Apparently not
Yesterday, as we introduced our respective moms to each other over a Mother’s Day brunch that GTB lovingly prepared, I remembered after downing my first Mimosa that, oh yeah, I’m not drinking during May. Yep, that’s right. I lasted from May 4th to May 14th as a dry, wagon-riding teetotaler. Ten days, people. And it’s not because I was craving it or couldn’t live without it. It’s because my life is so built around alcoholic beverages that I can be half way through one before I realize I’m even drinking it. And I’m kinda OK with it.
I went out for Thai food with a friend last Friday night. As we waited in the bar for our table to be ready, I watched the colorful and pretty-smelling concoctions floating by on their way to eager and salivating diners. That was tough. On Saturday, we attended a birthday barbeque in the sun. The birthday belonged to a friend of GTB’s from college. As this was a group of University of Oregon alums, there were beers aplenty to drink. That was hard, too. But I made it through both of those occasions with little to no shaking or sweating.
Because, you see, I’m not taking the month off because I’m an alcoholic, or because I’m afraid I might be. There’s more to it than that. First of all, I want to see if cutting back on my beer consumption does anything to reduce this overly large ass (and two lovely new love handles) of mine. Secondly, I’m curious to know how my body feels when it isn’t recovering from a mild hangover at least twice a week (especially seeing as how it takes no more than two beers to give me a hangover now that I’m over 30, which fucking sucks, I might add). Thirdly, I’m dirt poor and want to see how much less broke I feel this time next month if I don’t spend as much on froofy drinks (because, really, who needs to be drinkin’ Mojitos anyway, ya know?).
And yes, there is a bit of masochism involved. I like drinking, a lot. I like you more when I drink. I like me more when I drink. I don’t mind the heat as much. I don’t mind menstrual cramps as much (not as long as I’m drunk anyway; the hangover + cramp combo is almost enough to just right out kill me). Drinking=fun. Being buzzed=good.
So naturally, there must be something wrong with it. Therefore, I need to deprive myself of it. At least temporarily.
But, as I have at least two plans this week already that have been termed “let’s grab a drink”-type get togethers, coupled with the Mimosa episode on Sunday, I’m beginning to think that not drinking is just not compatible with my current lifestyle.
Plus, it’s hot as fuck outside right now. And the thought of going home from work and NOT sitting on my porch swing with a beer in my hand is enough to make me want to tell dead baby jokes to small children.
I’m still committed to this soberity. I have enough will power to last the whole month, as long as I keep reminding myself that things like, I don’t know, MIMOSAS contain alcohol (because, evidently, opening the bottle of champagne and pouring it in the glass I’m about to drink from isn’t enough of a reminder). And I like the idea of being able to say I went a whole four weeks not drinking.
But honestly, it’s becoming kind of a pain in the ass.