“It’s not that I drank too much. I’ve been mixing too many different kinds of drinks.”
Yeah, that’s probably it. It’s probably the mixture of two different brands of Mike’s Hard, not the fact that you had 14 of them. And how come this logic never applies to food? Chinese food seems to have 40 billion ingredients, but nobody ever blames the mixture of them for gastro discomfort. They blame the shrimp. Always the shrimp.
“I’m good to drive in about 10 or 15 minutes.”
There’s something about drinking 18 drinks that makes you acutely aware of exactly how drunk you are, more aware than you were one drink in. Funny how that works. Thanks to your heightened awareness, you can now calculate, down to the quarter-hour, how many more belts you can take without driving through the back end of the garage and straight into the living room.
“Yes, it’s settled. We’re totally going to come visit you in Idaho, man. We’ll roadtrip it, next weekend.”
No you won’t. Unless you keep drinking continuously through the next seven days, you won’t have near the energy required to drive across a state line. It’s understandable. You’ve been drinking, so time is passing incredibly quickly. 14 hours in a car sounds like nothing. A couple spins of Boston’s Greatest Hits and you’ll be there. But deep within your drunken, silly heart, you know that you’d never drive day and night with people you don’t like to visit some jerkoff you see once every three years.
“It’s the best album ever, and I’ll tell you why.”
Ah, the magic of booze. One of booze’s best tricks is the illusion that, under its spell, matters of taste and opinion suddenly become matters of reason, fact, and complete certainty. Three hours ago I enjoyed Lucero. Now I would kill myself if they stopped touring and will throw your iPod down a sewer for you if you disagree, and rather than feel like I’ve done something wrong I will be mad at YOU for having a musical taste that caused me to behave that way. Because now there’s only room in my heart for whiskey and Tennessee rock, so it’s pretty damn difficult to understand why you’d like anything else.