Not the Girl I Used to Be

I prided myself in college for my deep connection with my Irish roots and the way I could hold my alcohol. Whether or not I was fun to hang out with, I’ll let my college friends attest to, but I had no problem closing down a bar and waking up relatively hang-over free. I’m guessing they had a pretty good time too. 

  

   

I’ve often heard the age old saying “I’m no spring chicken” or “I just can’t party like I used to” and felt terrible for whomever made such an admittance. I would never be that person. At least not until I was gainfully employed with a dreamy doctor husband and perfect children and didn’t have time to over indulge in tequila shots because of my successful Doggie Daycare side business and fabulous dinner parties. 

And I was wrong.

I hate being wrong. Especially in situations like this. I didn’t open my eyes until noon yesterday because I said ‘yes’ to Fireball shots on Wednesday night. At one time- Fireball only whispered temptations in my ears and introduced me to one of my best friends, Digornio Rising Crust. Now, it comes through like a Mac truck and I’m the pavement. 

  

The only thing worse than a vicious hangover is checking your phone the next morning. When you’re in the early stages of dating is when it’s the worst. Incoherent text messages. Outgoing calls. Outgoing calls long enough to imply you left a voicemail. Ouch. You can only use the excuse ‘oh I meant to call (insert name that begins with the same initial- ideally another guy to make them jealous- even though they’re probably just freaked out- here) and must have hit the wrong name!’ So many times. 

 
Pictures can also be dangerous. Especially if you take photos with your girlfriends in the bathroom of the bar and your drunk eyes see the most gorgeous woman in the world so you decide you should send it to any and all potential suitors out there. Like the following. To my knowledge this wasn’t sent out, due to all of our lack of potential suitors- but I hate bathroom selfies in real life. I hate selfies in general. And taking a picture in the bathroom is just stupid. But apparently, my drunk alter ego deemed this the ideal way to celebrate a triple crown win- notice It was so exciting that I’m still holding soap- TAKE IT RIGHT NOW WE ARE EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL BEFORE WE WASH OUR HANDS!!   

I guess I’m just sad because I thought I would at least carry my strong tolerance through my 20s. And it isn’t going to happen. But maybe it’s for the best. I’ll cut back on drunk dials and silly selfies and harsh hangovers. I guess I’m just not the girl I used to be. I blame you entirely, Fireball. 

  

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Happy Memorial Day, Y’all

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Memorial Day weekend for me is filled with family members, cases upon cases of Corona, reading, country music and massive amounts of College Boys.  My parents rent a house down the shore and it’s over taken by my youngest brother’s college friends, high school friends, baseball friends, illegal friends, underaged friends, hungry friends, alcoholic friends, cute friends, vagabond friends, etc…

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My mother spends the majority of her vacation cooking for a revolving door of young men, half of whom are introduced to her as they enter the kitchen.  “Mom – you know (insert name here) from (insert the time in my brother’s life when he was last relevant.)  Can he have breakfast too?”

My father has assumed the vital role of beer supplier.  He brings down a car full of cases when they arrive and still spends each morning traveling to the nearest beer distributor to replenish the depleted supply.  Keeping a refrigerator stocked with beer in a house full of boys is like trying to keep your gas tank full during a road trip.  Literally impossible.

My parents do a decent job of staying out of the boy’s line of fire.  The master bedroom is usually upstairs along with the kitchen and the downstairs is transformed into a smelly, empty beer can filled, tank top infested frat house.  You’ll find plenty of empty Wawa bags, askew towels, sand, Bose speakers, etc.  What you won’t find is someone’s cell phone, someone else’s license, someone’s wallet, or someone’s keys – because every one of them has lost at least one item that is imperative to their trip.

If you make the silly decision to venture down, you’ll hear rumblings of stories that start with “Dude I was so blacked out last night” or “Uh, no, she is not good looking” or “Did I get tan today?” When they come upstairs it’s more like “Is there any food?”  or “Yo Dad, can I get the (insert something valuable that was lost here – keys, money, phone charger.)”

One thing is for sure – these kids are fun.  They are a lot of fun.  And they don’t judge me for always having a beer in my hand.  I may be retired but that doesn’t mean I can’t use “I’m on vacation” as a reasonable excuse to drink all day on the beach. My 21 year old brother lost his license almost immediately upon the arrival of Memorial Day weekend.  As a result, the college boys came out to the bar with my other brother and friend and me last night since we figured that by banding together we could sweet talk him into the bar.  Power in numbers.  Numbers of alcoholic beverages that had boosted our confidence.  But it worked.  And once inside it was great.  The College Boys knew everyone who walked by. The bar tender was someone’s little league basketball coach.  The shady guy at the end of the bar was someone’s sister’s high school boyfriend, the girl on the patio was someone’s prom date. The more you know the more drinks that are handed to you.  Well done, College Boys.

We made it in!

We made it in!

Maybe I give them a hard time for being lazy and smelly because I’m jealous.  I don’t have a revolving door of friends taking over my parents vacation home over the course of the weekend.  But that’s okay.  It’s great to watch and makes you feel so clean and pulled together.  Thank you College Boys – you sure know how to make a day off to salute our military awfully entertaining.