It was inevitable.

I consume beverages and foods at an incredible speed. It’s more of a curse than anything, because I can’t help it. I have to concentrate very hard in order to eat or drink any slower than I do. There must be something in the genes…because my parents do the same thing.

What takes most people 10 chews, I’ll chew 3 times and swallow it. As for drinking, the liquid usually misses most of my mouth and goes straight down my throat. I don’t do it on purpose or anything — it just comes naturally. For some reason it feels natural to ignore the vital “Hey, what is this liquid? Should I let it pass to my stomach? Is it poison?” part of the process and go straight to the “I’m sending it down!!” part. In 23 years this methodology has failed only once and that was when I was 13. *flashback* I went in the fridge to get something to drink. There was a carafe full of Apple juice, and I poured myself a big glass and began pouring it down my throat. After about a third of it was down, I suddenly realized it wasn’t Apple juice at all…but white wine.

Well, yesterday Mark and I were rocking out at the Kornhole (our new name for our studio we rent. It’s appropriate because we are surrounded by a bunch of Korn wannabes) and drinking some beers. The place is a bit of a sty so there were empty and half empty beer bottles everywhere. I drank some of my beer, put it down on the floor, and started playing a song. After it was done, I picked up my beer and downed the rest of it. Only after it was completely gone did I realize that that was NOT the beer I was drinking, but rather a half full beer that had been sitting out for SEVERAL MONTHS. Mark realized what I had done from my shocked glare at the beer bottle, and the loss of color in my face. Needless to say, he was laughing his ass off, but was also a bit concerned because he’s “seen what grows in beer after 2 weeks…who knows what it does after months”.

So in short, I downed old flat beer mixed with fungus. Great. I tried to dilute the mixture in my stomach by drinking more [fresh] beer and eating some chips, but eventually it was just too much. I felt like ass and decided I had to puke. I’m usually a “I’ll puke if it’ll make me feel better” type of person, rather than the type who sits and suffers for hours on end only to realize in the end that they have to puke NOW NOW NOW. So I went and took care of business, and it wasn’t a big deal — I would make a great bulimic. Mark usually doesn’t back me on my puking decisions since he’s one of the types who pukes as a last resort, but this time he was behind me 100%. “Who knows what you just drank, dude.” After that drama was over, we continued our night of rocking out in the Kornhole.

If you think this is going to make me change my ways, you’re wrong. My ways can’t be changed. What will change, though, is where I choose to put the beers I’m finished with. No longer will I place them carelessly around me. I will now put them against the wall, or in the garbage. Lesson learned. Maybe not the ‘right’ lesson, but it’ll work.