Love and Alcohol

Nothing beats that first hit

I love being intoxicated. Drunk? Not so much. I’ve had ample experience with both states of being so I know what works for me. If “works” is the right description.

The other day, when I was thinking about my most recent hiatus from booze, I couldn’t help but reflect on the similarities between being in love—or lust—and loving to drink.

I don’t need to drink, thankfully, but I love to drink. But, these days, drink doesn’t love me so this one-sided relationship is on the skids. And, as I think about what, exactly makes alcohol, at least for some of us, so seductive, I’d have to say it’s that first sip of the evening (or earlier, if you just watched another disgraceful Shite House press conference).

That first sip draws you in and whispers, “Come closer. I don’t bite”

But booze does indeed bite and, again, for some of us, that’s hot. In an “it hurts so good” sort of way, you know? The burn in the back of your throat as your poison of choice trickles down and infuses you with an almost sensual warmth from the inside out.

After one drink, the “loosening up” process kicks in. We feel better about ourselves and everyone around us. Our inhibitions are no longer inhibiting. Our neuroses take a back seat, for once. We forget that we’re two months behind on our rent, or that our car is on its last legs, or that a fascist is in the White House who, inexplicably, has been found liable for sexual abuse yet is free to rape our country. Instead of choking on the ongoing tsunami of crap, we literally glow with good cheer.

Some people are content with that. They put a hand over their wine glass when a friend attempts to refill it. Or, they simply say, “Thanks. I’m good.”

Let’s explore that for a beat. “I’m good.”

In what way are they good? Did they catch a buzz? Already? From a single glass of fermented grapes?

I’m not one of those people. If I’m out socializing, which I rarely do these days, there’ll be no “one and done.” Oh, I won’t go full-tilt crazy because even I realize my limitations after years of putting in the work, but…let’s just say I’ll be poppin’.

It’s stunning how quickly that spirit of bonhomie can turn into something quite ugly after going over one’s “limit” on the booze cruise. In the past, I’ve said and done things that still make me cringe today.

I come by that particular “asset” naturally. My father was a nasty drunk. I’m not blaming him for my transgressions but, when you emerge, all slimy and squalling, from an eighty-proof gene pool, you can’t help but be affected.

Sweet drinks. Never liked them. I prefer to cut to the chase with vodka and a splash of tonic, or savor the umami hit of a Dirty Martini. Writing this, I can practically taste the “dirty.” That’s not good.