It seems, as of late, that booze is the new crack. Ransacked and villified from the pages of Vogue to the hallowed walls of Harvard Vanguard, alcohol is a real problem, “binge drinking” is on the rise, and WE ARE ALL SCREWED. For me, it all started with the look on my doctor’s face when I informed her that I drink every night.

she: EVERY NIGHT!?!?! (insert countenance of absolute horror)
me: yeah.
she: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HOW MANY??
me: like, maybe, two…
she: (falls over dead from shock)

In the midst of the studies that decry cocktails as calorie-dense, beer as carb-heavy, and red wine as the silver lining, who knows what to think (or, more appropriately, what to drink)? Recent studies cite that an appropriate amount of alcohol for women is 7 drinks/week (14 for men) and that any more than four drinks in one sitting constitutes a “binge”. But what constitutes a “sitting”? If I have, say, 2 drinks with breakfast and 2 drinks at lunch and another 3 with dinner, then technically I have not binged. But I have reached my weekly limit. Conversely, If I save all my drinks for one night, and have seven drinks, say, every Thursday at trivia, then i am a chronic binge drinker.

Now! what the hell does all this have to do with reality? I was raised in a house where I never saw either parent drunk, but I did see both parents consume several drinks every night, beginning as they prepared dinner and ending as they turned off the ten o clock news. According to these new standard, I am the child of two raging alcoholics and you know, I just don’t buy it.

Basically, I think that all this crap is… well, crap. As if I don’t have enough to worry about what with the birth control and the cigarettes, the calorie and water intake management, the 50-hour workweek and the nagging feeling that I should definitely try get back to the gym, now according to the new findings what I really ought to do is STOP EVERYTHING and check into Betty Ford. Dammit, I say we’re all gonna die anyway, and if I have to drink all that fucking water every day and count calories and carbs and take the stairs instead of the elevator, then when I get home i’ll enjoy as many cocktails as I please.

Hey, at least it’s not crack.