I came here with full intentions to re-write my previous post that was lost to the vast, unknown reaches of the internet yesterday but you know what? I'm not gunna. Instead, I am going to give you a brief run down on alcohol titled....
Hi, My Name Is T and I'm A Borderline Alcoholic.
(my parents are going to hate this post)
I remember ten years ago (holy shit, really?) when I had my first run in with the Devil in liquid form. Actually, let's go back even further to one of my earliest memories in this stage of the soul. When I was a wee-T, somewhere around the age of threeish? I remember wobbling across the living room floor of my parents place to my grandfather or as called him, "Grandeddy". I don't remember any words, but what I do remember is something that would stick with me till this day. He was sitting in his chair drinking a Budweiser from the can. He hoisted me up into his lap, said something to the same effect as the adults from Peanuts and handed me the Bud. I grabbed it cautiously, peeped around for my Dad and then took a swig. Then I immediately spewed it out. It was the equivalent to piss in my mind. I vowed from that point on that I would never drink and I would never smoke.
Boy, how things change. Roughly twelve years later, after much internal debate I gave in to peer pressure and drank with a red giant named Stephen. He introduced me to two bottles. Everclear and 151. That's strong, even for a seasoned veteran but I didn't know any better. I took three shots of Everclear and nothing happened, or at least I thought nothing was happening. On the outside I was fine and wanted a sandwich. On the inside, my body was transforming into something else. Something rigid and set on destruction. Needless to say, those shots kicked in to high gear and I made a sandwich while doing the lean from Michael Jackson's "Smooth Criminal". Did I mention I was trying to hide my drunken behavior from my friend's parents who were standing on either side of me? That night will go down in infamy, stored in my brain somewhere between "Hobo-finger-smash!" and "Stinky Steve drank his own vomit."
What I am getting at here is I opened Pandora's proverbial box a while ago and have yet to show signs of slowing down. I have had more adventures making questionable decisions under the influence than just about anyone (outside of my social circle[DAT RITE DARE GOES OUT TO ALL MY THUGS AND THUGETTES IN MUH REEL WORLD]) that I know. Some would look at this as a very bad sign but I feel as though I excel under the stress. Here are some pro and cons/highs and lows of my history with alcohol.
pros/highs:
-I have yet to hit a woman in an angered state of mind. (Acts like smacking a Clarmont strippers bare ass is not in the same category as giving your sweetheart a black eye. Frowned upon maybe, but even then it depends on who you're asking. Sometimes it's encouraged!)
-I have not been mugged leaving any Ponce/Murder Kroger area events. I pay attention to my surroundings.
-Getting bomb drunk on spring break in P.C. and not remembering most of it. (FUCK YOU FOR JUDGING ME!)
-Upping the evening at almost every "get away from the city" spot I have gone to.
-I don't have any tattoos from a rough night on the rocks.
-No little T's I don't know about running around.
-Nights on tour that I don't even know how to explain.
-Never gotten significantly hurt under the influence
-No arrests, period.
-Dragon*Con.
-I haven't pissed the bed.
cons/lows
-Hangovers. The way these things have mutated over the years boggles my mind every time I have one.
-Getting bomb drunk on spring break in P.C. and not remembering most of it. (FUCK YOU FOR JUDGING ME!)
This is a very brief list but I honestly can't think of any more lows. Though, to be fair, hangovers are pretty terrible and weigh in pretty hard. Still... I think the pros here outweigh the cons. I also don't drink for the taste.
I believe I am rambling now. The whole point of this entry was to... Well, I'm not really sure anymore. The point now is I don't like being hungover. There you have it. My brain hurts and I want to put my head down on my desk but that is frowned upon at work. Maybe I will go find Darkness and try to tame him. I think it's a him.
Last few lines and then you can get off my lawn. Darkness is a stray black cat that loiters around my work. Being that I was a loiter for a long time, I feel for the dude even though he doesn't seem akin to my charm. I shall make him like me.
To be continued....
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