Haven't learned yet
The men in my life can be explained as one alcoholic stepping stone to another.
The men in my life can be explained as one alcoholic stepping stone to another.
When I went downstairs to use the internet I found my father passed out drunk in front of the computer, so I blogged over top of him.
Becoming a stay-at-home mother has made me believe there is absolutely nothing wrong with drinking before noon.
The frequency of my public nudity decreased dramatically when I stopped drinking to excess.
As I collapsed on the bathroom floor about to pass out, I realized that taking a really hot shower after drinking too much vodka is not a good idea.
The four of us were in the bar drinking for at least thirty minutes before we realized it was a gay bar.
As I stood shivering and topless outside 7-11 at 3 in the morning with a strange woman who was just let out of jail, I wondered whether it was a sign to stop drinking or a suggestion to drink more.
Every time I have to ask what I did last night I feel like Sherlock Holmes.
I opened my dorm room door to a frantic guy who said, "There's a naked body on 4th floor and I'm not even kidding."
The cop and I had a delightful conversation about sweaters and the weather and to this day he does not know that I was drunk and not even 17 yet.
If there was ever a good time to stop drinking, it was this morning when I woke up next to a woman in a giraffe costume.
I don't know if it was the alcohol, the darkness or the rush to put my clothing back on that made me fall onto the cactus.
Yesterday I had to explain to my roommates, who don't drink, why Jeff's car was in the backyard.
Thirty seconds before vomiting, the room spinning, vision cloudy, I recited the alphabet backwards and thought, "Well, I'm not drunk yet."
Puking up that champagne was really my head ridding my life of 2007.
I hate to play cards when I'm drunk, because I always lose.
The next week, I "forgot" to shower and ate enough to make me ill, hoping he would stop finding me attractive.
My teetotaling harks back to the ripe age of 13 when, in a fit of uncontrollable giggling, I was ordered to a guest bedroom so they could continue the Passover seder.
As I fell through the ice on Lake Michigan staring at the morning sun, I realized my night of revelry had made me feel invincible (and I wasn't).
After three nights of passing out drunk and bleeding, I decided it might be time to talk to someone.
It's not the hangovers I fear the most, but the fact that I've lost a few hours of my life that I can never get back.
Two blocks of silence to the store we bought another EPT and a bottle of Rumplemintz, the big bottle.
I didn't feel as humiliated when he told me that at least six other people puked their guts out at the last house party, but I still made sure to stay sober this time.
We went out to drink, he got drunk and got caught by a teacher.
I looked up from the floor, towards the bartender, and then, for no apparent reason - I drank fourteen vodka martinis.