I've tried to stick to a firm "no blogging while intoxicated" policy, but after 6 solid hours of double vodka tonics at my firm's holiday party, I can't guarantee that I'm completely sobered up this morning. Either way, I thought now would be as good a time as any to regale you with a list of mistakes that I'm sure we'll all continue to make no matter how many times we "swear we'll never do that again."
Thursday happy hours are not the beginning of the weekend. It would be nice if it were, but it would also be nice if going out for "a drink" after work meant just that. Unfortunately, the combination of drink specials, men in suits, and great 80's music is a really hard thing to voluntarily walk away from. I guess I'm just fortunate to have mastered the art of keeping it together at the office the next day.
Shots are rarely necessary. Declining an offer to do hard drugs, no problem. Saying no to a free shot of Patron, impossible! And why? Because it's very likely that a level of intoxication has been achieved where logic and reasoning are out the window. And free? Yes please. I've probably already spent close to $100 on my own drinks, so why shouldn't I accept that free shot from Mr. Pink Tie? (which is how he'll end up being saved in my phone at the end of the evening.)
Wine is NOT a pregaming beverage: While this is true, it's irrelevant on Friday nights. One glass of wine to relax after work quickly turns into an entire bottle, and if I can't finish it before I have to leave my apt to meet my friends, I'll pour the remaining contents into a poland spring bottle for the train. I'm pretty sure that's how the French drink it.
Staying in is OK...especially if you're feeling under the weather. Well in my rule book that's simply not true. A quick power nap immediately followed by chugging a red bull and a hot shower and I'm like a new shiny penny ready to paint the town red. (Or so I've convinced myself.) No doubt I feel 142% worse the next day.
After Hours are Unnecessary: Bouncers won't start kicking you out of a bar until just after last call, which is 4am in the city. The ugly lights are on and the DJ has informed us that "Ya'll don't gotta go home but ya gotta get the hell up outta here." It's at this point that I in fact DO have to go home, however, I think to myself, "You're right Mr. DJ! I don't have to go home!!" After the party is the after party...
Late Night Feasting: Just because many restaurants/diners/pizza places are open 24 hours, doesn't mean they should be patronized. In my 25 years on this planet I've consumed more pizza than is appropriate or acceptable, mostly between the hours of midnight and 5am. On a similar note, I've actually had a pizza delivered to my doorman just to ensure that the cheesy goodness from Librettos was waiting for me when I stumbled home. I think it's fair to say that the morning after stomach pains rival menstrual cramps.
It's Sunday FunDAY not FunNight. Ha. No matter how many times I check my watch throughout the day, I'll continue to tell myself that I have time for another beer because, hell, it's not even 6pm yet! It's even worse when I've stayed in on a Saturday night to be well rested for said day of drinking. I cannot even express the regret I feel on Monday mornings. Maybe some day I'll learn that Sunday boozing has an entirely different set of rules than the rest of the weekend. Or maybe not.
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