Truly the days of our lives are measured out in ounces of malt liquor and beer

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I consider myself a “measured alcoholic.” I generally drink the same kind of alcohol, at the same time, and at the same pace, and at the same volume, every night.

Generally I’ll start off slowly. I’ll take that first sip of beer around 6 PM. I really don’t like the taste of beer. So I’ll sort of choke down that first bottle like when you’re swallowing bitter medicine.

The second bottle usually goes down a little smoother and a little faster. And tastes better.

By the third beer I usually don’t feel much of an affect. Aside from feeling a little more relaxed and a little less concerned about all the problems that have been beguiling me. I usually have my cellphone (for Facebook babble) and my radio headphones (tuned to ’80s oldies radio station — “The greatest decade!!”). So I’m settling in and getting comfortable for the long haul.

By the fourth beer I start to feel the affect. They call it being “drunk.” But I actually feel mentally sharper at this point. I start getting more excited about things. I usually have several different conversations going on Facebook. And I’m typing away faster and sharper with an almost manic focus on whatever subject I’m dealing with. Most of my website blogs are written at this point. So you can judge for yourself whether my mind is lucid or if I’m one more sloppy drunk.

By the fifth beer things are definitely starting to spin faster. Some sappy love ballad on the radio may cause me to burst into tears. And I might suddenly proclaim to my Facebook friends “I LOVE YOU ALL!! AND I LOVE MY FERAL CATS TOO.”

By the sixth beer I start to reach this wonderful state of mind where I don’t care what ANYBODY thinks of me. Which is a wonderful state of freedom to be in (unfortunately the next morning I WILL care about some of the things I babbled in this state).

By the seventh beer I start thinking I’m a lot smarter than I actually am. And I start making all sorts of sweeping generalizations that make perfect sense at the time. As well as crushing like a bug anyone who dares to challenge my brilliant arguments (again, the next morning I will become painfully aware of some of the holes in my thinking).

By the eighth beer I’ve reached the perfect state of drunkenness. 8 beers times 12 ounces of (7.5% alcohol content) beer equals 96 ounces of beer. So I’m perfectly pickled at this point. And it’s like I have an inner clock in my head that usually says “You’re as buzzed as you’re gonna get. The party is over. Time to call it a night and go to bed.”

But every now and then I can’t resist those ninth, tenth, and eleventh beers. Where I go beyond the 100 ounces threshold.. Usually because I’m having so much fun that I don’t want the night to end. It’s at this point that I can get into trouble. But usually even after the 12th beer I can still talk to a cop coherently and bullshit my way out of any problems.

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