Blame it on the alcohol

For those of you who don’t know, I quit drinking back in February. Like, quit quit. As in, not a single sip. Not even the occasional whiff. I just 100% quit.

Now, many people are shocked and ask me, “But…why?!” and I thought I would take a moment to explain to the world my rationale behind quitting the art of drunken belligerence.

The dancing. For those of you who know me, Drunk Ona likes to dance. And by “dance” I actually mean “stagger around the dance floor and bump into people, all the while lacking rhythm and grace.” However, this isn’t so much the problem. The issue arises when I have to wait until the next day to hear about my dancing stories and how I made a fool of myself. Either by getting kicked off the dance floor by security due to inappropriateness and public indecency, or starting a bitch fight by dancing with some chick’s boyfriend, or whatever. Basically, drunken Ona-dancing was never a good thing. And now that I’m sober, when I go to clubs, I just look at the drunk dancers with such admiration disgust that my friends have to tell me to snap out of it because I look like I’m about to kill someone.

The puking. Normal people throw up like once every five years or so, and it’s due either to pregnancy, or food poisoning, or swine flu, or something of the like. I, however, used to easily throw up twice a week. And not necessarily in the private comfort of a bathroom stall, no. I’m talking about public fucking puking. The dance floor, under the table, in some chick’s purse, the parking lot, someone’s car, a taxi, the side of the road, the front of someone’s house… you name it. My problems with vomiting are twofold. First, it’s unhealthy as hell. I mean sure, you’re getting the alcohol out of your system. But your esophagus and mouth shouldn’t be exposed to the alcoholic acid mixture that projects from your stomach. It’s nasty and corrosive. Secondly, puking is just fucking unclassy. It’s not that I can’t hold my liquor (because trust me, I might as well be Irish), it’s more of the pace at which I drink, and the fact that I mix my alcohols. And that induces unclassy vomiting.  Nowadays, when I go clubbing and see girls just double over and hurl a puddle of vomit on the dance floor and then get back up and continue dancing in their own filth as though nothing happened and then two seconds later give their boyfriend a big wet kiss, like, that shit’s disgusting. And did I mention unclassy? And ironically, it triggers my gag reflex. But it makes me so happy that I am no longer able to classify myself as one of those people.

The emotions. Back in my days of alcoholism, I would have severe and uncontrollable mood issues. I was rarely a happy drunk. Either I was like The Hulk and got really really angry and aggressive and could stab you to death without so much as a single flinch, or I’d have a waterfall of tears streaming down my face, crying about something or another. It was pathetic. And now that I’m usually the only sober one, I like to conduct observational research when I go clubbing. And my observations lead me to conclude that once the ratio of alcohol to blood (in your body) exceeds 1:1, your conscience shuts down, and the alcoholic sub-conscience takes over. This is bad. Because you say shit that you’d normally keep to yourself because your sensible conscience tells you it’s offensive. Or you do shit that you’d normally never do because your sense of reason and judgement is still intact. And then the emotional downfall begins, and you just keep spiraling down into deeper depression slash rage until finally you pass the fuck out next to some train tracks and wake up the next day, shivering, alone, and confused. Not like that’s happened to me or anything…

The blackout. Now, I don’t know about you, but because of the lack of control I have whilst drinking, I drink until the point of blackout. As in, I’m still walking around and functioning, but my brain is literally dead. And I won’t remember anything I do in this period of blackout the next day. Not only could this lead to embarrassing happenings, but more importantly, I could do stupid dangerous shit. Let’s say I’m in blackout mode and I get behind the wheel of a car? Impending death by impact. Or let’s say I’m in blackout mode and since I’m at a beach party, I decide to go swimming? Impending death by drowning. Like, I guess this is one of my main reasons for quitting drinking, which is that I don’t like to not be in control of my own body. I’ve seen it too many times before. Alcohol makes people ugly. It changes people’s personalities completely, and it’s some creepy ass voodoo shit. I don’t like it. Hence, quitting.

The hangover. You wake up, reeking of booze and cigarettes. You’ve got that nasty ass fermented taste in your mouth because you were too drunk the night before to brush your damn teeth. You roll over and regret it instantaneously. Your head is throbbing, you feel motion sickness even though you’re not moving, your eyes are sensitive to light, your hands are probably still shaking from alcohol poisoning, you may or may not have heartburn… As you get up, the symptoms only worsen. You stagger to the bathroom and catch a glimpse of your still-drunk reflection and groan in dismay, as you realise you’re still wearing the same clothes as the night before. Is that a tattoo on your forehead?! How drunk were you? After a quick pee, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen. You’re super hungry and could kill for a huge English breakfast. Sadly, your sense of smell is heightened, and anything that even vaguely reminds you of food makes you nauseous. So although you’re dying of starvation, you can’t eat. It’s a cruel, harsh world, and for the next five hours, all you can do is mope around like the pathetic alcoholic that you are. But then, it’s happy hour at your local bar, so you make your way over for the best hangover cure: a pint of beer.

So yeah that’s pretty much it. Now that I don’t drink anymore, I’m relatively happier, my liver is no longer at the brink of failing, my mom isn’t as much of a paranoid freak as she once was, and I haven’t suffered any fatal injuries. But it’s still difficult. I crave a beer every morning when I wake up, and every night before I go to sleep. I constantly fight an inner battle with my alcohol demons, although the better of me has thus far always won. Can you still buy me a drink, you ask? I’ll take a sugar-free Red Bull on the rocks with two slices of lemon. Stirred, not shaken.

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6 Responses to “Blame it on the alcohol”

  1. Biological D. Says:

    good for you!!!

    and so f***ing funny the way you write!!!
    keep it up

    ro

    p.s. Is that a tattoo on your forehead?

  2. Biological D. Says:

    hi it´s me again

    I really laughed my ass off!!!!!
    even the second time I read it….

    love

    ro

  3. Timothy Says:

    Oh my gosh Ona you’re so much my idol…. Like seriously. I want to BE you. You’re so fucking hilariousss slash THE BEST writer I ever met, I love you Ronaldd <3 I miss you

  4. onamatopoeia Says:

    Hahaha oh my gosh, I just noticed that your name is TIMOTHY! Hahahahaha!!!

    Glad I could make you guys laugh a little. :)

  5. Mohammed Says:

    lol I agree with both, you should write a book. No really :p

  6. Aaisha Says:

    Personally I’d rather be around drinkers than smokers. Apart from the obvious reasons, any kind of smoke gives me asthma. But I could never stand the taste of alcohol, and everything I consume has to, I repeat HAS to, taste delicious. It seems I have no vices therefore I must be an angel. ;) The truth is I’m an evil witch out to take over the world.

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