South City Confidential

Just Ain’t What She Used To Be

Guys, I think we have a problem.

I really like drinking beer. I like drinking beer and socializing with my friends. I’ve been doing it for years. I’ve happily bellied up to many dive bars over the years and downed countless pints. I enjoy clinking mugs to celebrate happy occasions and to forget bad days. Almost anything is more fun with a beer, particularly a delicious craft beer like a Bells Two Hearted Ale.

Wait. That sounds like I’m alcoholic, which I’m not. No, seriously guys, I’m not an alcoholic. SERIOUSLY. Look at my liver. It’ll tell you. This is totally about something else (but I do like Two Hearted).

I am, however, aging. The older I get, the harder it hits me the day after I drink.

We camped this weekend with the usual suspects. This always involves mass quantities of beer consumed over long periods of time. Let me tell you what, that shit knocked me on my ass. Not only did I sleep almost the entire way home, but I took a long, lazy Sunday nap when I got home. And went to bed early. And slept for ten hours that night. What. The. Fuck?

Maybe it’s my crazy meds, but I really just can’t do it like I used to. When I student taught in Germany, I literally stayed out all night once, took a disco nap on my German friend’s couch, came home while my roommates were getting ready for work, showered booze and smoke off me, taught a full day, got observed by my professor visiting from Truman, AND got an awesome evaluation. I mean, I was at the top of my drinking game. I probably went out the next night and made out with a soldier for all I know (strictly to help fight terrorism, of course). While I was teaching, I used to go out on weeknights all the time with minimal negative effect on my ability to function. I’d just down some coffee, possibly drink some life juice, and get on with my life.

Now, I’m a fucking lame old lady. I mean, sometimes I have a headache the next day when I have TWO BEERS.  What the hell is that? What they don’t tell you about Cymbalta is those sadness commercials?  These ones?

What those people are really depressed about is the fact that Cymbalta makes it so you can’t drink like a champ any more. Plus there are those pesky side effects.

I can’t get off the couch when I have a hangover. Productivity? I did the laundry on Sunday and felt like I triumphantly cured cancer. I just can’t live like that. It’s just not healthy for me. I have way too many cool things I want to do. Plus, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen almost every episode of SVU and if I keep having hangovers I might start watching CSI or something really worthless and that’s like committing pop culture suicide.

So pour one out for my binge drinking career. I suppose it’s time I learned to drink in moderation or <gasp> not at all. I’m officially lame; I’m sure you’ll tell me in the comments. My karaoke will probably suffer. I’m sorry, Ali Baba. I’ll surely retire from ironically dancing with glowsticks at weddings and around campfires. I will undoubtedly have more tact and be less funny and will feel awkward even more than I already do. GOOD TIMES. This doesn’t mean I’m not going to drink. I just won’t view every social occasion as an opportunity to get lit and I can appreciate the quality of beer instead of the quantity.

Annnnnnnnd, start mocking comments…….NOW.

KBO posted this article under 180, life on Tuesday, May 11th, 2010 at 10:00 am You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS feed. You can leave a comment or trackback from your own site.