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Saturday, August 2, 2003

Alcohol Abuse

An avalanche cascades down my throat, splashing into my belly ambushing a plethora of soft fleshy vital organs. They squeak awake like a seven year old from his death-ninja nightmare and scurry along about their biological maintenance. Chug, chug, chug a lug.

The inevitable by-products, the toxic nuclear waste of my guts amalgamates, invading the remainders of my insides. By the time I wake up next morning, with a skunky funk gently oozing viscosity, the leftover lager, ironically, swallows my own sense of well-being. (or chi, or aura, or spirit, or soul, or essence) Whatever,

"Call it what you wanna call it,
I'm a fuckin' alcoholic."

This is an experiment. (A test, this is only a test)

I wonder what happens when a binge drinking college student suddenly decides to stop drinking. I'm too lazy to try to convince anyone else to do it, so i'm doing it myself. I'm also too afraid of the idea of never drinking ever again, so i'm only doing it for one month.

I like to go out, I like to party, and for me going out and partying almost always includes getting wasted (Shit-faced, tipsy, visibly drunk, above the legal limit, whatever) So, beginning yesterday, August 1st, the challenge begins. Is it possible to go out and have a good time in a midwestern University surrounded by corn fields and other, drunken, hormone-raging boys and girls without consuming lots of alcohol?

The hairlines recede farther back on the guys that hang out at Cowboy Monkey compared to the hairlines on the other guys that hang out at most other bars closer to campus. Maybe that's why I felt more comfortable there. With the bit more chill atmosphere of this downtown Champaign bar, I didn't really feel pressured to drink as much as I would have at, say, another bar packed with sweaty underclassmen rushing back and forth to refill their five dollar pitchers of watered-down, lite beer. I know them, I used to be one.

So I casually ordered Paulaner, a non-alcoholic brew with a nice taste. Despire the $3 charge, I pretty much enjoyed all four bottles. We sat outside in the beer garden, roommate Jeff, Puerto Rican Jessica, Red Haired Theresa, Swiss Stephan, Sung the Korean, and Sam the Girl. Of course, who could forget Cowboy Molly, our beer wench who periodically popped in to take our orders.

I think she (Cowboy Molly) might've saluted us (Jeff, Jessica, and I) on our way out, fingertips to eyebrow, but if she did I pretended to ignore her because I'm trying to pretend I don't have a crush on her.

Later on after the bar, Texas Jerry (guess where he's from) tried to jump inside Jeff's Pimpmobile through the passenger seat window, while it was still moving, onto my lap. By the time he was half-way in, I squealed like a ten year old girl and locked the door. He eventually wound up in the back of the SUV with Texas Dave, Xochitl (good luck pronouncing her name), and this girl Nicole who kept asking, "Where's da weed at?" I held my fingers on the outside of the door of the car, for leverage so I could let Margo slide underneath me in the front passenger seat. Before I had a chance to sit down on her lap, but more importantly, remove my fingers, she slammed the door on them.

No one had any weed that they wanted to share and after making an appearance at an after party but refusing to pay $4 dollars to get inside, the night seemed to be coming to an end.

Ten minutes later it did, and as we drove back home, (Jeff and I), after dropping everyone off, I began to wonder if I could keep up this sober state of being for four more weekends.

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