Throughout the six years I spent in college, most of it was typically isolated. I never spent more than two years at one college or university, driven by my boredom with my situation, discontent of my academic choices, or the inevitable finale of my formal college education.

I made various friends in these six years, none of which ever really pressured me into the stereotypical college experiences of drinking, drugs, sex or rock and roll (that last one was just for the sexiness factor). I was usually too shy to make many “mainstream” friends, never feeling like I could identify with those who needed the “typical”. I never had the curiosity to experience these things for myself, and was ignorant but blissfully happy to never face the facts of human nature.

In particular, I’ve never been much of a drinker. I can take or leave alcoholic drinks. It could be days, weeks or months before I have another drink. For some, the sweet, medicinal feeling of a cold, frosty beer is one of the most anticipated events of his or her day. For me, it’s the bliss of knowing I can go home and sleep, or watch tv, or browse the Internet after a long day of tedious coding or research.

High school never served as a vessel of underage drinking parties for me. I also grew up in a 99% dry household, and my family never drank around us. We didn’t have alcoholism problems like other families I know. Alcoholism was never an issue.

My impression of alcohol when I was younger was rather negative. I was impressionable and probably took a few of those drug lectures to heart more than my peers. I heard what those people said, what they had been through and was determined to never become that person.

It wasn’t until my last year of college that I finally had my first alcoholic drink: a frozen margarita. That’s not to say I might have had a little drop here or there, but this was the symbolic first drink that most people I know had at an earlier age.

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