Eat, drink, be (a little) merry

The other day, as a group of people from our office sat around at the Minnesota Newspaper Association Convention, one of my co-workers announced that one of her goals in life — or at least in her current job — is to see me get really, really drunk.
This concerns me for a number of reasons. First, and probably most important, it makes me worry I’m working with people whose priorities in life are questionable at best. Are people around here really that starved for entertainment?
Second, it puts a lot of pressure on me. The way I see it, at some point I’m going to have to decide between either drinking too much and acting foolishly or disappointing a co-worker. I hate the idea of letting people down, but frankly, with a few notable exceptions, I have never drunk to excess.
At least not since I graduated from college. But that was New Orleans. That doesn’t count. I’m pretty sure drinking is required there.
(Kids, I’d like to take a moment here to point out you really shouldn’t drink alcohol. It’s bad for your liver and it causes you to make questionable decisions — things painting large cartoon cats on your wall, as someone I know once did, leading police on a high-speed chase while pantsless, as a man in Denver did, or, like British man Tony Alleyne, going broke turning your apartment into a replica of Star Trek’s Starship Voyager. Although that last one would probably require more than just a one-night drinking binge.)
I really don’t have many good stories about drinking too much. The first time I had too much I threw up on a friend’s socks in the lounge of our dorm. In my defense, though, there wasn’t much in my stomach at that point and I’m pretty sure I’d loaned him the socks, anyway. The last time I had at least a little too much was a few weeks ago. That night I apparently agreed to bike 500-some miles from Hayward, Wisc., to Mackinack Island, Mich. with my dad and my brother.
Like I said, alcohol can impair your ability to make rational decisions.
There are probably a few other stories in between, but nothing I need to share with the general public. And certainly nothing I need to tell my mom, who I imagine is already preparing the appropriate disapproving look for the next time she sees me.
I don’t mean to suggest I’ve matured beyond the point in my life where getting falling-down drunk is a good time — mostly because I continue to argue I am no more mature now than I was 10 years ago — but maybe that’s not all that far from the truth. Maybe as I get older having one or two drinks too many has more of an effect on me than it used to. Or maybe I’ve just decided that acting foolishly is just as easy sober as it is after a bunch of drinks. Cheaper, too.
Besides, there are too many risks to overindulging.
I don’t want to end up like US Olympic skier Bode Miller, who caused some controversy when he admitted showing up for competitions after tying one on. I’m not sure I see what the problem is. If I were going that fast down a hill I’d want a little bit of buzz, too. Besides, with a name like Miller he’s created a perfect promotional opportunity in the beer industry.
I also have to be careful for the sake of my job. Because our company’s insurance policy requires a clean driving record, getting arrested for a DUI would cost me my job. And anyway, I know enough police officers around here I wouldn’t want to be pulled over for something like that. They’ve already Tasered me once, and they may just be looking for an excuse to do it again.