Hello, and welcome to the fourth edition of 40B40. Today I bring an essay about the first time I realized that I blackout when I drink…and the next time it happened. I just want to say that I’m all for moderation, but as I mentioned in this story, my prefrontal cortex wasn’t developed all the way. Please drink responsibly, and don’t forget to subscribe!
I lived in Finland for several months in 2004. I studied abroad at the Tampere University of Technology, which at that point was the second largest university in engineering sciences after Helsinki. I got there in July. The weather was gorgeous. There were lakes and trees as far as the eye could see. I lived in an apartment building full of students from all over the world. It was my first time living by myself. And when I say “by myself,” I mean not with my parents. I had roommates, a French guy and a Russian guy that paid rent to keep his stuff in the apartment, but I saw him maybe twice when I lived there.
I was twenty years old when I went there, and science tells us that the prefrontal cortex of a twenty-year-old male isn’t mature. This part of the brain is used for planning, prioritizing, and making good decisions. Academically, I did OK. I passed all my courses and didn’t cut class. However, outside the classroom, you could see the immature prefrontal cortex at work. I didn’t know what temperance or self-control were. So, as you can imagine, a lot of alcohol-fueled adventures took place. Before I could drink legally in the U.S., I would discover something about me that changed my life forever.
One night, we had a party at our apartment; it was the French guy’s birthday—maybe. Our place was crowded, and everyone brought booze. My last memory of that night was going to the bathroom, looking in the mirror, and biting my tongue. This is how I would measure how drunk I was; if I could feel my teeth pressing, I was good. I didn’t feel a thing.
Here’s a reenactment of what went through my head the following morning.
I violently woke up as if someone had grabbed me by the shoulders and started shaking me. What time is it? Where are my pants? How did I get to bed? So many questions I needed answers to. I walked from my room to the kitchen, going through the sea of cans and bottles on the floor. There was an empty bottle of vodka on the counter, the one I got for the party.
I grabbed my digital camera and started looking through pictures from last night. I’m holding the same sixteen-ounce adult sippy cup with vodka juice in the first twenty pictures. Then, there was a picture of me taking a shot, drinking a beer, and holding a red solo cup. I don’t remember these pictures. This is all very strange.
Did I black out? That’s a first. I guess my brain checked out after I flooded it with vodka and then ran on autopilot for a few more hours. That’s insane! My head hurts so bad. I black out? That sucks. There are so many empty bottles. I hope people enjoyed themselves. Judging by the pictures, we had a great time. Too bad I can’t remember the last third of the party.
Did I do anything stupid? I don’t have any missed calls or texts; I’ll take that as a good sign. I need to clean up. I need some water. I need to get my life together. I black out when I drink; that’s wild.
Years later, my prefrontal cortex matured, and I started making better decisions—with a “We should do shots!” night here and there. I didn’t like not remembering things. I knew this could be trouble down the line. I didn’t want to lose control. So, I swore I would never get inebriated to the point of blacking out. I kept my promise until one fateful night in 2016. The last night of that year, to be exact.
Diana, Oliver, and I went to a friend’s house for a New Year’s Eve party. The food was good, and the company was better. A friend asked me if I liked Manhattans. I said I had never had one but was willing to try it. For those who don’t know what a Manhattan is, it’s a cocktail that’s two parts rye whiskey, one part sweet vermouth with a couple of dashes of bitters, and garnished with a cocktail cherry. It is served “up,” as in no ice. I was a beer drinker then; my taste for cocktails hadn’t developed yet. But let me tell you something; I was drinking Manhattans like I had been drinking them my whole life. In my defense, they are delicious.
Some drinks later, Diana caught wind of the situation. We watched the ball drop, we kissed, and she gently told me she would drive us home. I slept like a log.
My first words of 2017 were, “I’m sorry.” Diana very graciously told me everything I missed the previous night. Apparently, I kept asking where my phone was while holding it. I felt horrible. I vowed to never again drink to the point of blacking out, a promise I haven’t broken. It helps that now I am way more acquainted with boozy cocktails and don’t drink as much as I used to. Plus, hangovers now last a few days.
Having to parent while hungover has been one of the biggest motivators to curb the amount of alcohol I ingest. Call it self-preservation if you want, but it has worked out so far. The meltdowns that can be headache-inducing when good and sober; will feel bigger hungover.
It’s rewarding to see how my relationship with alcohol has transformed over the years. I have seen a decline in quantity and an increase in quality. For example, I no longer drink Bacardi rum, and my liquor cabinet now has things like Amaro, Benedictine, and Green and Yellow Chartreuse. On the other hand, almost every year for the last three years, I’ve gone “dry” for three months at a time, making me think I would be OK if I had to stop for good. But it’s not that time yet, so I will continue enjoying Manhattans—responsibly. Cheers!
Before you go
I have some questions for you.
What’s your drink of choice?
Have you ever blacked out?
Have you ever prepared “jungle juice”? If so, share your recipe.
Do you have any wine/beer/liquor recommendations?
If you were a signature cocktail, what would you be and why?
I am pretty much a beer guy. I do love a good cocktail but I’ve not mastered making my own and am not generally well versed in mixed drinks. But I do love a good Old Fashioned or Moscow Mule.
I have blacked out. Both times in college. The second truly time snuck up on me and I told myself to be more aware from then on. So far so good.
If you’ve never had it, I’d recommend Batch 19 Prohibition Style Lager. Really solid beer.
Skittles are the key ingredient in jungle juice. The few pieces of oranges, apples and other various fruits are just for show. Might as well get the cheapest vodka. It will still taste like a rainbow.