Absinthe, banned in most countries in the early 1900s, is still prohibited in the U.S., although legal to procure, possess and imbibe as it is not considered a controlled substance. It allegedly can cause hallucinations, the most popular being of a green fairy, aka. La Fee Verte.

Only recently, when my soon-to-be-married officemate was looking for a unique gift for his groomsmen, did absinthe bubble to the surface of my foamy neural network. To my surprise he accepted my proposal, and in short order we had put in a group order. Shipping was rather expensive, as the package was being ordered from Germany. Also, the U.S. dollar was slipping every day. One Euro was equivalent to about $1.40 USD.

I chose two different versions, Francois Guy and Franco Suisse. My coworker ordered the pick of the month for his groomsmen and Strong 68 for himself. Less than two weeks and $190 later, my share of the package arrived intact, as did the others, well packed in a cardboard box and stamped in words ending in icht.

That night I tore off the metal seal, uncorked the cap, and had a whiff. Woo, anise! This could be bad. I was hoping the magic ingredient, thujone, the cause of the proposed hallucinations, would taste better. I observed the French style of serving this drink — adding water over a cube of sugar on a slotted spoon into a glass at a ratio of one part absinthe to three or four parts water, no ice.

Here was the hard part. After being sober for over a year, I was breaking a big commitment to myself. Previously, I had hoped that I would give up alcohol forever.

But the promise of possible legal insanity was too strong. I lowered my nose to the glass and inhaled.

Wow, this stuff was strong! I took a sip. Yup, tastes just like it smells. Black licorice. I grimaced. I offered a glass to my roommate and her friend. Not even the two of them could finish it. I will say this; it did give me a good buzz. Later on, after a few trials, I figured out that if I added a lot of ice and a little more water, it was a decent drink. And after being on the wagon for a year, I was a cheap date. Two kept me buzzed for several hours.

My officemate and I had planned on a sampling party, so one night after work I joined him at his house. If I thought my versions of absinthe were strong, my buddy’s version grew hair in your ears and nose. My head jerked like I had Tourette’s, and I uttered a few curses that made the dog run for cover.

Unfortunately for me, there were no magic green fairies flying around my head, or anything else for that matter. The first morning after the initial sampling was good. No signs of a hangover. The next time though, I noticed the familiar signs that I had been drinking: sore throat, fuzzy tongue, foggy head, dehydration. In the past, after binging on my 2-liter versions of white Russians, I also found that I couldn’t coordinate sentences for days afterward.

Despite my ulterior motive of drawing in ladies with the hopes of an exotic sundowner, this has failed to materialize any gains. So, I spent a lot of money on something that didn’t deliver its famed reputation or lure in any honeys. In general, alcohol ended up costing me a lot of money over the years, money that could have been spent on taking ladies out to dinner, or going out to various meet markets, or is it meat markets? Also, it’s fun to be able to buy my friends drinks instead, which I am more apt to do since my portions of Shirley Temples are cheap.

Mark Pearson searches for the meaning of life as a single man in the Rocky Mountains.