I once had a coworker, who I love dearly, who watched me in my many stages of figuring life out. I was his receptionist from age 17-23 so he saw a lot of tears, breakups, get-back-together’s, and although he never let me off without a scolding, he would always get me a cup of coffee when I looked “too puffy” on a Saturday morning.
After seeing me boy crazy, heartbroken, and hungover all those years he came to the solid conclusion that I am “allergic to boys and booze.”
At age 21 I was pretty sure he was right, but at age 25 I’m positive that man is secretly a gypsy warning me of some grave danger if I don’t change my ways.
In light of this I’m deciding to turn a new leaf, go off the sauce, take a hiatus, whatever you want to call it, from men and flavored vodka.
Don’t get me wrong, I love them both so much, but isn’t it the old saying if you love something let it go?
It’s going to be hard to knock the habits. I’ll have to start calling the end of the week Friday instead of Wine Friday and Sexy Sunday’s will be a thing of the past. (No, I won’t go into detail about Sexy Sunday’s, I’ll leave that one up to you). Let’s just say now I’ll have Sleep Alone Sundays.
Now my friends won’t be able to vicariously live through me as a single person out in the “big city” (The three blocks of Southeast Portland I spend my time in) and “dating” (having drunk, unprotected sex with strangers I met on the internet).
So why? Why put myself through all the torture of denying myself the comfort of semi-attractive strangers and a bottle of wine-before-bed rituals?
Well, wouldn’t you like to know you nosy little shits.
Sorry, I’m at the irritable stage where I haven’t smelled men’s deodorant in my hair for over 24 hours. That’s not the only thing missing from my hair either.
Wink wink readers. Wink wink.
milky feelings 