I like beer. It's tasty. It's delicious. I have proudly had a Guinness and a chocolate donut for breakfast, without shame. I know where the best beer specials are in Atlanta, and I try to sample them all.
At the same time, I work out to lose weight because I don't want to feel like Jabba the Hut when I have a girl with a better body than Princess Leia walking around the place. (Yes, it's a Star Wars reference. If there was a better one, I would have used it. Sue me. No, don't sue me. Please.)
However, the story I will tell you still annoyed me. One Friday night I was out with a couple folks from my fencing club. One of the group was a cute twentysomething who was a bit of a health nut who never ever went out. (Strangely, I know more than one girl like that here. I need to meet more people). Given that it was Friday, a nice beer seemed appropriate, especially since I wasn't hungry. We were at Taco Mac, a bar and grill known for its average Southwestern menu and its extensive beer list. To me, it made sense to pan the sub-par burrito, and go with the quality pale ale special. And then I hear this, "Don't do it. You don't want to gain weight, do you?"
My, my, what have we here. My first instinct was to reply, "You can kiss my black ass." And believe me, those words formed in my mouth. But a strange thing happened. I ordered a water with lemon instead.
I was tired from fencing, so the water tasted fine - but there I sat, cowed. Cowed not because I thought she was attractive (an understatement), not because I want to date her (I do, although our ideas of nightlife fun are worlds apart), nor even because I want to look good for her (if that was a make or break issue, I would have given up long ago). I backed down because she reminded me of one of someone from my past.
At first I thought the person was my older sister, but that would be too creepy. No, she reminded me of
me - the
me that existed before I went to that pledge assembly almost eight years ago. It was the night I was forced to listen to some fat white girl talk about how alcohol ruined her life. The same night I decided that this woman was a loser and full of crap, and that if she's sober, I need to be drinking. The eve before I failed my first and only class - and lived to tell the tale (and be better for it).
Before that evening, I was the arrogant smart kid who was extremely Christian and conservative. I would have late night loud arguments about abortion, I felt uncomfortable being alone with women, and I could convert binary numbers to hexadecimal numerals in my head. I listened to classical music, and only learned enough about hip-hop and Top 40 music just so I could communicate with my peers. Whenever I felt blue, I played chorales on my trombone. I dressed up for College Republicans meetings. My every waking hour not spent studying was spent with my nose in a book. And my nose was still hard and my head was still hot from all the fights and scraps in my public school career.
It was after that evening I learned that working my tail off for the rest of my youth was a sad arrangement. I realized that trying to convince people of anything against their will was a waste of time. I decided to master that easiest means of communication, charm. And I developed a taste for alcohol and other legal vices. My trombone was abandoned to its case, and I spent years rediscovering the music of the 1980s and 1990s that I had shunned when it was actually current.
That me is the one that convicted me that night. And as the topics strayed away from fencing and turned to the arts - opera, musicals, shows, etc; I couldn't help but realize as I watch the basketball game above my fellows' heads that I used to be interested in these arts - and I used to hate basketball. Then again, I used to hate sports and exercise in general. Part of me wanted to engage, but I felt like an outsider, a hanger-on who wanted no part of being the only cool kid at the table.
I don't feel I am worse off then before that fateful night. The charm and pragmatism that I picked up has helped prepare me for a much more lucrative and profitable sales career than of a hard-nosed analyst or something like that. I certainly have a LOT more fun, and people have even more fun around me. Even so, I still feel the need to oblige every now and anon the warnings of the spirit of my sober and
less tactful past - even when it speaks through the mouth of a pretty Hispanic girl.
Labels: Actually_Being_Sober_Sucks, Deep_Thoughts, Dont_Get_Any_Ideas, Latin_Heros
