventures.
“I had belongings at one point,” I realized on night in LA when I finally Came To and stopped talking to the bathroom wall. I wanted to buy another drink but my purse had suspiciously evaporated the more liquefied I became.
“We should catch a plane to Auckland!” Another night-time adventure culminated.
“Yes!”
Thankfully, I Came To before I found my passport and got acquainted with a sheep.
I stopped drinking for one month because I realized that I disliked spending ten hours a day trying to make myself more intelligent only to destroy the hard work for eight hours per night. I re-enrolled in home school and studied to art of self-control.
After six weeks of ferociously dedicating myself to academia, I am once again planning to put down the books and pick up at the bar.
“I feel too smart right now,” I told boy friend. “I just need to be stupid for a while.”
“Cheers!” He clinked my glass of water.
“I am going to be drunk for a full work week. I take no responsibility for my actions,” I informed.
He took my purse away from me for safe keeping. “Make sure your phone is charged and your passport is hidden.”
There is so much of life that is so serious and should be treated as such. But then there are aspects of life that are completely frivolous and fun and that superficiality should be celebrated and indulged. I no longer think too much about the stupidity of drinking, as I have realized that there is no point in investing intelligence into something that promotes none. So long as nothing too stupid occurs, I can get very excited about forgetting that I am, actually, a three-dimensional person once the scotch has dried up.
Everyone has their down time, their ridiculous release that is necessary to starve off the exhaustion of spending ten hours per day bettering themselves.
“Why can’t you enjoy lawn bowls or something like that?” AM shook her head, poured herself another wine, and failed to see the irony.
“I just need to relax and let my brain sleep for a while,” I reasoned. “I am the best person I am going to be at this moment in time. I think I need to go and destroy that a little bit so that I have something new to think about.”
“Five days is a long time to be drink,” she sighed.
“Not really,” I reasoned.
It’s just mathematics.
My friend called me at midday with a suggestion.
“Do you want to buy a cask of goon and sit on the beach and drink it?”
“Yes!”
It is somewhat refreshing to know that you can make stupid decision when sober. It could be my new party trick.
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