It all started when I was 4 years old with the realization that I liked my Juicy Juice a little on the fermented side if you know what I mean. It's all been downhill since then.
I'm a 24-year old college graduate who works for an NLJ-250 law firm while I decide on grad school. I live with my best friend in a completely payed-off house that I own myself, have $0 in credit card debt, and a great man in my life - who happens to weigh 8.8 pounds and pees in excitement when I get home from work, but that's besides the point. What else could a single twenty-something girl ask for?
I'll tell you what - the right to have a few drinks on the weekend with my girlfriends without being labelled an alcoholic.
Now that I'm no longer in college and have therefore been abruptly removed from a world of formals, mixers, date dashes, tailgates, and pre-gaming everything, including midterms, I have become somewhat of a homebody. This means that when I do get to participate in social activities, I generally aim to have a good time. And who doesn't want their good times to be photographed and documented? As such, it might seem on a first glance through my Facebook photos that the only activities I participate in involve some form of alcohol. This, however, is absurdly false and a horribly skewed representation of my life that in actuality mostly involves picking up my dog's shit, folding laundry, and binge eating on the couch while I watch American Horror Story - with a bottle of Pinot of course.
Enter: my 24th birthday earlier this month. Birthdays are and always have been the exception to the casual drinking rule. It's the one day of the year that you're allowed to get as rip-roaring drunk as you want with no regard for anyone else, even though your friends are the ones picking up the cab fare and that extra round of Patron shots you just ordered for the whole bar. Ah, friendship. Such a glorious invention.
The result of this most auspicious of celebrations and the impetus behind the beginning of this blog was the following picture, tagged by my best friend and roommate on Facebook, for all to enjoy:
While not exactly my proudest moment, let's take a minute to ponder how truly awesome this photo is. It would be even more awesome if you knew that that black blob in the bottom left-hand corner was a vacuum cleaner my roommate and I had just stolen from the pent house of the Ritz Carlton. Anyway, drunk birthday girl wants to take a nap instead of walk three blocks to the car in her 4-inch heels and break an ankle. I think that's pretty damn responsible if you ask me.
Having the great sense of humor that I do, I kept the photo up out of sheer amusement. It's not like that one is succeeded by pictures of me taking body shots off of prostitutes or sliding down a stripper pole. This is clearly a deviation from the norm, and as such, should be allowed to give others a little chuckle.
My mother, however, was not chuckling when she sent a Facebook message informing me that she thought an intervention was going to be in my future and that the path I was on was not a pretty one.
...
Talk about a buzz kill. I read this message on my phone while simultaneously taking the trash out and walking my dog. I had big plans for the evening of clearing out my DVR, doing some laundry, clearing out my closet for the Operation Kindness clothing drive and working on grad school applications.
And, oh yeah, polishing off that handle of Jack Daniels that's been taunting me from atop the fridge. We didn't have any coke, but mixers are for losers anyway, am I right?
So, folks, starting this coming Sunday, I will take a week to document (in pictures!) my so-called alcoholic life. It is my most sincere hope that the inside knowledge of how I actually spend my days will convince even the most skeptical amongst you that
