Part of the reason I don’t drink is because I had some issues with my liver. If you remember, I had to suffer the extreme suckfest that was a liver biopsy a year or so ago. Although they found that my liver function was just naturally high, Mrs. Zombie still keeps a tight grip on my balls when it comes to the drinking. Too much beer - and squeeze from Mrs. Zombie. Too much Guinness at me Da’s - and squeeze and twist by Mrs. Zombie.
Mrs. Zombie feels very strongly about the benefits of negative reinforcement.
Another barrier to the drinking for me is Ohio’s drunk driving laws. We have this program where, if you get busted driving under the influence, they have an ingenious way to ensure that you are properly punished. In addition to the usual penalties (suspension of license, weekend in jail, name printed in the paper, etc.) here in Ohio, they give you special plates for a time period established by the presiding judge. These plates, which are bright yellow with bright red lettering, proclaim to the whole world that you are a dumbass who chose to foolishly drive drunk. It’s very Nathanial Hawthorne, Hester Prynne, and the Scarlet Letter. And I know people who’ve had what we here in Ohio affectionately call “Party Plates.” People will seriously pull up next to you at lights and point and laugh and call you an asshole. Never mind that, by virtue of having the highly visible plates, any law enforcement officer can pull you over – at any time – to make sure you’re not drunk driving. I know a guy who gets stopped at least once a day. Can you say Probable Cause, baby?!?
Fuck a bunch of that noise.
So what got me thinking about this? Well, my brothers Phil and Richie an I are finally at a point – family-wise - where we can actually get together a little more often. I’ve actually started working days and I’m actively trying to get them join a dart league or something. One can’t let happy hours go to waste, can one?!?
Also, we’re planning on getting some season tickets to or newest minor league hockey team – The Lake Erie Monsters, so we’ll be frequently downtown, drinking Guinness and Labatt’s by the kegful. Noice!
The sad thing is, the three of us were once a formidable force. Unfortunately, our powers have waned some. That doesn’t mean we aren’t above a little binge drinking – what’s a severely damaged liver between friends? – it’s just that I have a bad feeling about this.
So – in honor of my coming debauchery – I thought I’d share some things I’ve learned while drinking over the years. These are rules I live by, guidelines I occasionally follow, and idiotic things that I probably should have learned from but obviously didn’t:
My brother Richie sets the bar for drinking. If Richie says, at any point, “I’ve drank so much I can’t see!” – everybody needs to stop drinking. If it’s gotten to this point, someone else is most likely going to the hospital to get their stomach pumped to avoid alcohol poisoning.
Tequila – for some odd reason – makes me think that the world wants to see me naked. This is most likely attributed to the fact that I was introduced to tequila in college at a party in Chicago. The fact that I split a bottle with a gorgeous actress named Carol doing body shots may have something to do with the nakedness thing. So… no tequila. Ever. Especially when at work functions or with people I don’t want to see me naked.
No matter how hot the bartender is, no matter how long you’ve known her, don’t ever let her make drinks up for you, because, quite honestly, vomit is never funny. Especially vomit in a friend’s car. Especially if they don’t drink. I’m still soooo sorry about that Jay-Jay…
Jagermeister is bad. Ouzo is really, really bad. *Gag*.
Everclear, when done as a straight shot, will burn your throat and leave you hoarse for days.
You can say all you want about tequila worms. You can even say you’ll never, ever eat the worm. That’s all well and good until you’re halfway into a bottle of Jose Cuervo. At that point, you’ll eat live earth worms from the front yard. No one knows why this is.
Despite popular myth… Guinness, like revenge, is best served cold.
Turning a shot glass upside down, filling the depression with vodka, and then snorting it like cocaine will guarantee a bloody nose, as well as a blackout later that evening.
Never let our buddy Matt drink an entire bottle of Glen Fiddich Scotch in the time it takes one to go to the bathroom. This will ensure that, at some point, you’ll need to talk to the cops and explain why Matt is running around with a pair of boxer shorts around his head, screaming that I – Doctor Z. – am the Antichrist and the Dark One. He will then try to destroy me with drunken kung fu. This will lead – inexplicably – to both of us getting tazered, beat with nightsticks, and thrown into the back of a cruiser. I still don’t know what I did to deserve this…
Great Lakes Brewery has the best beer. Especially their seasonal Halloween brew – Nosferatu. Mmmmm…
If, after drinking a galaxy of Guinness at the local pub’s Two-For-One night, it will never, ever please Mrs. Zombie to have my brothers screech up to the house and kick my unconscious body out of the car into a snow drift on the tree lawn. It will make her even more mad if, after she wakes you from said snow pile, you start singing Irish drinking songs loud enough to wake the neighbors.
And my final piece of drinking wisdom, the one thing that is probably the most important thing I’ve learned in my years of alcohol abuse, is this: With the exception of Guinness, never drink draft beer. I’m not as young as I used to be, and I can’t drink like I used to. Whereas I might have blithely killed a keg back in college, a night of heavy drinking at this point in my life warrants an inordinately large recovery time. Drinking draft beer will ensure a headache and the dreaded Swamp Ass. (That’s where you spend the whole next day with the shits and your ass is…well, swamp-like. You know what I mean, right? It’s like a swamp in that it is hot and wet all day. ) So stick to bottles!
Hmmm… I think I’ll have a few beers tonight…