Saturday, January 7, 2012

Why I don't drink..

I joke about needing vodka or wine or beer a lot, mostly because it's kind of expected of a "snarky mom blogger" to be a closet lush - but here's the truth - I don't drink. I'm not an alcoholic, recovering or otherwise, and I certainly have no moral objections to it. I just suck at it.

image by David Kenny

After our first couple of dates, The Big Guy started teasing me about what a terrible drunk I was. I thought he was just teasing me, giving me a hard time. I'd been drinking for years, I was in my 30s, he was just being a jerk.

Turns out, he was right. His "joking" manner was a guy who was still interested in what was in my pants trying to NICELY tell me to cut it the frig out. Luckily, I soon got preggo and drinking was no longer an issue.
Until...

When Demon Toddler was about 8 mos old, we got invited to a party at a bar down town. I hadn't been out in FOREVER and my friend volunteered to babysit the girl, and The Boy was at his dad's, so it seemed like the perfect chance for me to get out. The Big Guy said we could go, as long as I didn't "get drunk and act like an asshole."

At this point, I was sure that his theory on my drinking was just him being a jerk. This is the night that changed all that. He was trying to ration my drinks, buying them VERY slowly, but I had money in my pocket and was buying drinks on the sly. I had about 5 drinks in under an hour. Cocktails, not beer or wine. Hard liquor. Then the birthday boy bought a round of Jagermeister, which I'd never had before. Whoa. So now we're at 6 drinks in under an hour, one of them Jager. Yeah. At this point, I felt weird and asked The Big Guy to take me outside. He realized what was happening and let me tell ya, he was PISSED.

We went outside and I sat on the curb and tried to stop my head from spinning. Then.. this girl walked by.




She had on really high, really shiny, REALLY red shoes. And they were SO pretty. And since I was sitting on the curb, they were right in front of my face. And I wanted to touch them. I REALLY wanted to touch them. Since I'd already been chastised that night for touching people (I was trying to be friendly and pet the nice people as they walked by..) I asked her, very nicely, if I could touch her shoes.

"Oh my God, no. What the hell is wrong with you, lady?" she asked.

LADY??? Now listen. I might be a little sensitive about my age. This little 22 year old calling me LADY kind of set me off.

"I WILL FUCKING CUT YOU, BITCH."

That might have been me. From the curb.

And THAT is why I don't drink.