Bottle! You Are No Friend of Mine!

I've posted and deleted this about five times already. I don't know why, but it doesn't sit right with me. I told myself I shouldn't edit myself, so here it is.


This topic comes up at every party I’ve been to in the last three plus years. The conversation usually goes like this:

Friend: Can I get you anything?
Me: I’m fine, thanks.
Friend: Beer?
Me: No thank you.
Friend: Smirnoff?
Me: Heh. No.
Friend: There’s some Vodka and-
Me: That’s ok. I don’t drink.
Friend: Never?
Me: I used to, I don't anymore.
Friend: Really? For how long…blah, blah, blah.

I am not an alcoholic, which is what most people think when I say I don't drink anymore. I will drink a glass of wine at special dinners, or a glass of champagne at a toast. I quit because the alcohol would disintegrate that barrier in my brain that keeps you from doing stupid things. Usually, I’m a quiet, good natured and reserved individual. But once I had two or three glasses of the devil’s brew in me…Well it never turns out very good. I will admit that drunk Brad can be entertaining for the first couple hours, after that he’s just an annoying louse. I wasn't an angry drunk. I just wouldn't shut-up, and would sometimes lose my pants. I’m too old to keep making an ass of myself, so I quit. Here are three awkwardly humorous examples. I’m sure there are more, but these are the one I can remember.

Crackers was a bar friends and I would frequent in Downtown Norfolk. We knew the owner, and he’d often give us a few perks for being regulars. Serving my friend Melissa, and current crush, a martini, he mentioned he used his best vodka for her no extra charge. He then made a purple haze for my friend Charlie. I asked him if he used his special vodka for Charlie. He looked at me quizzically and said, “No.” Now, if I was sober I would’ve known you don’t use the best vodka for a mixed drink like the purple haze. I wasn’t sober. In my drunk whisper voice I confronted the owner saying that I knew why he didn’t give Charlie the special vodka. Rather than be the nice guy and brush me off for being drunk, he went ahead and asked me why. “Because she’s got nice tits!” I said. There’s that moment when you’re drunk and you know you said something, but only because of the looks of those around you do you realize what you said wasn’t good. I then got up and puked in my hand before I could reach the bathroom. I’ve been on the owner’s shit list ever since.

One weekend night a bunch of us met at the hole that is Peabody’s. It’s one of those college meat markets where I always felt old. So what did I do? Drink of course. Now I started off behaving well. I had a couple beers and most likely a screwdriver or two. It wasn’t till one of the guys started buying tequila shots for everyone that things went horribly wrong. I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. Tequila will fuck you up! Stay away from the tequila kids. I’m serious. By the time we left we’d polished off like five shots each, and then washed them down with Jell-O shooters and other beverages. We stopped at IHOP to actually get some solid food into our stomachs. That never happened. After ordering my usual chicken strips, I sprinted to the bathroom and spent about half an hour expelling the booze. I was thinking maybe I should just sleep it off in the restroom, when Bob came in to check up on me. I responded by hurling up the rest of my stomach lining into the toilet. Side note: Bob would later on write a song about puking up blood at IHOP. This is my legacy. Anyway, I finally was able to stand so Bob walked me out of the bathroom. It was at that time we were able to witness Charlie puking into the pitcher of water at the table. We threw some money on the table and just walked out leaving the waitress to clean up. I still can't beleive I became that guy. I ended up being dropped off at my car, where I slept till I was finally able to drive home. I still haven’t recovered from that night.

Finally, it was one of those nights where I intentionally went out to get hammered. I was pissed off at Melissa for some reason, and just wanted to drink my bitterness away. Unfortunately, for me she was driving our group of friends and me around. I remember the first thing I ordered was five shots of bourbon. I can’t remember what else I drank at the bar that night. Once, the bar closed we needed something else to do. I offered up my apartment and the booze I had stored there. We stopped by 7-11 to pick up some more booze. While I waited I decided it’d be fun to try to catch the ducks hanging out in the parking lot. This is the entertaining drunk Brad. Back at my apartment, we followed up our previous booze with some Guinness and other assorted beers. Then my pants came off. Yes, Melissa was still present. I’m still kind of entertaining, but bordering on annoying. About and hour later the beers were gone and so was my joyful buzz. That’s when uber-depressed Brad came out in all his glory. There I was laid flat on the floor in my boxers confessing my undying love for Melissa. Yes, she was still there. I thank Bobby for trying to console me and his attempts to shut me up. I didn’t listen, and it took forever for Melissa to be comfortable around me. The last thing I remember after that was waking up on the couch the next morning with a sloshed brain, and that “too many cigarettes” taste in my mouth.

That’s a small sample of the stupid circumstances I put myself in when I drink. It’s really just the tip of the iceberg, but a blog post can only be so long. Besides, I have enough vices. It doesn't hurt to get rid of one of them. Also, thanks to those who kept me out of serious trouble when I always had too much.