It seems like so far my drink of choice is an Old Fashioned or a Gin and Tonic. How did I skip my 20s and go straight to my 60s?

Is this a hangover? I feel like I was hit by a truck. I’m tired, and have a mild headache, but after getting up and walking around I feel okay. I drink a bunch of water and mill around the house. Maybe I’m just tired from going to bed at ~5AM and waking up at 10AM.

Today is going to be a very long day. First stop: Alex’s BBQ in Woburn.

I didn’t plan much on the drinking front and everyone else just brought beer which I’m pretty sure I don’t like at all at this point. I tried a few things passed my way including Jonathan’s homemade beer which was deemed “quite hoppy” by everyone and while it was more palatable than the raspberry nonsense I had last week it still wasn’t what I’d call good.

The topic of my experiment came up a few times and everyone was interested in the origin, background, and my progress. No one was pushy about the whole thing which was very nice and something I’m still getting used to. A few people want to buy me drinks and take me out to taste different things to see what I like and if I’d enjoy what they enjoy but there’s no pressure at all. Their goal isn’t to get me drunk but to see how what I’d like. This reminds me of why I love my friends. No pressure. Just be who you are and they still welcome you no matter what.

I wonder if I did 30 days of goat pornography if everyone would still be so interested.

As the night dawned, we lit fireworks off that Alex had stashed away for some reason and folks made s’mores. Conversation turned to pub crawls and a few first drinking stories. Alex mentioned how he doesn’t drink to get drunk or from pressure anymore. He drinks now and then because he enjoys it and enjoys the company of friends. He brews his own beer as well.

This makes me wonder why people started drinking to begin with. What it peer pressure? Wanting to fit in? Wanting to seem cool?

Everyone had stories about getting drunk. Sometimes they get in trouble, sometimes they act crazy, but they are never alone in the stories. The one common element amongst my friends’ stories is camaraderie. Maybe this is unrelated to the alcohol, but there’s always a strong friendship element to the stories. “Dave held my hair back” or “Alex got me home okay”.

Maybe we remember these stories because they are times when we fell down or got into trouble and our friends step in to help us up or pull us out of a jam. I’ve said it before, but it doesn’t matter what you do as much as who you do it with.

After the BBQ, we headed out to the show.

I should mention that I work at the Rocky Horror Picture Show in Harvard Square (http://www.fullbodycast.org) and so every Saturday night at Midnight I’m in Harvard with a bunch of lunatics.

The show tends to get out at 2:30-3:00 in the morning, and there is often an after party. Tonight was no exception. Jon Stina were hosting so we made the trip out to Framingham. It was a small party but not in a bad way. I had a few sips of something that Stina called “basically a Scorpion Bowl” but I wasn’t too interested in drinking anything else yet. I felt like I was still trying to find something I liked and the other stuff I’d had up to that point hadn’t been very good. Maybe I should be buying my own alcohol and toting it around with me?

When everyone else left and went to bed, I ended up crashing on Jon and Stina’s couch, although I use crashing in the loosest sense as I didn’t actually get any sleep. Sunday was Jon’s birthday and there was an impending BBQ and poker game. I spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling thinking about things and talking to Jess.

This sort of bleeds into Sunday, Day 13.

Stina woke up and made us breakfast which was a godsend. Chris, Jon’s roommate woke up and we all had some interesting conversations about politics, The Rat (an old club in Boston that is now defunct and demolished), coastal differences, fighting, doing security, confrontation, and general stuff. Chris is a pretty interesting guy.

At around 3PM Masha, Jess, and I headed out as the first few folks were trickling in from the BBQ. My plan was to go home and take a shower, nap, and come back for the BBQ and poker. By the time I got home I was pretty tired and didn’t want to drive all the way back to Framingham.

I took a shower, cleaned around the house a bit and tried to calculate how many hours it had been since I slept. 10AM Saturday morning to 5PM Sunday night is 31 hours without sleep. Good times.

Burnzy called and reminded me of our plans to go see Gamer, the new Gerard Butler flick. Jess met up with us and we went to the theatre. Burnzy exercised his excellent claw-machine skills and plucked a Yogi Bear doll out of the vending machine.

It didn’t occur to me until just now how odd it is that Yogi Bear was in the vending machine. I don’t think I’ve seen a Yogi cartoon since I was 10. Is it even still on? Do kids these days even know who Yogi Bear is?

Alas, Burnzy was unable to get the claw to bend to his will to get the Patriots football.

The movie was entertaining and surprisingly full of depth despite the shaky camera action sequence that is the new movie fad. I went back to my place and tried to stay awake as long as possible so I didn’t wake up at 3AM and totally screw myself.

I finally let myself fall asleep around midnight.

Monday, Day 14.

My alarm went off at 8AM but I reset it a few times until 10. I figure I deserved the extra sleep after all the lack of sleep over the weekend.

Walking around the house I felt really tired and worn down. My back ached and I was pretty dehydrated. I didn’t drink that much over the weekend but I did have a whole lot of soda and caffeine which was stupid. I drank probably 6 cans of Mountain Dew at Alex’s BBQ. I don’t know if my current condition is a byproduct of all the caffeine and sugar, or lack of sleep, or both.

The drinking thing is leading to interesting discussions, but I didn’t feel compelled nor did I take any opportunity this weekend to drink. Even at Jon and Stina’s house I didn’t really care. Is this because I was with the biggest and most social group of friends I have? If I were out at a bar I could see myself drinking to keep the conversation greased, but I didn’t seem to need it this weekend. In fact I didn’t think of it much until someone else brought it up.

I meet up with Mary and Jess and we go to the other Alex’s Labor Day BBQ. While there, Adam has me try a beer called Creme Brule (?) and some other stuff. Adam opens one and it sort of explodes on us. I get a bit of it on me and while wiping it out of my hair Adam apologetically says:

“Well at least now you can check ‘asshole spills beer on me’ off your checklist.”

I suddenly remember that on Saturday when I went to leave Shawn put his arm around me and poured beer all down my shirt.

What’s odd is that this sort of thing has almost never happened in the past.

At the BBQ I mostly hung around and talked with various people. Gary and I made plans with a bunch of other folks to do a pub crawl or something similar later in the week.

We headed out at 8:00ish and hung out at my house watching My Cousin Vinny. Not a bad way to end the weekend. After all the running around I was happy to just relax.

In retrospect, I wonder if I wasted a potential opportunity of the long weekend to throw caution a little more into the wind, but it’s been difficult to not feel responsible for driving home or getting my friends home. I know some people who just sort of go out and get wasted and figure the rest out the next day but I don’t know if I’m capable of that sort of “letting go”. Maybe if I had a party at my own house I could not worry about what happens. But I’m always the one driving and I can’t even imagine how bad I’d feel if I ended up throwing up on someone’s floor or something.

Am I holding back too much?

The names in the post have been changed to protect the potentially not-so-innocent.

I met my friend Alison at her work and we made plans to grab some dinner and then head over to an art gallery showing type thing.

From what I can tell, the opening was similar to something that was held in my apartment building in Seattle called “artwalk”, which is where a bunch of artists open the doors to their homes and/or studios and show off their goods in conjunction with the large studios allowing you in free of charge. The main appeal of artwalk in Seattle, from what I’ve always been told, was free wine and “hot art chicks”. Artwalk pissed off me and my roommate because we aren’t artists.

Unless you call playing xbox an artform, which really, you should, because he and I would spend hours playing Halo trying to get the Warthog into places that were damn near impossible and then taking photos and sending them to friends.

But I digress.

In Seattle, people would randomly open our closed door which did not bear a sign reading “Please open this door because there is art inside” like all of the other lofts did. These people would occasionally stumble into our apartment and wonder if the darklit room was an art exhibit in and of itself and would soon learn the “artform” of us “artfully” throwing them out of our apartment and onto the “artistic” carpet outside our door.

Needless to say, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the second part of our plan. But this whole month is supposed to be about trying new things, so I’ll bite.

On the ride to get food, Alison and I discussed alcohol and the role it plays in relationships. She says that she’s pretty sure that all of her douche bag boyfriends were drunks. The quote of the evening came from her:

“No relationship was ever improved with alcohol.”

I wonder idly if “relationship” should be replaced with “scenario”.

Alison selected a place whose name escapes me and we ordered food from their pretty sparse menu. She got a drink, but I was driving to the art-thing so I opted to stick with water. About 20 minutes after ordering Alison’s friend Stacy showed up. She had apparently had a pretty terrible day, and said as much before going inside to order food while I waited outside with Alison who was finishing her cigarette.

Alison and I talked about my month so far and what I’d done. She concluded that I haven’t had nearly enough to drink. I was inclined to agree with her, but the tone of her voice suggested that all that would change by the end of the night so I just nervously chuckled and silently crossed myself. I am not a religious man.

Inside, the drinks hadn’t appeared yet and I began to wonder where the hell our food was. Stacy quickly took a dislike to the waitress. I can’t say that I blame her as our waitress was not exactly what I’d call “efficient” but she seemed nice enough. I tend to feel bad for being mean or disliking people who haven’t actually stabbed me in the face with a fork, but once the stabbing happens I’m quick to mention it or be stingy with the tip.

That’s my form of revenge. Did you just stab me? In the face? Well, shit, I’m only giving you 5%, then!

Alison decided that Stacy’s bangs were a bit too long and needed to be trimmed, so they went off into the ladies room to trim her hair. This seemed completely normal to me at the time but when I went back and read my notes today to write this up it seems extremely strange. I guess it’s up to you, the reader, to judge for yourself. Maybe the lesson here is that girls take care of each other and guys would tell each other to fuck off?

My notes on this night are spotty, so bear with me.

We eventually got our food and drinks well after we ordered them. My guess is maybe an hour after we showed up. Alison’s friend Megan showed up and now I’m seated at a table with three attractive women. The rest of the bar is clearly envious. They show this envy by completely ignoring us.

We eat our food and somehow the conversation comes around to where I’m from and it turns out that Stacy knows a bunch of people I went to High School with. I only vaguely remember some of the names she throws out because that was over 10 years ago and I never really cared much for High School. When she picks up the phone to call someone I recognized to tell them that she’s at dinner with me, I excuse myself and hide in the restroom for however long I think it’ll take for them to get sick of waiting for me and hang up the phone.

While in the bathroom I send a message to James, which says something to the effect of “One of the girls here knows people I went to High School with. AWESOME.”

To which he replies in three messages, in rapid succession:

“Ha”

“Haha”

“Hahahaha”

Thanks, James. I knew I could count on you for support.

I head back to the table and the discussion has moved on to ex-boyfriends and who knows what else while I was gone. We are dangerously close to missing the art-thing, which closes in 15 minutes, due to the waitress taking forever. Stacy points out that our waitress is a “Giant bitch” (and other words that I can’t bring myself to type at the moment), occasionally within earshot of said waitress, and after what seems like a fucking DECADE she makes change and we finally get out of there.

Estimated time for three people to eat food that takes roughly ten minutes to make and three drinks (water, margarita, beer): roughly two hours.

Needless to say I won’t be going back there.

We head towards the car and Stacy wants to stop at the convenience store. Megan goes with while I throw stuff in my trunk so that everyone will fit. I spot Stacy doing … something, and we go over to investigate. Turns out she bought a can of whipped cream and is now doing whippets on the street in the fading daylight in the South End of Boston. I’m not really sure how I feel about that, so I wander back to my car because everyone knows that the best answer to something fucked up going on is to ignore it.

I start to laugh to myself because I realize how bizarre the night has already been and it’s not even 9:00 yet.

We zoom off to the art-thing and while in the car Stacy loudly proclaims (unprompted):

“I can’t stand people who don’t drink!”

Alison, Megan, and I burst out laughing because Stacy missed the whole Christian-never-drank-before-a-few-days-ago thing. We explain it to her and she is floored that I’ve never had a drink ever before a week or so ago. She says that I’m not that bad and she takes back what she said.

The art-thing is much more interesting that the Seattle artwalk, but we walk in about three minutes before it’s slated to close. We managed to only catch a few galleries before everyone shuts their doors. Stacy suggests that we go to Megan’s house so we head back to the car and pass by a mutual friend of mine and Alison’s on the way. They just left the art-thing and want to get some food. Alison suggests the place we were just add, but I warn him that it took forever to get food. He replies that he simply wants a drink and will be easily satisfied, so we wish him good luck and part ways.

On the way to Megan’s we stop at a liquor store and I wait outside with Alison while Megan and Stacy go into the store to procure who-knows-what. I half expect Stacy to come outside with some other household item that she’s figured out a way to freebase, but they just have a bag like everyone else and we pile back in the car and head to Megan’s.

Megan apparently lives four houses away from Stacy, who just moved, and neither of them knew this. This resulted in much screaming of joy.

Inside Megan’s house, we plant ourselves on the couches and Megan puts on “I Love You, Man” in the background to keep us entertained.

Alison pours me a pretty heavy handed Jameson and … something that’s in the fridge. I think it was echinacea green tea or something. It was weird, but I drank it like a good boy.

The girls immediately start talking about things that girls rarely discuss around guys - like what’s involved in giving an adept performance when you’re on bottom, proper techniques for going down on a girl, and so forth. I had about three of Alison’s heavy-on-the-Jameson magic tea drinks, so I forgot most of the topics. It was fascinating. I should have taken notes. At the very least I would have left the house a more informed lover.

The movie ended and we all got up to part ways. The night was still fairly young so Alison and I decided to walk back to her place which was about 10 minutes away from Megan’s. I left my car at Megan’s because I was, at this point, extremely tipsy. We strolled through the city and I enjoyed the various sights and people we passed while we chatted about relationships, Alison’s crazy friends, people we knew, and all sorts of other things.

We stop at a bar on the way to her house and having to scale the three steps seems like a major feat. I feel like everyone turns to look at me as I walk in and conclude that I’m drunk. I don’t know if drunk is the word, because I think “drunk” means “ready to throw up” and/or “complete loss of motor skills”. I’m not quite there yet but I definitely feel dizzy and walking takes considerable effort.

My eyelids feel heavy and as I slide onto the barstool I try to compose myself to look casual. The bartender asks me what I want, and I order an Old Fashioned. I had decided earlier in the week that I wanted to try an Old Fashioned because it’s arguably the original “cocktail” and it’s more manly than the strawberry and pineapple juice flavored stuff I’ve been drinking and getting a lot of grief over for being too girly. I’m still not sure how killing yourself slowly with rum or whiskey or vodka is “girly”, but there’s apparently some Alcohol Man Code I’m violating here.

The Old Fashioned is about what I imagined. It’s actually quite good, and rather strong. Alison recognizes a friend further down the bar so we move down to talk with him. I can’t recall his name or what he looks like.

I start to feel very intoxicated so do what any smart person does - I get off my barstool and try to find the bathroom. I feel like I’m walking through molasses at some points, and in a vacuum in others. Very bizarre. No headache this time but the feeling of just getting off a boat that was in very rough seas is definitely there. I talk to myself in the bathroom mirror a little bit and while it’s mostly nonsense I seem okay. The other guy in the bathroom looks at me like I’m an idiot.

I make it back to the bar and the bartender announces last call. I finish my drink and I watch him fix his own drink, which has a bunch of thinly sliced cucumbers lining the outside of the glass. I ask him what it is and he says Hendricks Gin, cucumber slices, a few ice cubes and a dash of tonic water. He offers me to try a sip and I comply. It’s actually quite good. The word “Smooth” came instantly to mind. I could taste that it was gin for sure but I didn’t feel like I was hit in the face with a shovel like I do when I taste a sip of whiskey, or the straight Stoli vodka I poured myself a few days before.

I thank the bartender and we head out. Alison states that she wants to get me drunk. She says I don’t even seem tipsy. This is amazing to me as I feel so tipsy that I should be packaged and sold on playground to entertain children.

We stop at yet another bar and I order another Old Fashioned. This one is made poorly and does not taste good at all. Alison orders a shot of something - maybe whiskey? - and only has a small sip before she puts it down and looks at me soberly and says:

“If I drink any more, I’m going to be sick.”

I down the rest of my terrible Old Fashioned and we leave her nearly full whiskey shot on the bar and head off to a convenience store around the corner from her house to buy some stuff to eat.

On the way, I have to help Alison walk a bit. Too much in too short a time, I think. She is slightly miffed that she set out to get me drunk and instead got herself drunk and that I was fine. I definitely wasn’t fine but I could walk unassisted. Although we definitely weren’t walking in a straight line.

At Alison’s house, we made food and talked with her roommate - another friend of mine - and I tried to count the drinks I’d had. Most of them were heavy handed. I wondered what it would equate to in normal drink portions. Seven? The food was needed, but I didn’t feel like I was going to throw up.

At around 3AM I thanked Alison for a lovely evening and left to walk back to my car.

I had no idea where my car was.

I pulled out my phone and looked down at it, as if to blame it for not knowing where my car was. I should have used the GPS in my phone to mark where my car was, or at least got Megan’s address. I knew the vague direction it was in, so I set off in search of my car.

As I wandered around the neighborhood I thought about what took place tonight. Alison’s friends were fun and the experience was definitely entertaining. I had good conversation with the bartender who made me the good Old Fashioned and offered me some of his gin. We talked about my hometown and drinking and various other things. It was a very social evening. Socially, it was a giant success. I learned some of the nuances of women when it comes to relationships and sex and I lost my car. Wandering around Boston at 3AM does a good job of sobering you up. I had eaten and taken a few hours for the drinks to wear off.

It was a bit after 4AM by the time I finally found my car. I was actually kind of surprised that I even found it, but only for a minute. I wonder if I would have done better if I hadn’t been three drinks in when I left it there.

I took the back roads home to avoid construction on the highway and I ended up on the same route that I took one time about six months ago when I got a flat tire. My car has locking wheel bolts so people don’t steal the wheels and after changing the flat in the pouring rain at 5:00 in the morning I somehow managed to lose the key for the locking lugnuts. I didn’t realize it until a few hours later when I woke up and was at home retelling the story to my roommate Jimmy. He immediately insisted that we get in the car and go look for it. I drove back to where I got the flat and we walked up and down the road for several hours trying to retrace my route and look for the lock. We never found it.

Now I was driving down this same road and I had this sudden feeling of what friendship was. That day reaffirmed my belief that what really matters in life are our friends. Those who will walk up and down the busy roads with us looking for a tiny piece of metal and not complain about it or even think twice. The people for whom we would lay down in traffic.

Do right by them and the rest will take care of itself. Screw them over and things will get messy and complicated. If you wonder why you’re unfulfilled, take a look at your life and select the friends you have that will selflessly sacrifice themselves for you. If you have wronged them perhaps you should correct that. These are the people that matter. They’re the reason I keep going forward when shit goes south.

If there’s anything that this experiment has taught me it’s that my friends continue to surprise me. Sure, some of them want me to throw up all over the place so they can laugh, but most of them want to see me succeed in whatever I set out to do. Whether that’s never drink a thing, drink for 30 days, or become an avid whiskey lover until my dying days. True friends just want you to be happy and they love to facilitate that. I’m thankful to have a lot of those friends around the world. Otherwise I’d just be a guy sitting in an empty house drinking by myself for 30 days, and what’s the fun in that?

I have not slept yet since I woke up at 10AM on Saturday. Labor Day weekend is crazy.

My friend Jess wanted to take me out to martinis tonight. Who am I to turn down a cute girl who wants to buy me drinks?

We met up at The X&O in Stoughton at around 10PM. The drink menu was mostly fruity martinis which was okay by me after my vodka experience yesterday. Most martinis apparently have vodka in them, though, which was making me a little leery.

I asked the bartender if he suggested anything.

“What do you like?”, he asked.

“I don’t know”, I replied. This has been my standard answer over the past few days.

“Well what do you normally drink?”

“Nothing”

“You don’t drink?”

“Nope.”

“Then you shouldn’t be having a martini. I don’t want you falling off my barstool.”

I wouldn’t say that he sounded annoyed, per se, but he wasn’t exactly joking when he said it. I told him I’d be okay and that Jess would take care of me. He suggested something called … Pink Pussycat. Seriously.

I think he was just fucking with me.

I got it anyway. It wasn’t half bad. I tried some of Jess’ which was a Passion Nite. They all had clever named like this. Basically it’s vodka and pineapple juice and some other stuff to make it pink.

After tasting both we concluded that he went a little light on the alcohol in mine. I felt kind of gipped, but I didn’t want to say anything. We were frisked and wanded when we walked into the place so arguing may have led to a swift exit.

Still, by the time the drink was nearly done, I felt a little tipsy. Similar to how I felt in New York when I had the whiskey and ginger and glass of wine. One drink? I’m a cheap date.

I decided to show the bartender my new card trick and I flubbed the sleight of hand bit. He called me on it and sort of smirked at me.

Mental note: No card tricks when drinking.

After we finished our drinks, we were a little hungry so we decided to wander over to Wendy’s. I know, I know. Fast food is terrible. I agree. But it was pushing midnight in Stoughton and I was definitely in no shape to drive. We wandered over there and I felt giddy. I guess I was in the “euphoric” stage of intoxication. Is this what people call a buzz?

I don’t remember exactly how the conversation led down the path, but Jess thought it would be hilarious if I take a pregnancy test to verify that I’m not pregnant. We went into the CVS and I promptly asked the dude behind the counter where the men’s room was because I should have went before we left the bar.

He started jogging out from behind the counter so I asked “Are we jogging there?” and of course he said “Yes!”

So we jogged to the restroom. It was a little surreal.

We bought a pregnancy test and with a completely straight face the cashier asked me if I wanted a receipt. I told him I didn’t think I’d be returning it.

We took the car through the Drive Through (Jess was completely fine after one drink so she drove) and got something to much on. By the time I was done eating over an hour had passed since the drink and I felt fine. We killed a bit more time and finally parted ways.

All in all it was an amusing and entertaining night. It’s amusing to think that a single drink can pretty much do me in. I guess I won’t have to worry about going broke drinking?

Oh, and I’m not pregnant:

The single blue line means not pregnant. I guess two blue lines means pregnant. That was the least complicated of all of them. Some of them were two lines or a line and a plus sign, etc. Shouldn’t these things be easy to read?

Tomorrow is Friday, and then the weekend. I can stay out as late as I want and don’t have work until Monday. This should be interesting.

Martinis with @jessicarobyn tonight. Apparently when you drink cute girls want to go to bars with you. Why did no one tell me this?

On Wednesday night I broke the first rule of drinking - I drank alone.

At this point I’m paranoid about drinking anything and driving home without a huge buffer to sober up. Your body processes alcohol at 0.015 percent of Blood Alcohol Content per hour. Your BAC is dependent largely on your weight and body fat content, but let’s say an average person of about 150lbs drinking a 1 ounce shot of 80 proof whiskey would be somewhere around 0.02% BAC.

That means I need about an hour and a half to get all of the whiskey out of my system for a single shot.

A shot of 1 ounce 80 proof Whiskey is about 0.4 ounces of alcohol. Your average beer, glass of wine, or mixed drink is about 0.6 ounces of alcohol. So that means I need nearly two hours to process the alcohol and get back to normal.

Now, the legal limit for being declared intoxicated while driving is 0.08% BAC. That means I could have about four drinks before I hit 0.08%, but then I’d be right on the edge. I haven’t really passed two drinks at this point but I don’t think I could drive after even two.

So that’s my current math. If I need to drive, I need about 3-3.5 hours to process two drinks. If I’m not within that limit, I’m not going to drink (or I’m not going to drive).

Yesterday was a pretty crappy day. When most people have a crappy day, they say “I need a drink!” So I declared to my empty house that I needed a drink. But then all of the drinking math came back into my head and I realized I couldn’t go out somewhere and get a drink and then just come back home. There’s no bar even sort of within walking distance of me.

So I was left with a few options. I could get on the bus and drink somewhere and then tack a note to my forehead hoping on the goodwill of others to get me home. More likely that my wallet would be stolen or someone would kidnap me because I’m so adorable.

Option two was to walk to the “package store” (what we call liquor stores here in Boston) and get … something. This something will probably be in a paper bag and I’ll almost certainly forget my way home after drinking some of it. Then I become the drunk dude leaning against a wall drooling on himself.

Not a bad option, actually.

Option three was to drink the vodka I have in my freezer.

“Christian, why do you have vodka in your freezer”

I have vodka in my freezer because once upon a time I met a crazy Russian who insisted I have vodka in my freezer. He’s currently terrorizing Puerto Rico or some tropical place but being the crazy Russian that he is he is very likely to just appear on my doorstep some day and when he does I don’t want to be without vodka.

Vodka, as it turns out, smells like nothing. This is very odd. I poured about an ounce of it into a glass completely inappropriate for drinking and stared at it on my kitchen counter.

Odorless, colorless, and it could probably kill me. It’s like iocane powder but in liquid form.

It’s kind of amazing how something that has no color or smell can have such a strong taste. Except for beer, this is my first experience with unmixed alcohol. Without realizing it, I have just poured myself a shot. I am an idiot.

After the first sip, I realized why people in movies make that sort of gasping exasperated face when downing a shot. Cough syrup immediately came to mind. I didn’t like drinking that stuff, either. But the best best with cough syrup was to just down the stuff and get it over with so the same principle shall be applied to vodka.

I drank the last of it down in one gulp and stowed the bottle back in the freezer. I hid it beneath some ice in some weird attempt to convince myself it isn’t there so I don’t get any stupid ideas again. I washed the glass and leaned against the counter while taking in what just happened.

Supposedly those who drink alone in their houses are the people you’re supposed to watch out for. I’m not sure how true this myth is, but I can say that I didn’t feel invigorated or happy or motivated or even cool. I just felt kind of sad with a twinge of desperation.

I was using vodka as a tool to escape my crappy day. Only 9 days into this thing and I’m already exhibiting signs of alcoholism. And I’ve only had four drinks.

New rule: don’t drink alone.

The screaming child next to me reminds me that I am very glad I do not have a hangover.

My friend Bobby suggested we go to trivia night at the Tavern at the End of the World in Somerville. Regan (henceforth known as fluffy) and I met up with Bobby and his co-workers Josh and Sonja. So the team was 5 people. I’ve played trivia a few times in the past and never done very well. My obscure knowledge is rarely called upon in bar trivia, unfortunately.

I asked our waitress, Kristin, what she suggested as a beer for one who had never had beer before. She suggested a Raspberry Hefeweizen (which is a wheat beer) but Bobby chimed in and called for a Sam Adams Summer Ale. Wanting to support the local guy, I agreed.

I’m sorry to say that it tasted terrible. Everyone claims that beer is an acquired taste but it makes me wonder why anyone would subject themselves to drinking something that doesn’t taste good. Being punched in the face sucks. If you’re punched in the face enough times you kind of start to expect it an you build up at least a little bit of a tolerance. But why on earth would you go out and practice that?

I only had a few sips and then I passed it off to fluffy, who offered me some of her Raspberry Hefeweizen - the beer originally suggested by the waitress - and it, too, tasted terrible.

Fluffy suggested that I get another “girl drink” so we asked Kristin what her opinion was. She offered to make me something called a “Leaping Lizard”. I’m pretty much always interested in something with lizard in the name, so I agreed.

A Leaping Lizard, as make by Kristin, contains:
Malibu rum
Midori
Pinapple juice

Leaping Lizard:

It was actually rather tasty. I’m starting to get worried that the drinks I’m liking are A) drowned in sugar and B) mostly consisting of rum. I guess I’m like the new Jack Sparrow?

Fluffy tried some of the Leaping Lizard.
She said, “It tastes like suntan lotion.”
Taken back, I said, “What? Is that bad?”
To which she replied, “No, no. It’s good. It just tastes like suntan lotion smells.”

Does suntan lotion contain alcohol? I don’t think I want to drink suntan lotion - experiment be damned.

I noticed that tonight I didn’t get the dull throbbing headache from the previous nights drinking. Either I’m getting used to it or it was unrelated.

I drank early in the evening so as to give myself lots of buffer time to drive home, and I drank a few glasses of water after. I can’t help but feel like I’m maybe circumventing the effects of alcohol by drinking so much water and in small quantities. I’m not sure if that’s a bad thing or not. I’m probably taking things slower than I expected due to circumstances (work, traveling, etc) and a bit of apprehension.

A bunch of people have told me that they don’t want me to drink much, or to keep drinking when the experiment is over. These are people who themselves drink an average amount. I don’t get it. If they think drinking is such a bad idea and even wish they didn’t drink, why don’t they quit? Are they that addicted to alcohol, or is the social aspect something they simply cannot give up or couldn’t imagine operating without?

I think this weekend I’m going to try to make plans and backup plans to see what Boston has to offer Friday and Saturday. Maybe I can leave my car somewhere and take the train so I don’t have to worry about driving home. Or find a pre-August 25th Christian that doesn’t drink to drive me around.

I’m curious as to how people who don’t drink would behave around me now that I’m drinking. Will they treat me differently?

Back home in Boston, I expected to go out Monday night with friends who have heard about the experiment but not actually seen me since it’s inception. However, while I was driving to meet up with them, it occurred to me that I couldn’t drink anything because I had to drive home.

Well isn’t that some shit.

Andy said that the rule of thumb is to drink only one drink per hour, and wait an hour at least before you drive.

That sounds good in theory, but I’m new enough to all of this that I didn’t want to take the chance. I guess New York wins out over Boston in this regard. The huge subway system of New York that never actually stops running beats out the much smaller subway system in Boston whose last train is at midnight. The last train doesn’t drop me especially close to my house, either.

So this will require planning. If I want to drink and need to drive home, I need to give myself a lot of time to make sure I’m not affected by alcohol. The last thing I want to do is endanger myself or someone else on the road because the rookie had too much to drink and can’t stay within the pretty white lines.

I turned down a few offers of sips during the course of the night because I didn’t want to even head down the path. I had visions of being stopped at a sobriety checkpoint (I’ve come across them a few times lately on my drive home) and while I’m not intoxicated at all my breath smells suspicious enough that they’d pull me over to play the drunk olympics for a little while.

So what do other people do? Get rides from people? Find a designated driver? Meet a cute girl who lives nearby and convince her that you’re her playtoy for the evening? Inquiring minds want to know.