When we last left our hero (me), he was talking about his early experiences in being a vegetarian. For the record, it’s two months later and I’m still meat free, and my virtual recipe box is getting bigger than ever. Next time I have a free evening and am feeling creative, you can expect the first of many photo-recipes to be posted here. In the meantime, I’ve started a few other health-related leads; resumed capoeira, joined the University of Toronto gym (haven’t gone yet, still putting together a workout plan, get off my back!), and trying to cut down on junk food. This post isn’t about any of those.

Two weeks ago, my flatmates and I hosted a party for two (and later three) of our mutual friends who happened to have birthdays around the same time. Looking back, it was a great time; there was a lot of music, a lot of people, a lot of food and cake, and a lot of alcohol. And by a lot, I mean a lot; martini kits, jello shots, beer pong, you name it. I was armed with a bit of vodka and a six-pack, enough for me to get proper drunk, but not enough for me to regret it the next day. The first sign of trouble came when I was in the proximity of the beer pong table and they just happened to need another player. I started to protest that I didn’t have any beer left to pour into the cups, when I noticed that they had already been filled. Being fully caught up in the positive vibe of the party, I shrugged and grabbed the ping pong ball.

I think you can see where this is going.

Suffice to say, my evening ended in several stages; first on the couch clutching a pillow, then in the bathroom clutching the toilet, and finally in my bed clutching the last vestiges of my consciousness. Thankfully, I remember everything; by the time I excused myself to my self-made hell, there were only a handful of people left; myself and two housemates, three of our friends (all of whom were staying the night), and one other person, a friend of a friend who had already left. She elected herself as the “take care of drunky” person and followed me to the bathroom. Looking back, she and I were the last two people left awake when the music stopped, around 5:00 AM. I remember her saying she’d show herself out, and that was it for me.

Not for long, though; two hours later, I was rousted from my sorry state by my flatmate who asked a question that sounded innocent at first… until I realized what he was actually asking.

“Dave, have you seen my iPhone?”

“Urgh… uhh… oof… what? No, what?”

“I just woke up and my door was open and my iPhone was gone.”

I don’t think I’ve ever sobered up so quickly in my life. Everyone else was already awake, taking inventory of their possessions; the final count was one iPhone, one iPod, and two digital cameras missing, and the last person left awake in the house gone. In my drunken stupor, I had left an unknown person unattended in my house, and she had robbed us. A few quick calls to the mutual friend got us an address, and we piled into a car to confront her and get our stuff back, which thankfully we did intact. Once we were sure nothing else was missing, everyone had a good laugh and went back to bed, and now tells the story in comedic “what a crazy night!” tones. Personally, I went back to bed, and haven’t told anyone this story, because I am seriously bothered by what happened.

I’ve had a lot of drunken nights and a lot of remorseful mornings, but I’ve always been the only one to really be affected by my bad judgment. I’ve never gotten in a drunken fight, or said more than a few harsh words to anyone before seeing where I was going and excusing myself. I’ve never damaged property other than my own. I’ve never assumed that my drunkenness somehow makes me more attractive to women. My bad nights have always been my problem, until that party. I got too drunk to know what I was doing, other people were directly affected by that, and I’m having a bit of a hard time dealing with that.

I’ve been drinking less and less ever since I got back from England, and not just because it’s healthier and cheaper; I just don’t enjoy it as much as I used to. I don’t react well to hard alcohols or wine so I tend to stick beer, and while I do love the taste, my stomach always gives up before my brain does. I have a good friend who I met in Japan, who is a “born-again” Catholic and doesn’t drink. I always assumed that the two were related, and it never crossed my mind that a religion in which a key ceremony featured wine probably didn’t have a problem with drinking. Meeting with him just this past fall, I learned that the reason that he had stopped drinking was because alcohol was a big part of his life before his re-entry into the church, and he felt that he had to prove (mostly to himself) that he could be social and fun without drinking. Now that he knows he can, he’s back to drinking, although far less than he used to. I think that’s what I’m going to have to do.

The idea of alcohol being a “social lubricant” is ingrained into our society, but think of what that phrase means; alcohol makes social situations run smoother than they would otherwise. But just like normal lubricant, you shouldn’t need any extra if the situation is already smooth enough. I’ve been at parties where other people are drunk and I’m too hungover/sick to drink myself, and it was never an issue; anyone who gave me the third degree about staying sober usually found that I remembered a lot more about the evening than they did. I don’t need the alcohol, it’s expensive, it’s unhealthy, and it’s never worth writing off the next day because of the inevitable hangover. It’s a drug, plain and simple, and the only thing that makes it more acceptable is that it’s sold in actual brick-and-mortar stores. When you look at all that, it’s hard to justify using it at all.

I don’t mean to make this some kind of deep dark confession, as it definitely isn’t. There are people out there who have a serious addiction and problem with alcohol, and I’m not one of them, and I don’t want my next-morning remorse to diminish the effort they put into their recovery. But just like many of them, it took a single event to make me realize that maybe it’s time for a change. The day of that party has been burned into my brain; will it be the day that I look back on and say “that’s when I quit drinking?” Only time will tell, but it’s certainly going to be that day for the next few weeks.

Then again, Christmas is only two months away…

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