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The Pros & Cons of Not Drinking (in The Marina)

I’ve decided to give up drunk texting booze for a month.

I am on day 15 which is an accomplishment in and of itself. What prompted my temporary abstinence from the sauce?  A myriad of things, but to name a particular instance: last weekend I went to a party.  ‘Twas a party crawling with twenty-somethings, and at one point (at around 4am) I looked around and realized I was the oldest person in the room. I had another drink to make my realization less jarring something of an epiphany, ordered myself an Uber and GTFO.  The next day I made a promise to myself that I would chill out for 30 days (or maybe more?).  And here I am.

karaoke drunk

It’s Saturday morning as I type this – last night I stayed in, scotch-taped sewed a button that had fallen off my jacket back on, sifted through an old issue of He’s Just Not That Into You People Magazine, watched 5 episodes of Newlyweds: Nick & Jessica: Season 4, 3 episodes of Laguna Beach (the LC, Steevaaaaan and Kristin era) and 1 episode of the Osbornes AND FUCK I WISH IT WAS STILL THE EARLY 2000s.

I decided there was no better way to commemorate my 2+ weeks of not sippin’ on Grandpa’s Old Cough Medicine (if you can’t name that movie we will never be close) than to construct a list comprised of the pros and cons of not partying.  Let’s get sharted:

There aren’t many things worse than waking up and feeling like you’ve been slugged in the head by Marla Hooch (what a hitter!) and being thirstier than cured ham as you come to the realization you’re still wearing your pea coat and 5 inch heels from the night before.  Looking in the mirror and seeing a Comet Club stamp etched onto your cheek from where you slept on your hand is about as humiliating as that time you had to remove your headgear before losing your virginity to the co-captain of the Geometry league in high school AND SHITBALLS, I’M GETTING OFF TOPIC.  Hangovers are as cool as hemorrhoids and lemme tell any of you little shits youngins reading this who think you’re invincible: they only get worse.  Way, way worse my little oblivious, care-free rascals.

comet club

Comet Club, Marina.

CON

You start to realize how much of your social life revolves around alcohol: work events, going on a first date with that dicktard named Johnny “White Lightning” Martinezo who you met on Tinder, catching up a with an old friend over a couple bottles of glass of Pinot Noir, birthday parties, dinner parties, brunches, lunches, dinners, linners, housewarming parties, baby showers, happy hours, music festivals, client meetings, the list goes on and fucking on.  Cocktails are everywhere.  I can’t look at social media without spotting a picture of SillySally sitting sideways on the seesaw sipping cocktails by the seashore in her swimsuit with her galpals.  If I’m honest with myself, I lack some self-control when it comes to saying no to a cocktail, especially when all my friends are indulging so giving up booze can be isolating, mainly on weekends – as I’m slowly realizing.  I’ve found it’s important to pick up a vibrator hobby – my hobby is overanalyzing every situation to the point of alienating friends and family writing so that’s what I’ve been filling up my time with. Seriously, thank G I have my vibrator keyboard and journal to help keep me entertained while I’m aboard the proverbial wagon.

PRO
No drunk texting.
ALLELUIA.  Waking up and seeing texts you sent to your ex-boyfriend you met 9 years ago while waiting in line for the porta potty at Bonnarro (you know, the dingus who still lives in his parents’ basement who treated you like a sperm receptacle) in a desperate attempt to get attention is sadder than the Kardashian girls when they realize they didn’t score front row seats at the BET awards.  I felt like Muhammad Ali after he’d won the Heavyweight Championship title when I woke up this morning and saw that the only person I’d messaged last night was my OBGYN asking if we could reschedule my pap smear AND GOOD GOD THIS POST FEELS LIKE ONE GIANT DRUNK TEXT.

drunk texting emem

CON
Peer pressure still exists, even in your thirties.
Remember when you learned about D.A.R.E in middle school?  Your teacher probably didn’t tell you that peer pressure and sober shaming continues WELL INTO YOUR THIRTIES.  BTW, we all know D.A.R.E. really stands for Drugs Are Really Expensive.

CON
FOMO RUNS RAMPANT WHEN YOU’RE SOBER
I love to go make out.  I love to see people I like make fools of themselves. Going out and raging is an escape from the mundanities of every day life.  Abruptly quitting drinking can bring about major shakes FOMO and it can be torturous.  I try and remind myself that missing an event doesn’t mean I need to curl up in the fetal position and douse myself in Nutella as I cry into my pillow and scour social media wishing I was headbanging alongside Muffy and Duffy at Balboa as we sloppily discuss politics, religion, the meaning of life and other shit no one will absorb or remember.

comet club sign

PRO
The likelihood of going home with that drunk guy named Darryl with the frosted tips who keeps buying you shots, grabbing your mid-section and calling you “mama” is significantly lower when you’re sober. Very recently A couple years ago I woke up one morning in the room of a guy who had a No Doubt poster on his wall and a lower back tat.  It’s nice to know that even though I’m basically sacrificing my social life for a few weeks, at least I can seek solace in the fact that the only thing I’ll be going home with on a Friday night is Chinese takeout.

CON
The Likelihood of going home with anyone is higher than Snoop Dogg.  Speaking to all you singles out there, of course.

PRO
You become remarkably more boring clear-headed when binge drinking is taken out of the equation.  In just over a week I feel sharper than a Number 2 pencil that fills in those little ovals on the SATs. Things that were once as irritating as wet sand in your underwear ain’t no big thang anymore AND I’M NOT REALLY SOMEONE WHO CAN PULL “AIN’T NO BIG THANG” OFF, GOOD GOD LAY OFF ME. Work becomes more fun because you’re not on the verge of faceplanting onto your keyboard every 69 seconds.  I’m actually looking forward to going to work on monday morning because I know I’ll be more alert when scouring social media and gchatting productive.

Hyperboles aside, I wasn’t planning on writing this but I need to be held by a rich, strong man who will feed me Rocky Road ice cream like a mama bird accountable so it helps to put it out there.  I also want to take part in lifting the stigma off of the subject of adult acne sobriety – it’s a life thing that many people struggle with and I’ve chosen to be vocal about it in hopes that people reading can relate.  “Kind of personal to put out there,” a friend said to me on when I mentioned I’d be sharing this; but my head is high. BESIDES I HAVE MANY OTHER THINGS TO BE EMBARRASSED ABOUT LIKE THE FACT THAT I JUST TOLD EVERYONE THAT I’M ON TEXTING TERMS WITH MY OBGYN.

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Alexandra Bunting

Alexandra Bunting

I write a comedy blog called Toe Pick SF. I am deathly afraid of flying and snakes (I suspect there's some kind of Freudian explanation behind that). I speak Gibberish fluently and quite often. I love 80's love songs...if anyone ever got ahold of my Pandora account I'd move to Bangladesh and change my name to Rhonda. I can blow bubbles bigger than Donald Trump's ego. I lose my shoes, debit card and keys a lot. I'd venture to guess they're all on an island somewhere mocking my predicaments. Okay, that's about it.

  • Mike Talley

    I don’t drink in the Marina. I don’t go to the Marina….EVER! Buffy and Biff can get along just fine without me.