You Don't Have to Go Home, but You Can't Stay Here. (Trigger Warning)

The lights come up, eyes adjust to the new harsh reality that the night's over, the song One More Time by Daft Punk comes on, you think "why does it sound so tinny". Suddenly, you become grossly aware of the sticky concoction your purse has been soaking in the past four hours you slowly make your way home to eat the leftovers from the dinner date that kicked off your night out.

Light moves over your face as you struggle to sit up and look for sweet relief from water. God, so thirsty, God, head is pounding. "What did I do last night, okay, first we started out at the restaurant, then moved to that one bar on Michigan Ave." "Didn't I see that guy from work?" "What was it I said to him? Oh, GOD." "Why do I always say the stupidest fucking shit." "What IS that smell..."

Can anyone reading this relate? Why is it always "One More Time" or "Closing Time" by Semisonic playing at the end of the night? (*cringes*) Maybe the bars play something different these days...

The thing is, once we hit the legal drinking age, we're probably going to have nights like these. They aren't the worst thing, alcohol is everywhere and our younger selves were bound to experiment with drinking and getting drunk. The catch, we like to remember only the good times (echos of One More Time suddenly play in my head).

We rarely remember the time we fell face-first into the curb while attempting to eat a slice of pizza in 5" stiletto boots. The time that you said something mean and selfish to your best friend secretly causing tension for years after. When you failed to prepare for that presentation because you were too busy taking Lemon Drops with strangers until 2am the night before... Those Lemon Drops will get ya.

♪ ♫ ♬ "You don't stop, we don't stop, we're gonna celebrate, one more time" ♪ ♫ ♬

Yes, there are great times but as amazing as that pep talk you received from the perfect stranger in the women's bathroom on the 4th floor of the downtown hotspot was, she probably doesn't remember giving it to you and in about 5 seconds flat didn't give two shits who you were after leaving the bathroom.

♪ ♫ ♬ "One more time, we're gonna celebrate" ♪ ♫ ♬

I feel like these were such wasted years of my life but for a long time when I tried to quit those the nights whispered *Don't give up on drinking, just re-work it, you'll get it someday*. I stopped going out long ago, it's mainly just been me drinking alone on my couch the past 4 years. There's nothing glamorous about stumbling out of a bar, no matter how dressed up you are, and there's nothing glamorous about drinking yourself into a stupor at home.

Last night I had this hankerin for a rootbeer, like, I really wanted a good old-fashioned creamy, foamy, rootbeer. So my husband and I jumped in the Silverado and headed south towards some civilization. We did the usual "where do you want to go" routine and finally decided on a new place in town. There used to be this old Italian restaurant off one of the main highways, I never went there but recently two brothers bought the place and turned it into this modern steampunk-themed restaurant. To be honest, it's actually really good food but this isn't a restaurant review so I'll move on. My husband and I were sitting there, I was contently sipping my rootbeer feeling happy with my choice, and he, not knowing what it was, ordered a Hop Slam. Hop Slam is made by Bell's Brewery, you might know their more popular beers Oberon or Two Hearted Ales which pale in comparison to Hop Slam in terms of ABV, it's 10% Alcohol. | Side note: Oberon used to be my kryptonite and caused many slip-ups. I just couldn't get past the idea I would never have another Oberon again. It was seriously like a part of me. I had Oberon shirts, key chains, I always brought it with me to events, I celebrated when it was released every year. I really had to go through a grieving process for that beer, how crazy is that? Now I think I'll keep my life in order, thanks but I'm good on the diarrhea and pounding margarines. | Back to last night. I looked across the table and said "One time I drank 6 of those in 45 minutes." he just looked at me a started laughing and said, "You should write about that". He wasn't there for my early, more destructive days of drinking but he was there for the shit show tail end of it. I think he has a pretty good idea of where little 20-year-old Jenny was that night.

It was a night kind of like what I described above but with a scarier ending. I went over to my friend's house. | There was a short period in my life were I hung out with a crowd that would always go to dive bars and end the night at a Waffle House. Just to set the tone here. | We would pre-game and hit up the “club” in our little dusty town. It wasn't a place you wanted good lighting in, it was pretty run down and I'm glad I couldn't see the floor, to be honest. Either way, it was a little slice of heaven for us. I got to let loose for a night or two, I really had a blast there. At this time I think I was about 20 using a fake ID to get into bars and my friends were borderline 21 years and could either score some alcohol or buy it themselves. My friend bought me some Hop Slams knowing I liked Bell's Brewery. Me, not knowing what they were, literally chugged them... I became really drunk, really fast. My friends got me, somehow, into the club. It wasn't probably five minutes later that I projectile vomited on some poor girl in the bathroom. To whoever you are, I am so sorry, you were so nice to me and you didn't have to be. I spent the remainder at the bar drinking water, running to the bathroom to vomit, and coming back to eat my friend's tropical fruit off the top of her fruity drink. Electrolytes, I don't know where my logic was... maraschino cherries aren't as good coming back up though. Eventually, they listened to my plea to go back to the apartment, I was so sick, I felt like I was going to die. I remember waking up on the couch choking on my own marachino cherry vomit and wondering if I should be in the hospital, I didn't feel right for at least a week.

Back to last night, as I sipped down my rootbeer and looked at my husband, who rarely drinks and gets all goofy after one beer, I felt so... Overjoyed. I get to go home, take a shower, put on my softest pajamas, slip into my comfortable kingsized bed, and watch my meditation sleep videos knowing that I'm not going to choke on my own vomit while I'm sleeping. How amazing is that?

Not all of us get a chance to get out of this. I have friends who never made it.

Staying sober allows me to enjoy these little moments of peace. It allows me to remember the stories that weren't so fun so that I can remember what one sip will lead to.

Yes, I've tested it, Relapse: 0/5 stars, do not recommend.

As fun and glamorous as my brain tries to convince me drinking was, I have some pretty concrete evidence stored in my memories that says it isn't.

So, for now, I think I'll stick with rootbeer.

Best, Jen

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