Schnapp Out of It

Last weekend, in my ongoing effort to make girlfriends, Roger and I attended a German Beer Festival with Mark and Carol (you remember, Mark is Roger’s co-worker and his wife a potential BFF). They were going with a group of friends around noon on Saturday, and they invited us to come along. Of course, we agreed to attend purely for strategic friend seeking reasons. Certainly we had no real interest in drinking beer all day, but hey, it was the price we had to pay.

I desperately wanted to make a good impression, but the thing is, I’m actually kind of shy. I don’t always know what to say when I meet new people. I’m good at the initial one-on-one small talk, but in a big group I tend to just smile and nod a lot. During this awkward period of smiling and nodding, I often keep my hands and mouth occupied by unconsciously lifting my glass to my lips at an alarmingly rapid pace until I discover that I do have something to say, and that something is charming and witty and I should probably keep talking all night. I was hoping to avoid this.

“Hey Roger,” I said before we left, “Maybe you could keep an eye on me, you know, make sure I’m taking it slow. I don’t want to get too crazy and develop a case of verbal diarrhea.” Roger laughed. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, my girl,” he said. Famous last words…

Once we arrived, the group got a round of beers and found a spot on the lawn. We listened to German music and made fun of the many men wearing knee high socks with Birkenstocks. I did a lot of smiling and nodding as I drained my beer. Before long, I was ready for round two. By round three, Mark decided we should all partake of a little Schnapps. My judgment already slightly clouded, I said sure. Why not have a little fruity liquor? What’s the harm? Except apparently, real German Schnapps isn’t fruity at all. In fact, it tastes how I would imagine gasoline would taste, and yet, everyone seemed to think we should all have more Schnapps. Somehow, in the beer and Schnapps induced haze, I forgot that I had the power to say no. At some point, I heard Roger on the phone getting the number for a taxi, and before I knew it I was curled up on the bed and wondering if I had made a good impression. Probably not.

When I stop and think about it, the whole thing seems crazy. Why do we do this to ourselves? What makes a group of seemingly intelligent people spend an entire Saturday afternoon sitting in a circle purposely making themselves stupid? It makes no sense, and yet, I admit that I’m the first to say ‘Cheers’ if there’s beer or wine to be had.

I blame part of my fascination with alcohol on the fact that growing up, it was a complete taboo. Drinking was WRONG. Sometime in college, it occurred to me that there was no eleventh commandment stating “Thou shalt not drink.” So, I decided that as long as I managed to avoid hurting myself and others while drinking, a little champagne might be okay. Before too long, I was throwing my own keg party (Mom, everyone was over 21 and no one was driving, I promise). Yes, any guilt associated with drinking quickly faded; however, I think that sense of enjoying something forbidden is still part of what keeps me coming back for more.

Of course, part of the attraction to alcohol lies in the way it slowly lowers your inhibitions. As I said earlier, I began the day silently smiling and nodding, but by the end, I was telling stories and inviting people over and making people laugh (With me or at me? I can’t be sure). For someone who normally cares too much what other people think, it’s nice to have a conversation without worrying if the other person will be offended if I say I think it’s disgusting how little we pay the domestic help in Africa or that no, I don’t think George Bush is the anti-Christ or that yes, I saw Paula Abdul in concert. Twice. Could I say these things sober? Of course I could, but I probably wouldn’t.

So what have we learned from this far too revealing study of my relationship with alcohol? To be honest, I’m not really sure, but now that I’ve totally humiliated myself (not to mention horrified my mother), I must come up with something wise and profound to say. Hmmm. Perhaps I should learn that people usually like me, even after they’ve seen the uninhibited version, so maybe instead of drinking too much, I should just stop worrying about what people think and relax. Yes, I should relax. You know, I think I’ll pour myself a glass of wine and do just that.