I can tell you one thing the writers of Friends got right in regards to my 20-something life -- you never see the cast of characters going out and getting hammered on the weekends. Sure there was the episode where Ross and Rachel get drunk and married in Vegas and the "turning 30" episode that shows an intoxicated Monica at her surprise black-tie birthday party. But that was about it.
Central Perk was a supplier of Mochas not Mojitos.
I should have taken my cue from our Friends and ordered a second espresso instead of the "Space Punch" from the Spaceroom last night...I learned something about this 20-something body of mine:
This ol' girl can't drink like she used to!
I wasn't a high school partier (my life was no Gossip Girl) - I was too busy dressing people in mythical creature costumes and turning a high school senior into the King of Siam. Admittedly once I got to college my alcohol consumption then increased (my college resembled the movie PCU...). Long weekends of Pabst Blue Ribbon and gallons of Carlo Rossi (hey don't judge, we were poor college students remember?) As the years went I lost my rank in the heavy weight division and eventually became the lightweight I am today.
A glass of Shiraz with my Pasta Puttanesca or even a good bottle of Mexican beer to accompany my tapas and I'm good for the night...I'm a cheap date and don't mind at all. That's where it started last night - a beer and order of Pollo Verde tacos from ¿Por Qué No? - but by the end of the night my beer multiplied itself, add a pomegranate margarita and then relocated me to the Spaceroom where I was forced to pick between "Space Punch" and "Fresh Underwear" (and yes, this is a drink).
Space Punch (L) Fresh Underwear (R)
The evening was wonderful: reuniting with old friends, making new friends, good drinks and greasy bar food -- not to mention a waitress with a Masters Degree in Strippers (really she did her master's dissertation on the sex and porn industry in Portland Oregon - but a MA in Strippers just sounds way cooler). In the end, however, I was the designated "Party-Pooper". Closing up shop to head home and get ready for the impending Monday-morning work shift. Amidst the "boo"s and heckles of my new (and old) drinking buddies I wondered:
How were they ready for more and why couldn't I keep up?
Most had work the next morning, two of them planning a three-hour drive they were planning for 5AM to get to work on time, and all of them older than me.
So what was their trick?
How were they ready to move onto the next venue?
So here I am coffee in hand, tired but thankfully no visible hangover, rain pouring outside making me want to curl back into bed and no idea how I got this way.
Where is the indispensable 20-something liver and tolerance I once had?
first of all, you were no party pooper. that person is the one who requires everyone to stop with them and makes them feel bad when they don't. you just had other things to do - your real life wasn't stopping because you are not vacationing in this lovely town. you live here, function here. and for the record, laura totally called out of work, and when i saw chuck, at 11am, the first thing he said was 'i feel like i ran into a wall', so i wouldn't regret your decisions and convictions too much...
ReplyDelete