Oh alcohol. The readers must warned, this is not a recounting of my drunken sorority days hooking up with some random guy in the back of cab. This story does not and will never ever exist, purely because of disdain for public transportation in Los Angeles. I am not pretentious, I just feel deeply uncomfortable when I think of all those people with runny noses and covered with scabs that use taxis, buses, and the metro to get from point A to B. Perhaps one day I will ride the bus, when I build up enough "street cred." I assume one earns this in the same way a young girl earns girl scout badges. Of course I wouldn't know. As an abnormally large 9 year old girl who looked like I was on steroids, it did not make me an ideal candidate to sell cookies with Troop Beverly Hills, but popular when their kites got stuck in trees. But I digress.
Yes, alcohol. I measure the amounts I consume in thimble-fulls. To call me a light weight would be an understatment. And I do not just watch my alcohol consumption because I am convinced I have several undiagnosed old lady diseases (its not paranoia when they are actually out to get you- I am a realistic hypochondriac). My current strategy for dealing with this is to aim low, in fact aim for the floor. If one is drunk, and remains on, or near the floor, there isn't far to fall. A philosophy I feel as though many celebrities, such as Charlie Sheen, have applied to their whole lives (can't go lower then rock bottom). For now this tacit works, and lets hope it does for a while because the next step would be a drunk helmet.
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