Confessions of an underaged drinker

Well boys and girls, I did it. I finally did it. I have partedwith my college friend, Al Cohol. We’ve had an on-again,off-again relationship, but this time, it’s off for good. Wehaven’t spoken since around the beginning of school when heand I engaged in a keg stand.

Since then, I’ve lost all interest. I’m out of moneyand well, out of brain cells. It just wasn’t meant to be.

Wait. What does that leave for me to do when I turn 21?

My cousin, Dave, doesn’t think this prohibition will last.Of course, this comes from a person who came home one night andsaid to me, “Hey Cuzzy. Can you sew? ‘Cause I’mripped.”

This is the same guy that got himself completely obliteratedbelow the Eiffel Tower this summer in Paris. We almost spent thenight below the tower.

I asked my cousin, “Why are you such an alcoholic,Davy?” His rebuttal was, “No, why AREN’T YOU suchan alcoholic?” I’m not sure I even know what to callthat. It’s neither denial nor acknowledgement. That’swhen you know you’re an alcoholic.

You know you’re an alcoholic when the drink becomes yoursubstitute for food. You no longer eat when you’re stressedout or depressed.

Instead, you drink. Häagen Dazs? Forget it. Bring on theHeineken. Hungry? Why wait? You drink until you start to feelbetter about yourself. You drink until you’re attractive.

You know you’re an alcoholic when you can drink byyourself. At first, drinking was just a social activity, and youwould only drink at parties. Now, you no longer need a reason todrink because it has become an individual activity.

You know you’re an alcoholic when a typical Friday nightinvolves cuddling up with a bottle of Jack Daniels.

You know you’re an alcoholic when you start naming yourdays with the names of drinks: Margarita Mondays, Tequila Tuesdays,Whiskey Wednesdays. And when you can’t come up with any namesfor the other days, you just call the other days afree-for-all.

You know you’re an alcoholic when you can yack on command.You know exactly when you’ve had too much to drink, at whichpoint you make yourself yack so that you can make room formore.

You know you’re an alcoholic when you schedule yourclasses around happy hour.

You know you’re an alcoholic when you just hand over yourpaycheck to the bartender at the end of the week.

You know you’re an alcoholic when you can’t speakcoherently, even when you’re not drinking.

You know you’re an alcoholic when your week soundssomething like this: You don’t have class on Fridays, soFridays are actually on Thursdays.

Since Thursdays are designated as pre-weekend partying andcollege night at most clubs, your Thursdays then start onWednesdays. So altogether, your weekend starts on Wednesdays andlasts through Sunday.

You skip Mondays in order to recover. Basically, you go toclasses only two to three days a week. The rest of the week, youjust drink.

You know you’re an alcoholic when you start carrying aflask in your purse or coat pocket. Have a bad day? Take a sip ofyour Hennessey. That makes the day so much better.

You know you’re an alcoholic when you think you’vegrown out of binge drinking. You start drinking Merlot and Cognac.You start ordering Scotch on the Rocks. You’re a wine critic.You drink the old folks’ drinks.

Alcohol used to be a leisure activity, but it has now become anindividual activity, a stress-reliever, a medication, a foodsubstitute, a painkiller, a food group, a significant other and aremedy for just about every ailment.

Flu? No problem. Tequila, not Tylenol, should be a quickfix.

If you’re a freshman, and you already know what I’mtalking about, I would suggest one of the services offered throughthe health center.

Geez ‘n’ peas. I just realized that I’veopenly admitted to some underage drinking. Oh heavens! I’veexposed the truth. Underage drinking does occur here on this drycampus.

So what’s left for me to do when I turn 21? I’mgoing to go ponder that for a while.