Drinking Buddies

Sometimes I really wish I had started this blog in college. In part because I would have had some gooood stories (we did always say we should have a reality TV show) and in other part because I’m realizing that my memory of those four years is struggling to stay afloat. Maybe I’m supposed to leave all that behind and not talk about it in great detail because I’ve matured and adulted now? Or maybe I’m at least not supposed to describe it with vivid imagery to prevent my future offspring from one day learning the truth about their mother and turning out the exact same way… (This is—in case you were wondering—Stephanie’s biggest fear.)

It’s not that I miss that lifestyle—hangovers are exhausting and I like the brain cells I have left. But sometimes I think about the 19-year-old version of myself and feel very impressed by her. She could have 10 shots of straight liquor, almost back to back, and still function as a human being and even remember (most of) the evening. She was fearless and weaved through social events like she knew every single person well enough to be lifelong friends. She was constantly surrounded by large groups of people and she thrived in that environment.

But now I’m 26 and my life consists mostly of sitting on the couch with a drink in hand, binge-watching whatever show is hot at the moment (gotta stay current). I’m lucky if I see people outside of work and my wife in a week.

When I feel disappointed about the lack of glamour in my life, I remind myself that teenage-me had many downfalls. On one particular occasion I thought vodka and Flip Cup (a popular drinking game) would be a good combination. It started with a few friends and a couple of strangers, became way too many naked body parts, and ended at the hospital with a concussion and a forehead-knot the size of a softball (unfortunately, this is not an exaggeration, as I have photographic evidence).

[I can’t believe I’m going to have college-aged children one day…]

And then there was that one time I spent the afternoon with two friends, three handles of liquor and one bottle of wine. And that was only the afternoon! The evening saw more wine and a touch of tequila. This was the semester that led to many Dearest Mommy phone calls because I had over-drafted my account at pint night. It’s also the semester where I blacked out during a friend’s Comedy Improv show after explicitly being asked not to drink.

I would like to say I learned my lesson over the years but I think the truth of the matter is that my body couldn’t keep up with my actions and eventually I had no choice but to slow down.

Not all of my college stories are as horrendous as these, though. There’s that time I went to the Silver Dollar (the local, underage hangout) and a had a literal dance-off with a stranger I’d just met. I’m fairly certain I won. Or the absolutely ridiculous night where we went to paint party that the Jewish fraternity threw and left the bar soaking wet, covered in a gross mud looking color (this is what happens when you mix watered-down paints). Or every game we ever played of ‘Drenga’, including the one where I laid on our dorm room floor eating a post-it note while my roommate pretended to sleep.  There was also the party we threw where all of our guests took to drawing on our walls with crayons. In the end, this was not great, but in the moment we were having the best time ever (just kidding I was stressing the fuck out about the walls–so many magic erasers). And middle of the night trips to Majestic for chicken tenders and mozzarella sticks because they were the only place with a kitchen open until 3am.

I have literally no idea what spurred this post or what the point is supposed to be. But it seemed fun to regale you with some of my old drinking stories. A lot has been happening around the world lately and although I feel like I have thoughts I want to share, this post just seemed like more fun. I’m not a very prolific writer, I know that, but I’m okay with it. I think we got enough shit in school, what with all the reading and rereading and discussing and analyzing and annotating and more discussing…. It’s like being a verbal archaeologist, trying to peel back the layers in search for the deeper meaning, for what the author was actually trying to say. Don’t get me wrong, I think that’s all hella important, but sometimes it’s nice when you don’t have to think so hard.

You’re welcome.


Take it on the chin, my tonic & gin
(google that ish)

because I love her and she’s Broadway bound


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