Posted by: tlnemethy | September 8, 2012

Drinking Like a Fish in Louisiana, Well Not Really

I’ll tell you that turning 21 is a milestone as ALL young people know. This ain’t yo mama’s day when the society didn’t care how old you were if you had a beer in your hand. No sir. Today, a young person must drink in secret, underground opium dens to avoid the watchful eye of camera phones, Facebook, twitter, instagram, uploads, or gasp their own fellow party goers. Sure, college kids are known for their unquenchable thirst, but the ulcers we develop are not from the booze, but from the constant prickle of judgement. To bypass this unorthodox sickness, I just stayed away from alcohol all together in college. Sure, this is the part where you say quite sarcastically “Right. And I’m part cactus on my father’s side.”

Well I did. For the most part I can count my nights of drinking on one hand. What was I doing with my college experience?! Squandering it studying and keeping my nose clean, well that and maintaining a healthy sleep schedule while harboring a nasty penchant for Farmville. I live a colorful life. My first “party” was well into my sophomore year of college and even so I drank water out of that red solo cup, all the while taking in how much booze affects the life of the party.

I had just turned 19 the first time I even saw a game of beer pong outside of the glowing rectangle of my television. I guess you could say that I did not live the college existence that most do, that I wasted some of the most valuable networking attempts and opportunities being the oddly sober one. It is true that I believe I missed out on a valuable part of human socialization.

We remember those milestones in our life don’t we? Those unforgettable minutes and hours that become ingrained into the hard drives of our brains? Just as I will remember my 18th birthday was spent watching Shark Week, I will remember that I bought my first legal alcoholic beverage from a drive thru liqueur store in Louisiana. It was sickeningly sweet and I harbored the buzz while surrounded by my newly acquired and still-in-the-unfamiliar-phase-but-loveable-nonetheless relatives. It was a classy Styrofoam cup with salt on the lid, but it contained a peach margarita. They didn’t ask for my ID and I was disappointed, but I accepted the drink as retribution.


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