Mixed Spirits

I have some terrible news: I might, just might, be an adult. The test results won't be in for a few weeks, but the early indicators aren't good. Last weekend for example I spent three valuable hours organising stationary and changing bed covers. Something about determining whichever the floral cover or the leopard print alternative would suit the room more made me think that perhaps my best days are behind me. It didn't help that it took a lot more time and energy than expected applying one fuckin' sheet to a mattress.

The optimist within me soon began to take control of the situation and got me thinking of the many promising and positive sides of adulthood i.e. alcohol. It was fresh on my mind after a liver damaging past few weeks consisting of Galway's unofficial rag week, Saint Patrick's Day Weekend and my sister's eighteenth birthday getaway break to Belfast. I have assembled some important information about me that you will soon find notifying the nation on a Drinkaware television campaign in the near future.

Staring at this picture makes me feel like a kid in a candy shop.
1. Vodka. On a good night of Kinsey I'll activate a competition of verbal abuse with myself and apply it to whoever is in my company. It's usually pretty light-hearted stuff like "I hate you, I wish you were dead" or "You've never liked me and I've known it for years". Then when I'm gargling down the distilled beverage on a bad night I transform into this Rambo wannabe and by the end of the night one of my friends will ultimately end up assaulted and head first in a wheelie bin.

2. Whiskey. I might brag from time to time about being this self-classified tank, undefeated by the alcohol community. But when boozing on whiskey I get sick. I get sick on myself, I get sick on my friends and I get sick on the taxi driver. Then to capitalize on a night's worth of pain and hardship I wake up the next morning looking tragically like an extra from Star Trek, on crack.

3. Rum. A few portions of Captain Morgan flavoured super-splits forces me to cry.  Unfortunately I'll typically latch onto as many people as I can manage to during the night, whether I know them or not isn't a concern. I'll mourn out an exaggerated narrative of my life story or one I'll have seized from a film. Whatever DMCs I remember the next morning will add to a life's worth of humiliation that Miranda Hart would only gladly embezzle to accompany her weak stand-up routine or script of her self-titled comedy sitcom.

4. Wine. These fermented grapes compel me to steal. The younger and cheaper the wine is the more likely the side effects kick in. In the past I've swiped candle holders, I've robbed mini fire extinguishers and I've hijacked supermarket trolleys. Less of the judging, we have all done it.

5. Beer. This is a personal fan favourite. I have boastfully built up a competent resistance to any bizarre aftermath mood swings generated by the beverage. It does make me urinate repeatedly though, think Baby Wee-Wee gone wrong.
I've always liked That '70s Show, even more so after coming across this photograph. 


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