07.12.04 | 10:03 a.m.

A Novel

Chapter One: Why do I drink so much?

Oh please, you are already judging. I can sense it. Let’s see… I drink too much because I: lack a hobby, need a job that won’t make me want to slit my wrists in angst every couple of days, have a problem expressing myself, am trying to overcome two decades of insomnia, and because I no longer do drugs and I find alcohol-induced sedation to be the next best thing.

Bottom line: I drink to maintain sanity. Arguable, I know—but it’s a cruel, cruel world out there. Sure I could continue with my ‘and this!’ and my ‘and that!’ but I am already bored. Drinks, anyone?


In fact, this past weekend -- through the birthday and bachelorette parties -- I relied on my liver to filter the “Jager” bombers, the wine, the vodka tonics, and the Amstel lights from my blood. I also relied on a steak burrito, Burger King, the greasy diner down the street, Chinese takeout, and a large three-topping pizza over the past 48-hours to alleviate my symptoms of alcohol-induced nausea.

At least the only causality of the weekend, was leaving my cell phone in a cab, which I was lucky enough to have returned to me from a very nice Indiana girl named Megan.