I can't live the lifestyle I used to live. My body just rejects it. I get drunk after two drinks. If I drink too much, I'm hung over for two days. I'm desperate for sleep all of the time.
Friday I got out of work early because of summer hours and dragged Edith out to see Live Free or Die Hard, which tapped into my lust for the rough Brooklyn cop archetype and also my love for dazzling car chases and explosions. (Bonus: Justin Long) Afterwards we went for a couple of drinks at Under the Volcano (where I got to try Frida Kahlo anejo tequila and a mezcal that tasted like Band-Aids) = drunk. Dinner at Giorgio's of Gramercy where not only did I not drink, but I also did not hit on the cute waiter who seemed to be throwing himself at us.
I said to Edith, "You know who that guy is? He'll ask for your number and actually call you, take you out on a date and be really nice to you, and then explain how he doesn't want to be your boyfriend." She nodded empathetically.
Tired after dinner, I went home and to bed by 11:30.
Saturday I had the ambitious plans to get drunk in the afternoon with Tim at Sixpoint Craft Ales in Red Hook, where we got to see the last brewery tour before their expansion (necessary to up their production in order to meet the increasing demand for their delicious beer). Not only did I get the free beer that comes with the tour, and another free beer for answering the trivia question right (their "Sweet Action" beer is named after a locally published, not-safe-for-work magazine), but I also got to drink a beer straight out of the conditioning tank, which tasted cold and fresh and smooth - almost soapy. YUM.
Tim had to leave early but I stayed to eat pizza at the connected Liberty Heights Taproom and finish my beer. Nothing like being drunk and alone when the only way to get home is to take a bus/train/bus combo home.
Being a lightweight and old, I took a nap when I got home, which turned out to be a bad idea since I had my contacts in and I woke up with the worst case of bloodshot eyes I've ever had. I managed to keep the contacts in and drag myself out to dinner with Michelle, who was hoping for an exciting "night out," but instead she got goopy-eyed, yawning Sandi who couldn't finish her Sugar Hill Golden Ale at dinner and could barely drag herself to Flatiron Lounge for a drink.
That being said, we still had a great dinner at the new Borough Food & Drink, a NYC-themed restaurant from my favorite chef, Zak Pelaccio. We ate a mac 'n cheese pancake, which I cannot recommend more. Still, I felt like I let Michelle down. I used to be such a party girl, dragging her all around the city til 5 o'clock in the morning. Now I want to start early and go home and watch TV. I'm too exhausted to chase cute bartenders or throw myself at random guys. I'm too much older than the rest of the guys out there, and even though I don't look it, I'm embarassed to tell them my age. And if I'm drunk after two drinks, I don't really see the point of continuing to drink all night.
My time has passed. There are lots of other adventures out there for me, but I don't think they involve tawdry affairs or drunken blackouts. Sure, I have my relapses (see: Long Beach), but at some point I have to accept the path that I'm on. I'm responsible, organized, smart, and independent (read: alone). I'm successful at all matters academic and professional. My personal life is basically a failure but I've got at least another 30 years to try to turn that around. Stevie Nicks says that time makes you bolder. Maybe getting older is a good thing.