Me Old Vice
 
I’m not from Ireland. I usually don’t say “me” instead of “my” but I thought for the purpose of this piece, I’d get in touch with my 1/8 of an Irish background.
 
I like beer. I like to drink it. I like to daydream about it. It’s sure some tasty vittles.
 
About a year ago my love for beer turned into my NEED for beer. It actually turned into my NEED for any alcohol for that matter. I am without a doubt the quickest person in history to go from never touching a drop of alcohol, to being a raging alcoholic, to being sober again in just a matter of a year. I know, I’m amazing.
 
I’d had unpleasant experiences with other people’s alcoholism and couldn’t stand the thought of people drinking it around me. That was until I had realized that the warmth of its poison forcing its way through my bloodstream made me forget about all those problems that I called life, and I could see everything more positively through the bottom of a cocktail glass.
 
It started with happy hours. I was working in Santa Monica at an investment firm where its stuffy corporate environment turned its once civilized employees into coke addicts, alcoholics and adulterers.
 
We went to happy hour every single day. At the beginning I would have one drink, ordered with half the alcohol. About three weeks later I was ordering one drink with all of the alcohol. And then shortly there after I was ordering four drinks with all of the alcohol, heading to the next bar and ordering two more, then heading home and having one next to my bed as I fell asleep.
 
I knew there was a problem when I could no longer wait for 4 o’clock happy hour and started drinking in my office at work. I would walk by the receptionist in the morning, hoping she didn’t hear the clinking of the bottles in my book bag. I’d bring a couple of beers and drink one in the morning and one in the afternoon, just to get through the day. My workplace also provided orange juice for the employees which I took much advantage of as I turned a healthy dose of Vitamin C into screwdrivers with the help of the vodka I brought in a water bottle from home.
 
I hated that fucking place. I hated the people. I hated the work. I hated my life. I wanted to drink and drink and drink until I passed out forever. I didn’t care about anything.
 
It was by about the fifth or sixth month of constant drinking (and after I had thrown up out of my nose twice) that I finally decided that maybe I should slow things down. I didn’t drink more than three beers a month after that. I still enjoy an occasional beer or two, but don’t need it.  
 
I realized I was spending every minute of my day just trying to GET THROUGH my life instead of spending every minute ENJOYING my life. I realized that life isn’t something to be plowed through. It’s not something that should be forgotten about with the help of vices. It’s something that should be appreciated and enjoyed until the day it’s over.
 
Now pass me a beer.

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While no stranger to the dens of iniquity that are online publications, this is the first time that Bethany Shady has graced us with her writing. Expect more whenever she crawls back out of her bottle.