Salute!

Miscellaneous Woman One: “Do you know Chris?”

Miscellaneous Woman Two: “Chris who?”

Miscellaneous Woman One: “You know Chris. The one with light-skin, green eyes, works out…um, drinks a lot.”

Miscellaneous Woman Two: “Ohhhh, Chris…”

Yup, that’s the exchange I overheard about eight years ago and it was the first time I ever heard someone categorize me as a “drinker”. I guess I was too busy polishing off bottles of “whatever-we-had-da-money-fo” and mixing new cocktail creations within my stomach to listen to what people had to say. Well, I’ve been waiting to say this for a while now, but I wanted to wait, give it some time to simmer. I wanted to let several social gatherings pass by to test my theory. So, having been in and out of many different Beantown bars, a handful of kicked-back cookouts, several sh*t talkin’ X-Box sessions, and the recent De La Hoya bout and I think I’m ready to announce this.

I don’t think I’m a drinker anymore.

Seriously, I can’t even have two light beers without feeling like someone slipped me a mickey. My tolerance has become so low that I’m afraid if I were to have a strong drink I’d fall into a soft coma for a week or so while “my boys” took pictures of me with a banana or some other questionable object close to my lips. Plus, when it’s 9:30 and you’re found at the back lounge taking blatant advantage of the soft pillows, dim lights, and ample leg room I think it’s about time to admit you lost your stripes…and make your way to the exit to catch the 10 o’clock news.

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Five things I’ll really miss about being blasted.

5. How dang funny I am.

4. The fact that I can passionately argue with absolute strangers over absolutely nothing.

3. Climbing scaffolding, light poles, billboards or any other high urban structure.

2. How one Black Russian can turn a boring Wine and Cheese’r into at night at Club Chris.

1. Not being held fully accountable for my poor sexual performance.

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Five things I really won’t miss about being blasted.

5. Losing my wallet, house keys, ride home, cookies, and date with a dime all in the same night.

4. Trying to figure out exactly how my tooth got chipped while doing the electric slide.

3. Remembering the next morning that I was passionately arguing with absolute idiots over something absolutely idiotic.

2. Knowing that one night out on the town that could have bought a month’s worth of groceries….or at least that prescription medicine I’ve been meaning to get.

1. Coming up with innovative bedroom ideas only to be hindered by my poor drunken performance.

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So, as I step into the role of the “automatic designated-driver/maybe-you-shouldn’t-do-that-guy” I’d like to assure you that this is not the beginning of posts about a man living in ultra-strict sobriety where everyone else is a dirty liquor-bathed sinner. In all honesty, I’ll still have a drink or two when I’m out. I just can’t see myself getting all hardcore with it and challenging Slick Talk to shots of the HellFire just to shut his mouth up. And just like I’ll still have these few drinks, I’m quite sure that I’ll still have a few stories to share about my own or someone else’s general stupidity.

So this weekend, take a second to think about an old soldier, who happens to hold a few more medals than scars and….throw one back for me.

I’d have it no other way.