There’s a reason I don’t drink very often any more.

Last year, I finally figured out that, all kidding aside, I’m not an alcoholic.  What I am is a binge drinker.  I’m one of those people that can’t join friends for “a drink.”  I can, however, join friends for pouring cheap alcohol into my body until I’m a complete asshole and someone turns on the lights.

It’s never pretty.

I also know why I do this.  First, there’s a pre-disposition in my family for alcoholism and binge drinking (at this point, I think the two are separate issues).  I grew up watching my dad go through enough beer every day to capsize an average oil tanker.  But that’s just the genetics.

The biggest reason is that everyone loves me when I’m bombed.  Why?  Because I’m no longer Max.  I’m Maxine, the fun-loving, gregarious faggot, quick with a one-liner and even quicker with something hilariously inappropriate to say.

Life of the party?  Please, bitch.  I AM the party.

And, it’s my own fault.  Once people meet Maxine, they never want to know Max.  Max is boring.  Max goes to work.  He studies.  He reads “Business Week” and talks about Linear Programming and literature and art and science fiction.

But Maxine?  That bitch talks about sex and religion and politics and booze and drugs and gossip and any other taboo subject under the sun, all with a cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in the other.  Maxine is a LOUD bitch, and often, I find that people gravitate to the group in which Maxine is centered, wondering what the hell everyone is laughing about.

Maxine is Noel Coward with a side car of Margaret Cho and Wanda Sykes.

I talk about myself as if I’m two people or as if I have a drag persona, neither of which is the case.  I’m simply saying that there’s the me that sits on my ass in front of the TV, surfing the Internet, and there’s the me that comes out when I drink.

But Maxine also comes out when I’m manic.  As such, people at work and in other situations get to see Maxine.  Enough so, that they wonder what the fuck’s wrong with me if I’m not always laughing, joking and casting wit around at every opportunity.  The few times they see Max (the dull side of me), they stop and ask if everything’s okay.  My boss actually said to me last year, “Twenty-five percent of the reason we hired you was for the entertainment value.”

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve grown to like the dull fucker inside of me a lot more than Maxine.  Plus, this little blog let’s Maxine creep out in 1,000 word or less increments and rear her bitchy head without anyone getting (seriously) hurt.

Friday night, two roads converged.  I was manic AND drunk and Maxine had one helluva night.  I even drunk-dialed people I hadn’t spoken to in years (NEVER a good sign).

I think folks are just going to have to get used to having their parties without the benefit of entertainment provided by this crazy old bitch.

Because whether they like it or not, it is Max’s opinion that “dull” is the new black.