I Quit! (and what I miss about drinking)

Hair of the dog... or some clever pun...leave me alone I'm hungover

So I gave up drinking on the 1st of January 2010 because I couldn’t think of any other decent new year’s resolutions and there was no way I was giving up any of my real vices. I immediately added the resolutive clause (go legal studies) that I would not drink until my Birthday, which only being the 6th of February (mark that down) didn’t seem like too much to ask…

And it wasn’t. The month of sobriety sped past like a rollerblading midget walking an energetic Great Dane. Then I didn’t have anything to drink for my Birthday, nothing for St Patrick’s Day, nor Easter (not even one of those Liqueur-filled Eggs alcoholic diabetics love so much). Next thing I knew an entire year had passed without me having a drink; it had it become a way of life.

There were obviously some distinct advantages. For one, I now new that there was such a thing as a Saturday morning (since I was 18 I thought they had  discontinued  Saturday mornings and that Saturday only started at around 2h30pm). I also found that I had lost about 10kg, which for those of you who know how skinny I am, is quite a mystery as to where exactly the weight came off – my earlobes I think.

I had more money, looked and felt healthier, was sharper on stage and best of all wasn’t finding out about stupid stuff I did the previous night based on pictures I was tagged in on facebook.

But it hasn’t been all Saturday morning breakfasts and care free breathalyser tests, there have been a few downsides and not just the obvious ones like being everyone’s designated driver.

Some of the disadvantages of being sober include the fact that now I remember everything that happened the night before even if I’d rather forget it. Girls will never look any more attractive than when I first meet them and you can’t exactly whip out the “good stuff” when it’s time to celebrate because no one wants to drink 100 year old orange juice.

There are a few things I miss about drinking. I miss being an incredible dancer or at least being able to enjoy dance music. I miss having an alibi for everything. When a drunk guy does something stupid, gross or inappropriate, it’s hilarious or “colourful”, but when a sober guy does the same he’s “being a dick”. I miss being able to eat things I couldn’t dream of stomaching sober. I miss being impervious to ridicule, judgment or pain – where the only memory of any pain was trying to recall the cause of unidentified drinking injuries in the shower the next day. Which is why I’m not surprised that my doctor recommended I actually started drinking again – not for my personal health, but for his financial health.

I’ve tried drinking non alcoholic beer so that at least I “look cool” but what’s the point of drinking non alcoholic beer that’s like getting a blow job while wearing a condom. I know its technically the same, but it’s not the same. You’d get more buzz by eating a handful of dead bees than drinking non alcoholic beer.

Regardless I remain sober but Alcohol: love it or hate it, I have to agree with Homer Simpson in saying it really is “the cause of and the solution to all life’s problems”.

Do Pick Up Lines Even Work?

Works everytime....

 

Do pick up lines even work? Even I think they’re corny, I can’t imagine what a girl thinks when some drunken fool spits a pick up line in her face.

 “Hey is your dad a baker? Cos you have nice buns!” hehehe

What exactly is hoping for? Seriously? Does he think that she’s just going to go “Oh my god! You are the greatest male specimen I have ever encountered!” “Not only do you have the debonair charm and wit of James Bond, but the way you got into that fight with the bouncer after puking on the dance floor is most invigorating. Please oh please make sweet love to me on this bar stool! And then allow me the honour of being the mother of your unborn child!”

 And if these pick up lines do actually work do any of those relationships ever last?

I can’t imagine if you had to ask your Mom and Dad how they met they would say “Well son, I had just been in a fight with a bouncer for throwing up everywhere, when I saw your mom in the shortest mini skirt I have ever seen…And the rest is history” “In fact I’m pretty sure that’s where you were conceived, you little bastard!”

 One of the things that scares me the most about dance clubs is when it gets towards the end of the night and the club starts emptying and you can smell the desperation in the air, it smells like sweat and rohypnol.

 At this time of the evening the body is just craving 24hour Steers or MacDonald’s, but you can actually hear some of the guys saying stuff like “Dammit its 3am! It’s burger time, I have to come right with something before the club closes!” at which point he is faced with a very troubling dilemma that has plagued mankind for centuries… do you go home alone, or drop your standards significantly!

chicks dig pandas

 And you can see these guys circling the dance floor like sharks looking for ANYTHING to eat, these sharks would be happy with the ass end of a leather boot let alone anything living. But this doesn’t scare me half as much as the “minga” chicks still there on the dance floor during this feeding frenzy. They’re dancing there thinking… “One of these guys might drop his standards significantly tonight and I might get lucky.” Some of the uglier ones are even hanging around the dance floor shaving their back then they whip out a Big Mac… here boys, here boys.

 I had a friend who had no problem with this, he used to say that every guy needs a “practice girl” and so even these girls served a purpose. Of course we called him the sexual janitor because of this, but he didn’t seem to mind. Heck his favourite pick up line was “you want grab some pizza and then have sex, or we can get something else if you don’t like pizza”

when in doubt...be honest

Nightclubs and how (not) to “pick up chicks”

 

So does this mean you WILL sleep with me?

The one thing that going to night clubs does help me appreciate is that if my girlfriend broke up with me I’d be completely f***ed… well not literally that’s kind of why I’m with her in the first place, but it dawned on me when I was in the club, that I have no idea how to go on dates anymore let alone pick up chicks, and my memories of doing so in the past aren’t all that great to begin with.

 First of all most of the clubs are filled with only 2 types of people, jocks and skanks. Oh and me. 3 types of people. You know jocks? With their popped collars, peroxided hair, shirt tucked just behind the belt buckle that says “GUESS” (I don’t know…small penis?) Oh and their white loafers, walking around with their arms out like they’re carrying invisible watermelons asking me if “I know who they are and how much they bench press”

 And skanks with their short skirts, and low cut tops making their breast stare at me. STOP staring at me breasts!!!

 There’s me in the corner drinking copious amounts of liquid personality trying to actually get up the courage to talk to any of these breasts…I mean women. Let me tell you there is a fine line between Don Juan Casanova, the ladies man and Pukey McGee, the village idiot.

 You try come up with some witty pick up line, something to show how confident, dashing, and intelligent you are with just the slightest hint of humour. Something like “Can I buy you a drink?”; “Are those real?” or “Daaaaaaammmmmn!”

 Besides that, how the hell are you supposed to say your perfectly rehearsed pick up line, when the “music” (I use the term loosely) is so damn loud. You end up shouting some sort of awkward mess into her ear.

 Me: SO UM DO YOU COME HERE OFTEN?

Girl: NO THANKS I ALREADY ATE

Me: UM OK…. SO HEY! SO WHO’S YOUR FAVOURITE ARTIST?

Girl: YEAH!!! WHAT?

Me: NEVERMIND!

Girl: WHAT? NO THANKS I HAVE A DRINK!

 This is normally the time I try to slink away or start speaking in a made up foreign language. I equate it to some sort of defence mechanism like a porcupine or a skunk. Like if a song bird attracts a mate he doesn’t like he would suddenly change songs or sing out of key.

The Freaks Come out at Night…

I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t go “clubbing” often, in fact I’m quite proud of the fact. Don’t get me wrong: the thought of standing in an overcrowded fire hazard with a bunch of sweaty drunken strangers as we “shake what our respective mothers’ gave us” while paying exorbitant drinks prices, is incredibly appealing to me, I just have better ways to waste my life (and my money).

Once in a while I am caught up in the frenzy of festivities such as birthdays and other celebrations, which for some reason, need to culminate in going to the club. The propensity towards ending up in the club is directly related to the number of single people in one’s group of friends;  the number of women with unhealthy self denial as to their age and stamina as if clubbing the night away would delay the ides of March marking the assassination of their fading youth;  or if there is a newly single member seeking to regain his confidence (because nothing builds confidence quite like dancing like a retard and rubbing up against some floozy with more body glitter than self respect).

What a theatre of dreams!

Regardless, on occasion I will find myself at the club doing the “boyfriend dance” (swaying side to side to the beat, pretending to have a good time) as we form a circle around the ladies’ handbags as the DJ plays crappy dance hit after crappy dance hit, occasionally breaking the monotony with random outburst of wit such as “Shake it, ladies” or “What happens in *club name here* stays in *club name here*” – yeah, except syphilis, idiot. Ever so often he will play a fairly decent song for about 10 seconds, before butchering it by revealing it to be a Dance remix of said classic.

Then we head to the bar to order shooters with names that sound more like experimental surgical procedures or what a coroner might right down in his report under the heading “cause of death”. As we shovel money across the bar, the only thing that is preventing me from going completely broke is the fact that service at the bar is so slow one only gets about one drink every hour.

As I take a look around the club, it doesn’t take long to identify several key “personalities” present; people I would hazard to say without whom the club experience would be vastly different, perhaps even enjoyable…

Over the next few posts I’d like to present my impressions of these amazing characters. Here in the magical world of the night club; a land of mystery, intrigue and cover charges.

First up… the bouncer