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I had a bag of Nestlé butterscotch chips for dinner yesterday. I don’t know where the hell they came from or when I bought them, but they were the only thing in my cabinet, and I was on the hunt for an evening meal. They were absolutely fucking disgusting. I don’t know why Nestle keeps them on their baking roster. Butterscotch is a solid D-list flavor as it is, but in awful waxy chip form, it’s in line with the shit they serve at prisons.
I took down the entire bag in one sitting, my chewing punctuated by gigantic gulps of water straight out of the Brita pitcher. I even used a spoon and a plate, like I wasn’t a heathen making a melty sugar compound into the cornerstone of my dinner. After my slop-fest, I felt like I had contracted Type 2 Diabetes, and my stomach seemed more ready to evacuate its contents than it did during the 151 shot-off of 2014. But I kept that plastic garbage down, because there was no room in the budget for any more food purchases. I needed to save my capital for drinking.
College is all about priorities, and the selection is endless: sex over class, cocaine over sleep… I mean fuck, you could pick cocaine over sex — it doesn’t matter, it’s up to you. That’s true freedom — the ability to pick where emphasis is placed in life — and it is the best part of the entire university system. Well, I made my choice about where food was located on my priority ladder, and it was firmly below drinking (it was also below sex, but we wont go into that).
When I go out to the bars, I am what you would describe as a high roller. It isn’t that I buy expensive shit; it’s that my drunk personality thinks himself a bit of a philanthropist. I buy drinks for everyone. The friends, the girls, even my old lab partners manage to snake a few gifts every once in a while. I don’t discriminate. A round of kamikaze shots here, a bunch of draft bud lights there… If it’s alcoholic, I am willing to buy it en masse.
Naturally, this leads to quite a few mornings where I avoid checking the balance of my bank account. Half the time, I don’t even manage to keep my debit card on me. I have a penchant for tossing it at a bartender while closing my tab, only to leave the bar without collecting it or signing my ticket. That consistent hiccup has made me very popular with the bar staff. After all, who doesn’t like entering their own tip onto a check? I have a problem with drinking money away, but my solution is not to tighten my spending (because that would be fucking intelligent) or, God forbid, consume less alcohol — it’s to spend less on food.
So I have decided I will only buy things that are on sale or BOGO. As a result, my fridge constantly looks like a United Nations supply drop. A bunch of stuff that has no business being bought together, augmented by canned shit that is definitely a major contributor to colon cancer. My meals have consisted of tomato wraps with frozen french fries, hot dog buns draped in a fuckload of microwaved rice pilaf, and hell, one time I had 16 TGI Friday’s mozzarella sticks as my food for the day. I’m fucked in the head, but I refuse to curb my drinking habits.
Frankly, I don’t really give a rat’s ass about food. As long as I can get my drinking fix, I’m reasonably confident I’ll be alright. I don’t know if that makes me an an alcoholic, but if that old refrain of “alcoholics got to meetings and drunks go to parties” holds true, then I’m sure as shit not going to any meetings in the near future. College is all about priorities, and I’m pretty damn entrenched in mine..