why the obsession with coffee and alcohol?

Why is it that I feel the need to talk about alcohol and coffee and my consumption of them? Why is it an issue at all? Why don't I just partake and not feel the need to justify it? Why don't I just shut up about it? I must've mentioned it five times already on this blog, and I certainly talk about it with my ex-mo friends in person (usually while we're drinking it). Of all the subjects I could be posting about, why does alcohol take such precedence?

Partly, I suppose, it's just that there's this whole world of alcohol and coffee I never knew much about, and there's a fascination with discovering it all. All the varietals of wine, the years, the vineyards, the aromas, and I don't even know what else. The endless questions about which wine goes well with which food and which weather. Just the other night I discovered that the extra sharp cheddar from my fridge went really well with the red I had. And that I like pinot noir. At least I liked the bottle we had over a game of Texas hold 'em. Yeah, I know red wine and poker don't normally go together, but it worked, because it got me a nice buzz, and I'm happy when I'm a bit drunk. I can always claim ignorance: but I was raised Mormon! There was never a bottle of wine in my house! Or beer, for that matter, so how am I supposed to know which goes with which?

And beer. Turns out there are more taste combinations with beer than there are for wine. Who knew? Between the hops, the malt, the different grains, the extra flavors, the barrels it's aged in, and who knows what else, you can get all sorts of flavors. Forget Miller and Bud and Coors, all those beers I saw advertised when I was a kid, the ones we joked were really made from bear piss. (Except we didn't say piss; that as a swear word in my house.) I'll go with Sam Adams summer white or oktoberfest. How about Rasputin Imperial, with flavors of malt, caramel, and coffee? Or Ephermere cranberry, or a Tusker from Kenya. Try them all. Tonight, we had brats boiled in Stella, butter, and onions, then grilled. (Sorry, Zarathustra, to use Stella that way, but it's the only beer we had.)

And don't get me started on liquor. I'll just say a shot of tequila goes a long way to ease a social situation.

But why does it even matter to me? Why can't I just be normal and drink it, commenting now and then on how nice a wine is, or how I found a great deal on a sauvignon blanc. 'Cause normal people (people not raised Mormon) talk about it, but only in the way they would talk about any food. "Oh, these almonds really accent the salad well; good choice of white; we're switching to red for the main course; that dessert looks luscious."

Mostly, I suppose, it's that I was raised to think that alcohol and coffee are evil. Forbidden in a way that never had an appeal to me. Never mind that I had relatives who drank; we just pretended they didn't, or talked about how it ruined their lives, or, more importantly, their eternal souls. Getting drunk was just wild and crazy and stupid; who needed to get drunk to have fun? We have plenty of fun playing Taboo and Scattergories and watching PG movies! See how much fun we're having? (Yeah, you don't need to get drunk to have fun, but a buzz certainly helps.)

So is it some residual guilt that drives me to talk about it, justify it? Or is it that it so symbolically, so visibly, so easily marks my passage out? It's the most obvious marker of an apostate, and therefore, somehow the most horrid, too. "She went off the deep end. And started drinking and everything!"

Of all the things that are different about my life on the outside, alcohol is the least important change. So why does it get so much of my attention? Because I didn't get my drunk-every-weekend college years? Because I don't have the stories where I woke up, not knowing where I was and how I got there? (I've never been that drunk, and I don't want to be. I'm a mother; that ship has sailed.) I don't think that's it. I missed out, but all that comes with a lot of hangovers. I've had two, and that's plenty.

Hey, I haven't even told the stories about my first alcohol and coffee. Those small but significant acts of rebellion against my old world view; those rites of passage into...normalcy.