Reliving Your Youth is Highly Overrated 

Every now and then, we have a redefining moment. A moment that reminds us why we grew up and stopped with childish things. I had one of those moments last night. Although, it somewhat resembled the movie Groundhog Day, because I’ve lived this moment once or twice or a dozen times before. Sometimes it’s really hard for me to accept the fact that, although I don’t feel any older than I did when I was in my twenties, that I am, in fact, not in my twenties anymore.

I come from a long line of alcoholics. And I’ve always been really happy that it had obviously skipped me. Until I start drinking. Apparently, I’m not the kind of alcoholic that needs to have a drink every day or even every weekend. I can go months without drinking. I don’t want it. I don’t crave it. I don’t have any urges for it. Usually, when I drink, it is a spur of the moment thing. And if I’m at home or even at someone else’s home, I can have a drink or two and it’s not a problem. I usually give myself a four shot limit anyway, because after the fourth shot, I’m all, “Wooooohooooo!!!! Let’s go dancing or sing karaoke.” Luckily, most of my friends are of the “bitch, you’re drunk” persuasion and do not let me out.  However, if I am out drinking in public, my inner alcoholic kicks in and I cannot be stopped and I take no responsibility for my actions.

Last night was that night. I started at home with a few shots of tequila. And by a few, I mean five.  It was a done deal from there. My sister came to pick me up for the poetry thing and we had already planned to go out dancing after, which was great because I had surpassed my four shot limit and had stepped over into “woooohooo, we’re gonna be dancing” territory. So we went to the poetry slam and I did my thing (see yesterday’s blog I Didn’t Throw Up). Then we left and headed to a dance club. There were a few more shots of tequila. Now that I’m remembering, we had stopped and grabbed another bottle on our way to the first place and I was drinking it on the way to the second place.

We got to the dance club where I added two blue moons on top of all that liquor, but “liquor before beer, have no fear,” right? Wrong!! We danced. Well, I danced mostly and my sister watched, most likely in horror. I had no off switch.

And then…..the regrettable texts. These are things that happened last night.

1. I text my poet friend and told him I loved him and wanted his words in my mouth

2. I asked my friend the DJ,at the dance  club, what time he was getting off.

3. I told the married guy to call me (at booty call hour).

4. And I’m pretty sure I text one of my other guy friends and asked him if he was awake.

The crazy thing about it, upon further introspection, is that I only messaged people that I don’t sleep with. I messaged the people that I genuinely like being around and talking to. I did not message my unboyfriend or any other person that would have probably raced over and dove into my bed. All I can figure is that at that moment I knew the meaning of life and wanted to share it with my friends.  I ended up passing out (alone) and woke up with no memory of what the meaning of life is.

I did, however, wake up fully aware that I was no longer twenty one. I had a headache and no recollection of half of the night. It did come back in pieces later on in the day, but I am painfully aware that I am forty and should not drink like I just turned legal.

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