Monday, March 14, 2011

Alcoholism Fail

Apparently I'm a terrible alcoholic.  On February 28, I issued a throwdown to Mr. Charlie Sheen, namely that I wouldn't drink until he was dead.  (I sincerely wish Charlie a long and healthy life; I just don't think it's very likely.) 

So it's been two weeks now since I've had a drink.  And it's been pretty easy to abstain.  I'm surprised and a little disappointed at that.

Here's why I'm surprised.  I really thought I might have a drinking problem.  I like vodka.  I mean, I really like vodka.  And until recently, I drank a lot of it.  My libation of choice was to mix three fingers of vodka with six ounces of Coke Zero, drink, repeat.  Tasty.  And not a big deal, except that I was starting to have some other annoying symptoms of a problem:

1.  I was drinking more and more - two and even three cans of Coke Zero (each with six fingers of potato juice, remember) a night.
2.  I was starting to hide those empty cans fom my Beloved Spouse so he wouldn't know how much I was drinking.
3.  When I woke up after a night of drinking, I had a sour stomach and a guilty conscience.
4.  My face was starting to get that puffy-wrinkly look of a lightly toasted marshmallow (attractive on Mr. Sta-Puft, maybe, but not on me).
5.  I would stock up on junk food when I planned to drink. (Did you think that weed was the only thing that gave people the munchies? Think again.)

There were others, but those are embarrassing enough.  In any event, given the fact that I was doing all these stupid things and continuing to drink anyway, I figured I might experience at the very least withdrawal symptoms, and at the worst uncontrollable cravings, when I stopped.

Nope.  Nothing.  A couple of days of wrestling with the physical habit of pouring myself a drink, but otherwise, nada.  No DTs, no pink elephants, no Lost Weekend-style freakouts.  I feel great, I look better, I'm not eating bags of Doritos until deep into the night.

So apparently I'm not a drunk.  That's the surprising part. 

The disappointing part?  I'm going to have to find some other personal tragedy to be the topic of my best-selling memoir.  And I'm running out of cards to play - I can't draw on an abused childhood, a life of poverty, a history of substance abuse, an eating disorder (I tried that one, but my love-hate relationship with food has way too much love in it).  Counting my blessings for a normal, healthy life is not the stuff of an Oprah Book Club pick.  I'm screwed.

The only part of my life that I'm truly unhappy about is the puny (but beloved) readership of this blog.  Charlie Sheen has the best of all possible worlds - an epically f'ed up life and a bazillion followers online.  Lucky bastard.  I can't compete with that.  So please, please don't share or forward to anyone you know.  It's bad enough to be happily sober.  Without obscurity, I have nothing.

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