I'm never drinking Gin again. That's a surefire one-way ticket to get on the Crazy Train.

I ponder these things though. If I drink beer, I'm hungover as hell, and feel awful but not exceptionally crazy. If I drink liquor, I don't wake up so hungover, but I certainly get crazy. As long as I don't go overboard on the cider, things can be okay.

The whole getting up at the buttcrack of dawn thing, though, I can do without. Beer, I can sleep in, liquor, I'm up at ungodly hours of the morning. It wasn't always like this...it used to be the other way around.

What hasn't changed has been the effect of hormones on my drinking. When you drink four pitchers of beer and are only marginally tipsy, that's pretty impressive (that's not counting the shots). I'm not so sure I want hormonal birth control because it might affect the amount I consume. Last thing I need is to be able to drink three-quarters of a bottle of Tequila and still be sober. ("Three! Three Tequila Sunrises in an hour! And I'm NOT DRUNK!" Two hours and a few beers later: "Alright, let's just leave, because there's no drunkenness to be had tonight.") Or one beer putting me under the table. I will, perhaps, need to drink at home until I figure it out, like I did when I lost weight, because those twenty pounds really does make a difference. There's no way that I could drink that much now, but it does make me smile when I think of it.

Four pitchers. And that's the "I think" estimate, because I lost track. It could have been three or five. And I didn't lose track because I was drunk, I lost track because I just kept getting up to get more beer. Even my friend was like, "Wow, you just got that pitcher!" when I slammed through it and got up to get another one. That one was the second one. Mr. Asshat did not fare so well and ended up puking in the bushes at her house (of course, it could have been the 10 or so shots that a guy was buying for him). That was the night that the one guy whose name I can't remember showed up at her house, and he was tanked too, so I drove him part of the way home. Epic Night was fun.

And I think of all the drunken nights that I've had that were fun like that. After bars, hanging out in the hoopdy, ping-ponging between B and Weightlifter Dude, sleeping at Brandr's house, the guy who had the very crazy chick ("She's really not my girlfriend, but she thinks she is"), Classic Country Monday, The Artist and the sofa ex-girlfriend, Bipolar Girl (I'll Do Anything For A Shot, But I Won't Do That: "C'mon, it'll be fun! I bet that they would let us dance on the bar!" I will never, ever let someone talk me into doing that again, as once was enough!), ninja falling, Audience of One, Irish Coffee, discount chemical beer...jesus, I look like a fucking lush.

And not all of the times have been good ones...kicked in the leg, for starters. But then all of the useless emo fights and angsty whining, mine or B's or Cat Eyes or Bipolar Girl or The Artist's, the nights where I was invisible and lonely. I want to have a drinking buddy again. The thing is, no one I know drinks like I do. I am a star champion at drinking, a Professional, and most people don't drink like that. Most people can't.

Except the Texan. He could. In fact, the bastard could be drunk for DAYS ("Oh, no, you're drinking with me on my birthday. We'll start out Friday night and keep drinking til Sunday." "Uh, I'm not drinking for three days straight! I'd need a week to recover!"). Short men are awesome. The two of us were like the Lollipop Guild on crack. I loved that boy. I hope he's okay now.

And that didn't take even an hour. *Sigh* I hate waiting for the bank to open.