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Maybe some of you are in the same boat. While everyone else is pounding out drinks at a wedding’s open bar, you’re nursing a water to pace yourself. Your friends all join in a celebratory beer chug, and you fake drink with your lips shut to keep from going overboard. It’s not that you hate the taste of alcohol, or are secretly trying to dry out, you’re leading this depressing lifestyle because it’s necessary for your survival.
It’s a hard road for those of us who get drunk insanely easily. Yeah, we’re a cheap date, and we only have to grin and bear one shot while the rest of you do three, but I’m here to declare that the positives don’t even come close to outweighing the negatives.
As a small female, I am already predisposition to fall a little lower on the tolerance scale. I also suffer from what some of you may know as “Glow” (the technical name is Alcohol Flush Syndrome.) I get drunk faster, my heart races and I feel dizzy, all while my face gets nice and red for all to see. A very big thank you to my Korean ancestors for gifting me the genes that bring on this condition. I have never gotten into the double digits with my drink count in my life. On a good night, 3 beers are all it takes for me to be fervently buzzing, and 4-5 beers and little bit of liquor is enough for me to have almost no memory of the evening. While It’s fun to get super wasted every now and then, almost every time you drink? Not so much.
Oktoberfest left me blacked out, lying in the grass, until someone came and found me. Cinco De Mayo last year took an unexpected turn after I had one too many margaritas and was sprawled out on the bathroom floor. Countless casual dinners have turned into someone else having to drive my car home for me while I slur my words in the passenger seat. This list could go on forever.
There are a ton of variables I need to be aware of. If I’ve skipped a meal, or haven’t had enough water, I’m screwed. Drinking games are my worst nightmare. If a round of King’s Cup has 6 chicks followed by a 3 me, I’m pretty much set up to be on the floor within minutes. I’ve never been able to actively participate in a day drinking event when I know we’ll be going out later, and I feel like I’m the only person actively checking the ABV on the menu before picking a drink at Thursday night trivia.
By far the worst of this curse comes with brewery visits. I absolutely love craft beer, and sampling a draft list can be a bit of a challenge. Ordering a flight and only sipping on a quarter of each glass has become my modus operandi for the past few years, or I have to write down which drinks I didn’t get to try and save them for next time when I’m more sober. Another trick has led me to be everyone’s favorite person who asks to sample your beer instead of just ordering my own that I know I won’t be able to finish.
It may have been less of a struggle as the residential light weight years ago when you could just get fucked up, have your friends make fun of you for a couple of months, and that’s it. In today’s climate, I’ve seen far too many pictures and videos of myself wasted on snapchat stories and in group chats that I don’t remember being taken. I love my friends, but I don’t trust them not to overshare every embarrassing moment of my Saturday night.
It’s a rough life, and there’s no real remedy. I just have to stay on top of my consumption, and follow the Bear Gryll’s mantra of improvise, adapt, overcome. I’ll never outgrow my condition, but I’m only 23 with a lot of living and a lot of drinking still to do. Pour one out this weekend in honor of all of us pussies throwing up in the Uber after two Mai Tais. We appreciate your love..