Saturday, September 10, 2005

What happened to me?!

Guys, I am really scared right now, I do not know what is wrong with me. I have lost my desire to party.

My mother, who in her day was a quasi-alcoholic like your author, still reminisces about the days of her single years where she used to meet my father at the bar they met (and yes I know alcoholism is hereditary) after work, pound drinks, and amaze the other men in the bar with her prowess with alcohol. Before I even existed, my mother was the alcoholic super star, lack of wooden leg and all.

This all changed after my mother had the 4 of us. Evidently after #4, altered her body chemistry and she no longer was an alcoholic superstar…she actually became an alcoholic loser. So my father, in horrible disbelief that the woman whom he vowed to spend the rest of his life with lost the ability to partake in the only commonality that they shared, he had to test her and see whether this was true. Some of my earliest memories involve my father begging my mother to have a drink and my mother dodging his requests. One day he demanded that she have a drink, his style which is a lot like Shannon style—lotsa booze. He made her a screwdriver, all the while she is whining that she doesn’t want one, how she has too much to do, etc. Keep in mind that my father knows no limits so I think he made it in a huge pint glass, and the screwdriver looked transparent. Go dad. After 3 sips, my mother ran to the bathroom and that was the only time I had ever, ever, seen her vomit. After that he gave up, his drinking buddy became the woman who would rear his 4 children.

At the age of 4 I vowed that I was not going to carry my own children, it is only now that I can articulate the reasons. It isn’t because of the the stretch marks, that my husband would never see me as a hot fuck as he used to, the pain, or even that my huge breasts would become even bigger feed my brood instead of…well, you get the idea. I am petrified because I have this fear of becoming boring and losing my desire to drink. Where would I be w/o the Grey Goose?!

But it has happened. Ever since I started my new job and got meningitis I have lost my desire to party. All this without the collateral in the form of children for a very good divorce settlement. Sure my friends who have openly told me that I have a problem and that I need to take life more seriously will be proud of me, I am becoming a grown up…but, now I am left with free time that I spend worrying about cleaning the apt, my job, and how I can become a writer so I could be famous by the age of 26.

Last night I was at the Rodarte show for fashion week, as shows in the pics.

Fashion week in NYC is Christmas for the sinners/Jews. Free Goodybags (this one filled with about $100 of Modern Organic Hair products) free chocolate at this show, and of course free booze. Of the Belvedere and Moet persuasion. Yes, my readers, Mo-fucking-et. As in champagne rocks, as in I will forever be a booze hound for champagne…

Well, guess again. I wasn’t. I had one glass then switched over to the Evian water that was provided. Last night I lost my desire to drink, champagne included. All I thought about was the empty calories, the hangover, and that I really was not feeling the taste of alcohol. I only had 1 fucking glass of champagne. Do you realize that hell must have frozen over for me to only drink 1glass of FREE champagne?!?

There is a scary commonality that is occurring because Thursday night, when I went to a photo opening at some gallery in SoHo, I had to force myself to drink the free booze. And after the drinks and dinner, instead of making out with sexually confused boys in dirty bars/clubs the usual nights, instead I was in bed at 11:30 immediately following dinner. And John took the British Contingency (my other British friends) out gay bar hopping. I slept as they partied and was up running at 7am that morning.

What is going to happen to my social life when I stop drinking?! No more liquid courage inspired make-out sessions, no more ending up in sketchy situations with contraband in office buildings, and no more interesting blog where I chronicle getting drunk making-out with sketchy men. My weekends now include writing, doing HW, sleeping, rollerblading…I sound like I just gave birth or something.

But with dreams of the NY Times engagement announcements and knowing that I could never ever advance in my present position, I have also begun taking a stats class at Hunter as to strengthen my application for Columbia. All in the hopes that I could get into their Quant methods program, so I could work in the Consumer Insights Group for an ad agency, as I live abroad with my rich dorky cute brilliant foreign husband, as my book is on the international best seller list, as I continue working because I like the “intellectual challenge” that comes along with it.

I am too exhausted to do anything. Work at shit that I am awful at, class until late, trying to get a hot gym body…I am too tired to be irresponsible. What happens if this is a trend that cannot be stopped? The proverbial slippery slope effect, where you start to worry about certain aspects such as your health so you stop eating out as often run a little more, and then you are feeling so good about yourself that you decide that you want to feel as good about your job so then that translates into being responsible and not going into the office drunk with hickeys on your neck, and then that translates into…becoming a fucking loser. Are my early 20’s the last time that I will use the sentence that had gotten me through college, “Dude, all we need is a keg and a stripper and the party will follow.” Or my favorite, “Dude, so we get a keg and a stripper..”

There are no other things that I love more than booze, strippers, and my friends with dollar bills.

But I am seeing this happen to my friends too. As they couple off, as they think of better things to do with their time instead of drinking…So my best friend Lu, who is a party girl at heart but a lot more low key about it (like you don’t see it, and then bang, she has some hot female stripper in a dorm room with body shots being consumed) she decides for her 25th birthday in Jan that she wants to go down and help the people of New Orleans. Now, I loved New Orleans, it was my paradise/demise for 6-7 months. And once it is safe, I plan on helping with the relief efforts too…but not on a bday! And especially not the last bday before “you are staring 30 in the face,” where it is no longer socially acceptable to not have a significant other/drink yourself into oblivion/be secure that if you fuck up, you still enough time to fix your fuck ups because…”I mean, we are in our early 20s.”

Not after your 25th pal. You could no longer pretend that you are in your “early 20s”

I just hope that my lame-ness is a phase that I am going through, that I will be planning a stripper party/getting into trouble soon.

On the plans tonight, fashion shows, maybe an after party, and not drinking (still do not feel like drinking)…this fucking sucks.


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