Remember that episode of Friends where Monica’s boyfriend is an alcoholic, they stage an intervention, he decides to stop drinking and, Voila! He’s no longer fun? Fun Bobby?
Apparently I’m Fun Aubrey, and Fun Aubrey isn’t that Fun when not drinking.
Confused? Well, I decided to scale back a bit. When you find yourself updating your website in NYC after coming home from a bar where you not only caught up with a friend but were well versed in TMI by the end of the night, you may need to take a look around. When your outgoing call log only shows the LAST 10 drunk calls you made, ranging from 2-2:15am, you should probably take a look around. When you receive an email from a total stranger stating that you promised to marry him for a beer, you should DEFINITELY take a look around. When you find yourself ordering online hangover medicine , it’s probably time to do something. No shock, no awe, but quite a few people are in disbelief.
Do I think I have a drinking problem? Definitely not. I don’t go home after work and crack open a brew or mix a tasty concoction on the rocks or uncork a huge bottle of vino. I don’t drink by myself (unless on the road.) That said, I’m finally getting back in shape, running, training, whatnot and figured if I was gonna go, I might as well go all out. (Take note: This is my new motto for everything — and I DO mean EVERYTHING.)
So I tried it. Last Friday, after a week of training, drinking, imbibing, training, emailing, calling, irritating, training, drinking, and, well, drinking, I decided to put my plan in action. Day one: No alcohol. I carried it over to Saturday as well, and attended a cookout/horseshoe game and a party/fashion show. (Two separate events, but I challenge anyone to combine the four. OH! Perhaps for my party on June 21st! But I digress…) One beer was consumed (and it was one of those nasty Michelob Ultra Lites, at that.) I was on a ROLL! I was dodging peer pressure right and left. I was receiving incredulous glances all around, questions on why I was on the wagon, and an offer to strut my stuff on the fashion show stage which I likely would have accepted had I been inebriated. (That’s another story entirely, though.) Was I bored? Nope. Was I enjoying myself? Sure! I was tired from my run earlier that day, but lo and behold, I was still having a good time. Yet, the $64,000 question: were OTHERS enjoying me? Sadly, no.
“You’re no fun when you’re sober.”
“Why do you wanna go home? Wuss. Stay out. No rest for the wicked.”
And still I prevailed. I made it through. There was a noticeable decrease in my poor decisions (though already today I have made 2 quite significant potentially bad ones alone), a noticeable decrease in my drunk calls, (there were a few, but SERIOUSLY just a few), and a noticeable INCREASE in my energy level on Sunday. (It’s amazing what you can do without a hangover.) I went to the parties, I went to the bar, and I even cracked my shit up over some of the horrifically rude comments I was throwing out. (Ex.: Friend: “Where did that girl go?” Me: “To go hit herself with the ugly stick a few more times.” God I’m a riot.)
Do I plan on staying on the wagon? I’ve already ‘fallen off,’ per se, since I was found drinking straight out of the PBR $3.25 pitcher last night at Mo’s & Jo’s. That said, I had the equivalent of 2 beers. I made only one (ok, two) drunk calls, but those are of the required kind (what would Mike do without me singing on his machine!?) I woke up this morning, only hitting the snooze bar four times (a pretty good showing), bright-eyed and well-coiffed and alas, I think I’ve conquered it — the fermented-nectar-that-is-alcohol beast. Move over David, I’m taking on Goliath.
Perhaps my new motto should be:
“Everything in moderation. Including moderation itself.”
Has a ring to it, don’t ya think?