The power of positive drinking...
You know what the worst drink ever is? Gin and cranberry juice. You know how I know this? Because I was served two of them at the open bar at Misshapes last night by a frazzled bartender. Yes, they were free and free drinks are, by definition, good, but vaguely lime-tasting battery acid can never be good- even if you didn't have to pay for it. I mean a punch in the face doesn't hurt any less if you didn't provoke the fight!
So I'm glad to say that I'm back to my drinking ways (those were a rough two weeks there!). Friday night I more than made up for my 14 days of sobriety (hey, that's like 1/2 way through a rehab program!) by getting wasted like a high school student. By that I mean, I got so drunk that I had the spins in the cab home and I had to spend part of the night willing myself not to puke. I'm proud to say, though, that unlike when I was in high school, I was able to will the vomit away. I wish I could say the same for the raging hangover I nursed all day yesterday.
I suppose it is an interesting coincedence that, as I sit here writing about my drunk weekend, I'm watching 28 days on Lifetime. You know, the Sandra Bullock rehab movie. I remember when I saw it in the theater (yeah, I said it!) with my old roommate and we both walked out the movie at 3 o'clock in the afternoon and headed straight into the bar next door where we proceeded to get wasted on tequila. Nothing like spending an hour and half in movie rehab to make you thirsty! I guess this is as good a time as any to admit that I have a terrible weakness for rehab movies and, despite my distaste for Sandra Bullock, this might just be my favorite one. I just really like imagining that I could take a month-long vacation at some wooded spa-like place where I would look stunning in yoga pants, long sweaters, and ponytails while chain-smoking and making googly-eyes at the cute heroin addict to my left in group therapy. It sounds very indulgent to me. I mean in my real life I'm not much of a fan of therapy, but in my rehab fantasties it feels very cleansing to get my head straight. I'd be fresh-faced from the clean country air and all of the group therapy-led crying and I'd be having some intense affair with a disturbed, yet sensitive guy who always wore long sleeves to hide his track marks. There is no need to leave comments telling me how assanign this image of rehab is- I know it is scary and hard and uncomfortable it is in reality- blah, blah, blah.... I'm not wishing that I got 18 months of manditory rehab like Courtney. But I wouldn't mind being sentanced to 28 days inside the Sandra Bullock movie. Not that I have a problem. Cuz I totally don't.
So I'm glad to say that I'm back to my drinking ways (those were a rough two weeks there!). Friday night I more than made up for my 14 days of sobriety (hey, that's like 1/2 way through a rehab program!) by getting wasted like a high school student. By that I mean, I got so drunk that I had the spins in the cab home and I had to spend part of the night willing myself not to puke. I'm proud to say, though, that unlike when I was in high school, I was able to will the vomit away. I wish I could say the same for the raging hangover I nursed all day yesterday.
I suppose it is an interesting coincedence that, as I sit here writing about my drunk weekend, I'm watching 28 days on Lifetime. You know, the Sandra Bullock rehab movie. I remember when I saw it in the theater (yeah, I said it!) with my old roommate and we both walked out the movie at 3 o'clock in the afternoon and headed straight into the bar next door where we proceeded to get wasted on tequila. Nothing like spending an hour and half in movie rehab to make you thirsty! I guess this is as good a time as any to admit that I have a terrible weakness for rehab movies and, despite my distaste for Sandra Bullock, this might just be my favorite one. I just really like imagining that I could take a month-long vacation at some wooded spa-like place where I would look stunning in yoga pants, long sweaters, and ponytails while chain-smoking and making googly-eyes at the cute heroin addict to my left in group therapy. It sounds very indulgent to me. I mean in my real life I'm not much of a fan of therapy, but in my rehab fantasties it feels very cleansing to get my head straight. I'd be fresh-faced from the clean country air and all of the group therapy-led crying and I'd be having some intense affair with a disturbed, yet sensitive guy who always wore long sleeves to hide his track marks. There is no need to leave comments telling me how assanign this image of rehab is- I know it is scary and hard and uncomfortable it is in reality- blah, blah, blah.... I'm not wishing that I got 18 months of manditory rehab like Courtney. But I wouldn't mind being sentanced to 28 days inside the Sandra Bullock movie. Not that I have a problem. Cuz I totally don't.
1 Comments:
regarding friday night: it's funny, i drank like i was 19, i acted like i was 14 and i puked like i was at death's door. honestly, best pukefest ever. just putting that out there.
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