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Three Days.

Three Days.

I’m not an alcoholic. I just like to drink.


There is a very good reason why I drink, but we’ll get to that in a minute. Suffice it to say, I’m a drinker. And, as a drinker, I drink. Alot.

Usually, I either drink with friends at home (wine, mixed drinks), or at the Pub. But recently, after a spate of nightly visits to the bar with friends, I swore off alcohol and all things spirit-related until the new year — if only to prove the point that I’m not an alcoholic.

It was a simple enough plan. When I bought wine for the apartment, I only bought wines that other people like but that I know I won’t drink. Chardonnay, for example. (I’m a Pinot Grigio fan.) Or when I go out, I sit in the corner and drink cokes and avoid beer. (Which is surprisingly easy to do when one is trying to save money.)

Of course, there are reasons to drink. It relieves stress. (And I’ve been working a whole lot of extra projects lately — like starting a magazine and remodeling a house and researching funeral plans. Don’t ask.) It interjects a certain unpredictability into almost any situation. (“Hi. I’m drunk and a writer. So be warned, I’ll probably be asking a number of inappropriate questions which, since you are drinking as well, you’ll feel compelled to answer more honestly than you would if sober.”) And it makes me just a bit more honest.

Enter tonight, at the Pub. And Evil Woman.

“I like him better when he’s drunk,” she says.

Thanks, Melissa Miller, for pointing out my friends only like me when I’m drinking. So instead of getting angry, I did the next best thing. I got a beer. And then another.

The way I see it, I have two choices — either drink with them or find new friends.

Alas, the thought of having to do the work of finding new friends just makes me want to drink. There’s no quo like the status quo.

And thanks, Melissa, for the hangover I’ll most definitely have in the morning.