One night over drinks (naturally), my friend Amy and I decided to take a break from booze. We came up with a 90 day goal, which takes us through March. This isn't a Lohan situation (as it's not court-mandated), we're just seeing if we can.
The reasons why are plenty. First off, I probably drink too much, in both frequency and quantity. It could be that I'm feeling the weight of my holiday season glut, or that everything I did in my early 20s is now catching up with me (eeep), but I just feel my body telling me to slow down.
Speaking of body, well, it could just be gay panic (at the disco), but the post-holiday puffiness has me wanted to focus a bit more on all that, so the lack of hangovers will make weekend workouts less rare.
Oh, and then there's the money. My rough estimates for how much I spend going out each month are brutal and un-sharable. Let's just say funneling some of that into savings would be advisable (or at least that's what Suze Orman would tell me).
So far, it's been surprisingly easy. We started on January 2, after the New Year's revelry had subsided. The first day was easy, as I was in a van coming back from a boozy trip to the Catskills, in which I may have been my most hungover ever.
On Saturday, I went to the Xanadude party in Williamsburg. The whole thing felt like the East Village had hopped the river, devoured Willamsburg, and then thrown it back up. Which is my way of saying it was more gay scenester than gay hipster. That said, the music was killer (the theme seemed to be regurgitated glitter); there was a giant, inflated cat tacked to the ceiling; a drag queen wore gloves adorned with talons; tank tops are in this winter; and I was perfectly fine sober. Funny is still funny, and awkward is still awkward. The biggest challenge is that any social anxiety is felt more acutely (a big reason people drink in the first place). Oh well, I'll figure it out.
Going forward, I think Amy and I are going to set up another site where we chronicle all of this, so stay tuned!
(Pictured: Me, in egregiously mismatched patterns, a little over a year ago at a winery in the Franschhoek Valley region of South Africa)
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