Alcohol - Barenaked Ladies

As surely as Orpheus descended into the depths of hell to recover his wife, so too have I descended, at long last, into the intoxicating wonders of alcohol. Up until, oh, the first week of September 2005, I'd had fewer alcoholic experiences than fingers on a clumsy butcher. Then I met Colin Hoult. But first, a Reader's Digest version of the preceeding 20 years.

August, 1999 - First drink, a Labatt Blue at a staff party for Jester's Restraunt. I was 14 or so at the time, and the rest of the kitchen staff had determined to get me drunk, high and laid. They managed to get me to drink one beer. I believe this constitutes as utter failure on their part.

November, 2002 - First shot, a double of 151 straight, without a chaser. I was at Mike Polla's birthday party, and decided that, really, what harm could one drink do? There's a video of it circulating somewhere of me taking it, putting it back, and standing there waiting for something to happen while Dubes, the guy taking one with me, choked back tears and Valkyrie screams.

October, 2003 - Inititation for 7th floor, where I completed a beer century of 100 beer shots in 100 minutes. This was the first time (age 18, now) I experienced any kind of intoxication, and became - in short - an inverted pendulem. My then-girlfriend put me to bed, gave me hell and threatened to not talk to me if I drank again.

January, 2004 - Montreal, for the Model UN trip. What a shock that it was in Montreal that alcohol should flow freely. Here I discovered the joys of Tartan's Special Scottish Ale (still one of the all-time bests), the problems of temptation and the joys of having a good friend who can keep an eye on you.

July 2004 - My cottage. Alone. I found I made Dean's List, so poured a vodka-OJ to celebrate. Having had only a handful of alcoholic experiences to this point, perhaps unsurprising I didn't realize that 50/50 is not a great mix. Nevertheless... managed to find the upstairs of my cottage at some point, after brief voyage to boathouse and confusion over why there was water in my 'room'.

November 2004 - Recieved essay back from Comparative Politics, and was devastated by the mark. In truly mature fashion, decide that best possible response is to have 5 drinks in 1.5 hours... at 1:30 in the afternoon... they go to class... and proceed to give prof hell. Lucky to have not been expelled.

Now... here and there had been the other occasional drinks... a wine and cheese night here, a Guinnes with Ieener there... but the proverbial floodgates opened when I met Colin D. Hoult. The lad, upon hearing that I didn't drink much, decided to put his foot down.

Since then I have experienced what occurs when you attempt to finish 3 chocolate martinis in under 10 minutes, then run home... wherever the hell home may be. I have experienced what occurs when you wish to use a fork as an analogy to relationships. I have experienced what occurs when your bankbook cries blood and says "Please, God, no more!!"
Typical exchange, post-transformation:

Concerned friend: Why are you guys drinking tonight?
Rivers and Colin: It's the last Tuesday of the week!

or, for example,

Rivers: "What's the largest beer you sell?"
Waiter: "Uhhh... 60 ounces."
Rivers: "Perfect! I'll take one!"
Waiter: "Uhhh... normally we call that a 'pitcher'. Should I bring you a glass?"
Rivers: "Nope!"

When I began to worry about who to thank in the acknowledgements section of my thesis, the fact that Paddy's, the Library Pub and Alexander Keith all were in the top 5 was, perhaps, a greater worry.

However. So far, since my liver appears to be adapting, Darwinian like to the rigours its been put through, and George St. calls, I think it's probably for the best that Colin wasn't around this summer to keep my life difficult.

Oh. Wait. Hi Karl. Never mind.

Cheers.