Thursday, January 14, 2010

The Politics of Drinking - Part 2

Stealing booze from your parents was another effective method. When you did this, you had to make sure your parents didn’t put a mark on the bottle. This was the sure way of getting caught. And if they did put a little line to where the meniscus of whiskey was, you had to replace it with water. One thing I learned about this. Never steal booze from the freezer. I had a friend who replaced his depleted parent’s vodka with water. When they decided to make a martini, the bottle had frozen, so in essence they had a Stoli popsicle.

A disgusting part of the stealing method was that we would just mix up any type of booze. My method was I would grab an almost empty salad dressing container and pour it out. (Remember those things? It was a glass carafe that people would add a seasoning packet and then add Oil and Vinegar and wallah, Italian dressing!) After it was emptied, I would wash it out and then proceed to my parent’s Liquor Cabinet. Then I would just start adding booze to it. I would be very careful I didn’t take too much from one bottle and get snagged. Vodka, Run, Vermouth, Gin, Whiskey, whatever there was, would be poured in there. Sure it tasted like shit, but who cares it was Friday night and me and my High School pals were going to get a buzz on.

Sidebar. When I was in college there was a guy we called Big Fat, Frat Matt. Man could this guy party. His nickname did almost get me my assed kicked one night. A bunch of us went to a club in town and I wasn’t wearing my glasses. (I didn’t like the frames anymore. I looked like an older version of Ralphy from the movie, “A Christmas Story.) So from a distance I see the bouncer and he appears to be Matt. So I’m yelling, “Big Fat, Frat, Matt!” Well it wasn’t him and I had to talk my way out of that situation, which wasn’t easy. How do you explain to a guy that you look like his friend who you call fat? I think I told the guy he was in much better shape and had way more definition then Matt. Anyway this guy Matt was at a party one night and he was wasted. He had done shrooms and smoked some hash and was feeling no pain. So we decided to make him a drink. The thing is the drink was a Vodka and Italian Dressing on the rocks. I think he would have drank it but we were laughing so hard when he was about to take a sip that we blew it. That would have been classic if he had downed it and more classic if he liked the taste of it

To be continued...

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

The Politics of Drinking - Part 1

Well, let us put it this way. I am a drinker. And I’m a very good drinker. You know how when a professional athlete ends his career and they retire his number? When I stop drinking, they will retire my liver and it will be at my favorite bar in a glass jar filled with formaldehyde. When I drink with my friends it is an event. One of my buddy’s wife said, “You guys drink until the cows come home.” And she was right. Because when the cows got there, we made White Russians! (Oh and people who say, “You can have fun without drinking,” are full of shit!

I started drinking in high school. (Wouldn’t have it been fucked up if I said I started drinking when I was four years old? Could you imagine a hammered four year old raising hell? Driving like a madman, actually it would be a madkid, on his Big Wheel and trying to nail his baby sitter? I would like to see that kid on one of those bullshit reality shows like Super Nanny, and watch him just fuck with her!)

High school drinking was when we were amateurs in the art of partying. We were just glad to have alcohol, because it was hard to get, so we just slammed it and never really enjoyed it. The extents we would go to trying to get some booze was crazy. If you were lucky you had a big brother or big sister who would buy it for you. But of course this would always be accompanied by the speech of, “If you get caught, don’t tell Mom and Dad I bought it for you, ok?”

One of the worst ways was the “Hanging in the Liquor Store Parking Lot Method.” My friends and I would stand about 8 cars lengths away from the store. Then we would scope out people as they walked in to get there booze. We had to make sure the person looked cool, but not untrustworthy cool. (Because that was the asshole would steal your money and not deliver your goods.) Finally we would get the courage up to approach some one and ask them if they would buy some alcohol for us. This was always a hassle because you couldn’t go in a group, because that would look too shady and look too obvious. So it would usually come down to rock, paper, scissors for who would be the person who pulled it off. When you had to be the one, you would always worry that you may approach an undercover cop and then you would be arrested and be totally fucked! (Which when you think about it, how many undercover police officers are cruising parking lots to bust teens trying to buy booze?) Anyway, it would usually take a few rejections, but finally some nice soul would hook it up. (It was so awkward asking people to buy it because it made you feel like a derelict. Oh and we always prayed that we wouldn’t be seen by one of our parent’s friends in the parking lot.) And of course the person who did the deed would always say, “If you get caught, you didn’t get it from me.”

To be continued...