Is a good time = being drunk?

18 Oct Is a good time = being drunk?

Does being drunk equal a good time? Hmm, I guess it depends on how drunk you get.

There is drunk and then there is pissing drunk. There is confidence to approach the hottest girl in the bar drunk, and dollar wine with a vagrant drunk. Fall in love with the best wine for J’ouvert drunk, and fall in the worst drain in Port of Spain drunk.

The key to having a good time with alcohol is respecting your limits. The key to having a good time followed by sadness upon sobering up is trying to ‘Usain Bolt’ those limits on every drink excursion.

It also depends on your definition of a good time. Lighting the wrong side of a cigarette and still having the gall to tell your crew of friends that you are not drunk may in fact be some people’s idea of a good time, though not mine. Neither is remembering the night’s events and drawing a blank, which is great in scrabble, but disastrous concerning memory. Me? I like to have my cake and remember that I had it too. One of my worst phobias are statements that go something like “so yuh doh remember when yuh…?” I not on that. I also don’t like strange texts on my phone, asking if I “remember what we do” or anything so and when you check, you were probably too drunk to enter the person’s name, so the contact coming up as “hot girl” or “qwrqsa”. Once I get a nice buzz, I cool.

That aside, there are some events where it’s difficult for me to see much fun in them without a shot ah something. Take playing mas, for instance. I mean the soca nice, but you are literally walking in the sun for hours! Is it conceivable to endure that gruelling workout without something to numb the pain… and your brain? That’s what you pay for anyway because it clearly can’t be the costume; you lose half your costume on your first jump leaving you with essentially a glittered short pants and maybe a headpiece (I can’t vouch for girls). And when plus-size women squeezing into thongs and bikinis many sizes too small, I know is some hard rum involved.

I remember this one time I played mas sober and it was like waking up from the Matrix, and realising the Earth is really destroyed and the sun has been blocked out. The walk seemed longer, the girls didn’t seem as hot – though the sun seemed hotter – and by 4 p.m. I wanted to ride out so bad eh. I think I got wet in the rain, and then sunburned, and eventually got so fed up that I did like them tourists and sat it out for a while. I didn’t even stay for las’ lap. Before the sun even gone down properly I press out and went straight home, vowing to never play again. The very next year I was in Poison wining low, with a cup of Henny in either hand under the same sun, chipping the same distance, wondering what I was blabbering about the year before.

Take away alcohol and suddenly many ‘normal’ activities start to become illogical. I mean pulling up on a girl bumper, when you don’t know her from Adam, usually takes at least half a pint of something. I certainly not complaining, but it’s astounding and strangely gratifying to see the same girls who would sneer at a good morning greeting respond positively to rough hands around the waist and alcohol-tinged whispering in the ear, leading to a wine braced on a SWMCOL bin.

And don’t talk about when you crossing the stage. It was amazing when I realised that an entire day of alcohol mixed with some Machel, and the euphoria of crossing an arbitrary benchmark, would inspire the hottest of girls to straddle you like there was a recession in men. If that’s not fun I don’t know what is. The funny part is, if not for the ‘gazool’, I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of parties went down like your primary school class party, with all the girls on one side and boys on the other.

I often wonder if people really go political rallies and ‘rally’ through the entire ordeal on a sober head. I’ve never attended one, but if I did bet your bottom dollar it would be for the alco and riddim section (they have those right?). The lengthy speeches? Not so much. And imagine pan semi-finals without your cooler? I’m sure the pan-purists would be happy, but who else? I like pan, but a court order couldn’t get me out in midday sun to listen to it sober. A few cold beers and there I am helping carry a fully laden cooler from the embassy into the event at 11 a.m. in the morning, under some scorching heat.

Alcohol is a psychoactive drug, which means that it acts primarily on the central nervous to alter perception, mood, cognition, consciousness and behaviour. Simply put, you don’t behave as you normally would, and most of your inhibitions are relaxed, which, in moderation, leads to you escaping your comparatively boring self and having fun. If you overdo it, it isn’t unlikely that you may find yourself skating backwards down some stairs off a well-placed slap from a club bouncer.

Now that might also be someone’s idea of a good time, because bring drunk sometimes involves great memories… or none at all. Maintain ah order and you’re guaranteed to like yuhself.

 

Image courtesy – iStockphoto.com; Brasil2