Posts Tagged ‘celebrating’

I was going to do this week’s post on kittens and bunnies and rainbow dragons. Then I discovered the following image and now I am struck with this empty feeling of melancholy that I cannot shift. And I’ve just eaten my last Oreo. So it’s not going so well…

"Also we were going to buy you a puppy for your birthday, but then we realised it was inevitably going to die anyway..."

“Also we were going to buy you a puppy for your birthday, but then we realised it was inevitably going to die anyway…”

It’s not a depressing image as such, but the original caption imparted a home truth about how we eventually become bored of celebrating birthdays. I would probably stretch that further and say that the whole idea of partying loses it’s appeal later on in life. Hey hey, whoa now. Calm your dangly bits for a second there Mayor Overreact. I didn’t say anything about not drinking or having a good time. While I have halved my intake over the past year (to that of a roadie for Motorhead) I still love to drink.

No, what I’m talking about is the point in life where you either stop drinking or cut back to some extent because “hey, vomiting on walls and loss of limb muscles are perhaps the only things less appealing than a Hitler mustache.” Let me put it another way: Have you ever been out somewhere and either been completely sober or you’ve only had a few drinks throughout the night? Just enough to keep adult responsibilities at bay, but not enough to attract the attention of authority figures and/or the clergy.

See that drunk dude over by the bar? See him holding onto a support beam that isn’t there? See how he sways with the panache of a not very graceful swaying thing? Don’t you feel superior to him? I know I do. And yes, that is how we all look when we’re that wasted. And it’s precisely that image that makes me glad I don’t allow myself to get to that stage. Not anymore, at least.

To summarise: Drink? Yes. Drunk? Sure, why not. So wasted you set evolutionary leaps back three centuries? Pass.

It’s not just weekend’s in the pub either. Last year my housemate and I would host parties at our place, usually once a month or so. Ignoring costs and clean ups, they were pretty stonking shindigs. People drank until the wee hours of the morning, some hooked up with others, punches were thrown and people converted beliefs. Good times. But now, for whatever reason, the thought of hosting another party, or even just attending one, tires me. Tires me like a trophy wife when she’s presented with a slightly inferior diamond ring.

"[YAWN] How tedious..."

“How tedious…”

This isn’t a snobbish thing. I’m not saying I’m better than people who do drink like ‘there’s a party in your face and everyone’s a chihuahua’. I genuinely just think I’m done with it. Hangovers physically hurt now. And I’m in a comfortable, stable relationship where I don’t feel the need to impress someone with how much booze I can hold in my stomach.

But back to the topic of birthdays. People get drunk on their birthdays. Christ, some people just untie their inhibitions from the sacrificial altar and downright liquify themselves. It’s a bit more acceptable on this occasion but I wonder if it’s just an automatic reaction. It happens across all ages but for different reasons. For teens it’s about staggering over the threshold into adulthood and doing the things adults do when they’re not folding sheets and filling out forms (or whatever it is they do). For people a wee bit older it might have more morbid connotations…”Holy shit, I’m getting so old,” says every person in their twenties ever, for some reason. And so drinking almost becomes a race. Like time is running out and the window of opportunity is being closed, and the pie that’s cooling on the windowsill is slowly being eaten.

So is that a celebration? Is the morbid realisation that age is creeping up and our inevitable demise is kept temporarily at bay when we down enough alcohol to freak out the Merchant Navy – is that what drives us to party so hard? Who knows…

Good lord is that a depressing thought! What the hell is wrong with me? I’m going to go play in the snow with the neighbours cats while you all click the ‘unsubscribe’ button…

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