Ok. So, not so much about my drinking. But, maybe it'll come up organically.
I've been participating in dad talk with other new and/or soon to be dads.
I was feeling bad that all my dad mountain blogs were all about how I drink and listen to records. So I started trying to do more dad like stuff. I've picked up a dad book and I've asked other dads about dadding. By talking about our hopes and fears, us dads, we all end up talking about ourselves and how we drink and listen to records.
I don't know if that paragraph reads very well.
How about this:
Last week, I ended up playing Oppositional Forces (the bad guy) for a field exercise. This means that I spent a long time in an open field with some other guy, chain smoking cigars and talking. He ended up being a new dad. So we dad talked.
What surprised me was how quickly we ended up talking about ourselves, how we were most fascinated and fluent in our flaws and foibles. We talked about almost every mistake we ever made growing up, always through fits of laughter. Each of us trying to one-up the other with an example of our youthful indiscretions, which ended up as examples of the kind of flaws we would accept and detest in our own sons.
Is that abhorrent?
I think I would have thought so just a year ago.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
On Thursday I went to the Class VI (on post liquor store) and bought two 12 packs of lager for $14. No big whoop, just a good deal. On the way home I listened to
, which justifies this being a dadmountain post.
I got to thinking how uninspired I feel I've been. That is to say that I've reached a plateau in creativity and I'm pretty much just jealous of all of you who are, at least in my mind, doing very creative things. So I had a little crisis. I needed to do something. But I only had a few minutes at home alone and all I had was 24 cans of cheap beer. And so I decided to shotgun a beer.
I don't know.
I don't think I've ever successfully fully shotgunned a beer. Whenever I tried in college I let a lot just pour out the side of my mouth and alway left a little in the can when I threw it onto the ground, making a mockery of this weekly ritual before, during, and after new episodes of Tool Academy.
And, but, so, anyway, this last Thursday, when I got home, in order to defeat a spell I was under, I decided to shotgun a beer, fully, to prove to myself that I have improved since college. Back then, under the best circumstances, it was impossible for me to take more than one sip of beer at a time and would never (ever) finish the last sip of luke warm beer because it would definitely have caused me to vomit. Now, I can consume much more alcohol in many more forms than I could just five years ago, so I knew this would be a challenge I could do.
**pause to pour myself another glass of lager**
I came home, greeted the dog, and took off my top. So, just so you can get the full visual, I was wearing:
I took five beers from one 12 pack and put four of them in the refrigerator and one on the kitchen counter. Remembering, possibly falsely, that it is best to shotgun a beer that is not completely cold, I took the can from the counter and went out to my back yard and thought to get good ol' Calvin and/or Brian on gchat or something and dedicate this to the good ol' days but decided I didn't have time. I took my Brewski
and pierced a hole near the bottom of the can. Confidently placing the hole into my mouth, I flipped the can right-side-up, popped the tab and chugged it about three fourths of the way down before I realized how badly my stomach hurt.
The beer was too warm and way too foamy. I tried to burp but knew that this was not going to be a burp. Before my God and my doG, dropped the can in the garden and ran into the bathroom and vomited all of that foamy beer and, with a mild euphoria, rediscovered something in myself and was reaffirmed.