Booze: A Love Story for the Ages

At some point last night there was a bottle of Black Velvet on the table. The most obvious thing to do seemed to find shot glasses and throw down. Before it was time to leave the apartment, I was having a hard time walking. By the time we came back, I wasn't walking.

Not my first night like that. Not by a long shot. I love drinking. I'm not physically dependent on alcohol, I don't use it to supplement any self-loathing, I'm not influenced by peer pressure. I genuinely and sincerely love drinking. I know it's not socially acceptable to say so, but I can't deny it.

My grandpa gave me my first sip of beer when I was about a year old and the legend goes that I reached for another. I don't remember, but I've got to imagine something in me knew great things were to come.

The first time I got epically drunk in a tent in my uncle's backyard with my cousin and best friend. I drank so many Mike's Hard Lemonades that I threw up in the grass and spent the better part of the next day retching in my parents' bathroom. I look at that night like a married couple looks back on a first date where the future husband forgot his wallet and the future wife spilled wine in her lap - a silly misstep that we can all laugh about now that our love has solidified.

And I learned a valuable lesson: premium malt beverages are for people who want to have a drink or two, not for people who want to have a dozen. Had to move on and quick. Then there was vodka. 5 O'Clock vodka, to be exact. Mixed with anything (literally. We made vodka floats one night. Pitchers of 5-0 and neopolitan ice cream. It was terrible, but I didn't [and still don't] approve of wasting alcohol, so I drank it all. And threw it all up). I had a pretty solid group of drinking buddies and rotating party spots. These were the glory days because everyone just loved everyone and we had no real responsibilities but someone always had weed. I didn't know my limits yet and threw up a lot. Sometimes on people.

It wasn't until I turned 21 and realized what alcohol cost in bars that I started liking beer. And it wasn't until I moved to Saginaw and started going to Steamers on Thursday nights that I realized the value of a drinking routine. I got pretty good at planning which bars to go to on which nights; I learned the best deals and what crowds to expect. Steamers Thursday became an early favorite on account of the half-off drinks and divey atmosphere. A crew of friends began assembling every week and I haven't looked back since.

It hasn't all been hearts and flowers. The sauce has landed me in the hospital and in jail. And I've made countless other questionable decisions with varying degrees of consequence. But there's room to learn in every relationship. I'm more responsible these days. No drinking and driving. I can go out for a drink or two and be satisfied. Working on overcoming drunk texting. We're constantly evolving.

Some nights I'm a hot mess and it's not always cute, but if romantic comedies have taught me anything it's that true love is messy, but it always wins. I intend to grow old with alcohol and expect my homies to pour out 40s for me when I pass. Isn't that all anyone wants?