The Perfect Buzz

by Dlove

I’m not exactly sure why, but it seems to me as if the majority of the people that were out this weekend were on a mission to get as absolutely shitty drunk as they could possibly get. Friends and strangers alike seemed to be keen on drinking beyond their means. If nothing else, it made for an entertaining weekend. Fortunately (unfortunately?) I haven’t felt that same need to become completely inebriated.

I’ve always been the kind of person that enjoys a good buzz. In college, I was happy with a bongload and a 40 ouncer of Mickey’s. Hell, I wouldn’t even be able to finish a 40 ouncer of Mickey’s nowadays. Even back then, I think I only really drank about two-thirds of the stuff. By the time I got down to the last third of the bottle, it was usually warm and even more awful tasting, if possible, than it was when I first opened it. Ah, the stinky goodness that is malt liquor! The appeal back then was to get the most bang for your buck. A 40 of Mickey’s cost about $2.50 and, coupled with a bongload of some chronic weed, it made for an evening of buzzy goodness. I didn’t need anything more than that. In fact, I was well aware that more of anything was liable to make me sick in some fashion.

Times have changed since my college days (10 years ago now?!). I’m much more selective about the alcoholic beverages I choose to imbibe and I still smoke weed, but I still take a more moderate road than some of the people I’ve known through the years. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about getting a good buzz, but I’m also about maintaining my faculties while I’m buzzing. Interestingly, it seems like many people don’t follow this same line of logic. They drink. And drink. And drink. And drink some more. Finally, they realize they’re completely shitfaced. So they drink some more.

I remember getting to know a group of people about five years ago. They were going to Burning Man and a group of my friends and I were going to Burning Man as well. We decided to join forces and camp with this other group of people, even though we didn’t know each other that well. It ended up being a great blessing and we’re all still friends with each other to this day, but I remember being completely blown away by the excessive partying these people did. Compared to most people, I consider myself to be somewhat well-versed in the art of the party. I can hold my own when drinking. I know how to pass the roach of a joint without allowing it to drop to the floor. I can be entertaining and maintain most basic motor functions. Compared to this new group of friends though, I felt like a straight-laced Mormon. At Burning Man, they smoked weed first thing in the morning until they passed out at night. They started drinking at 10:00AM. They did ecstacy every day. True, we were at Burning Man, but they maintained a pace I simply wouldn’t even try to keep up with. Even so, hanging out with them always made me feel like I could increase my buzz even more if I wanted because, in comparison, I was still being pretty damn moderate.

There are a few different reasons I don’t like to get completely wasted. One of the top reasons has to be the way I feel the next day. We’ve all had those mornings where we just feel like complete and total ass. Your stomach hurts, your head is pounding, your leathery tongue tries to moisten your parched mouth which tastes like Ocean Beach at low tide. Your vision is blurry and light hurts your bloodshot eyes. Your clothes from the previous night are twisted around your body and cutting off the circulation to your extremities. Nine times out of ten, there is somewhere you have to be within 20 minutes of waking up and it usually involves your grandparents.

Despite the fact that I hate feeling hungover, there is an even better reason, which was illustrated to me amply last night, not to get too fucked up. I was hanging out at my neighborhood bar with a bunch of friends and acquaintances Saturday night. Everyone had already been doing quite a bit of drinking by the time I arrived there with a couple of friends. People stumbled into each other and were loud. There was nothing graceful about it. It was sloppy and unattractive. Also, many of these people weren’t the “lovable drunks with the hearts of gold” we’ve seen on T.V. and in movies. These people, who are the most respectful considerate people when sober, were mean-spirited and rude drunks.

One friend was particularly rambunctious last night. We had left the bar and were standing outside. My friend went back into the bar using a side door and left the door open. The bouncer walked over to the door and shut it behind my friend who, a couple of minutes later, came out the same door and, again, left it wide open behind him. The bouncer walked over again, shut the door and then, turning towards my friend, said, “Thank you!” in an irritated voice. My friend shouted back to him, “Thank YOU!” I had visions of my friend getting pummeled by the bouncer but, thankfully, nothing happened. Of course, telling your drunk friend that he’s being an asshole and expecting him to accept it is like trying to tell a Republican that Bush is a crook; no matter how you lay out the facts and how convincing your argument is, they will not believe you. They are able to feel justified in their beliefs through some completely inane logic. Both scenarios are frustrating beyond comprehension.

My point is, on any given night that I might go out to catch a buzz, the last thing I want to do is turn into a drunk asshole. I don’t want to fall into anyone. I don’t want to be obnoxious. I don’t want to spill my drink on anyone. I don’t want to yell nonsensical jabber. I just want to have a good buzz because it feels so damn good. Plus, someone has to keep their drunken friends out of trouble.