Heather Havrilesky Makes the World Make Sense

I have very little vanity, which is not to say that I have no ego. What I lack in knowledge of hair gel I make up for with knowledge of my own brilliance.

It's a gift.

That said, my brilliance has not expanded to the point of understanding drinking holidays. In my world, I understand a cocktail or two to help celebrate a holiday. I do not understand a day set aside in which revellers consume as much of the least expensive alcohol possible to the point of creating a public display. That's not to say I have never over consumed alcoholic beverages. A few years ago I was in a club in Minneapolis and did not realize I was being over served until it was way too late. Alcohol's effect seems to be immediate and delayed with me. I feel the first sip and then nothing until I'm a slurring mess. However, I had not really discovered this when I was in Minneapolis. At some point in the evening the DJ hit the strobe light and that was all I needed to detonate. I spewed down the backs of at least half dozen poor patrons, then turned around and coated a wall. I made at least one more stop in the middle of the dance floor on my way out of the club. It was not pretty.

However, in my defense, this was accidental and only happened once. Now I limit myself to two cocktails in public, and may allow a third if I'm in a private home. But honestly, I could go the rest of my life without ever touching alcohol and not miss it.

It's a gift.

But, to dedicate a full day to drinking with the expressed purpose of virtually obliterating an entire day or two from memory makes no sense to me.

Yesterday, not realizing that it was St. Patrick's Day in Chicago. On a weekend. I went out to get a haircut, manicure, and to meet my friend Cathy for a movie. The haircut, by the way is a disaster, but the visit with Cathy and the movie (Namesake) more than made up for it. On the way home I passed the new neighborhood "Irish" pub, which was blaring Donna Summer for the entertainment of everyone within a three-block radius. Outside there was a young couple engaging in some sort of dramatic mating ritual that involved her screaming and him slamming her up against the wall. I think I'd seen a similar scene on Real World or some such hooey. I stood and watched, fumbling for my cell phone to call 911. There were three other people doing exactly the same thing. Suddenly the show just stopped and the couple turned and walked/stumbled hand in hand back into the bar. Now understand that this couple appeared to be an affluent, clean-cut, yuppie couple, past the age of high school. For their sakes I can only pray they don't remember last night or they should die of embarrassment. Although I'm sure she's going to wonder how she got so bruised.

As I walked home I suddenly began to feel very old. Is that what fun is supposed to look like? I've always been a little socially awkward, but is that successful social intercourse? Am I the only person left on the planet capable of maintaining even the most casual relationship without resorting to chemical enhancement? If I got wasted on a regular basis could I sustain a long-term committed relationship?

Then, this morning I got up and read Heather Havrilesky. Thank God for Heather. At least I no longer feel like a lone voice howling into the abyss.

Now I have to go into the bathroom -- the one without a sink yet -- and see what I can do to salvage this haircut.