Posted: 9:10 a.m. EST December 4, 2003
The night before Thanksgiving is the so-called biggest bar night of the year. Not one to miss a party, I usually get all gussied up and hit the town with old friends.
But this year, I found myself fast asleep by the time I normally would have been heading out the door. When a friend called to encourage me to find my second wind, I realized I lost it long ago.
For a former party girl -- or whatever you might call someone who goes for a run before going out so the alcohol hits harder -- it's sad to realize that I may not be up to the wild times I used to be.
Maybe I've lost my edge, or maybe I'm just growing up. But these days you can only catch me drinking water after a run.
I know I'm not in college anymore. I don't miss passing out in my French maid costume at a Halloween party or kissing a boy I would have never considered in the daylight.
Sure, it wasn't that long ago I found myself covered in bubbles at a foam party and I don't plan on sitting out of too many beer-drinking games with my football team.
But it's not the same; I'm not the same. To be honest, it was never really that fun to lose control once a week or even once a month, but now I don't even bother trying.
I realize planning a marriage may automatically make someone like me even more serious about life. When I think about starting a family, drunken parties just don't fit the picture.
Sometimes I miss the camaraderie of a late night that ends with pizza and tequila shots with the deliveryman, but now I would rather wake up without a headache and enjoy my weekend days.
My friend Diana feels the same way. "I just don't want a hangover," she explains.
I've been there, done that, and I just don't want to be a mess anymore. A few drinks to relax are good, but a few too many isn't my thing.
Apparently, I've left that up to my friends who still drink 'til they drop.
The other night my friend Mary's painter boyfriend had an art opening at a gallery in a tiny row house. His prints were hung randomly on the walls.
In walks another friend, Liz, looking like she had a few too many with dinner. I hadn't seen her in a while, so I was a tad peeved that she showed up drunk -- but 30 minutes later she was incoherent.
After some strong suggestions from the sober types, Liz started to make her way out of the gallery. But as she headed to the door, she stumbled, crashing up against a wall and a print for sale as well.
We all watched in horror and fear that she might get hurt, then picked her up and escorted her to a cab with a generous friend beside her.
Deep down, judgmental as I might sound, I was thankful that it wasn't me. Being naturally clumsy, it's hard enough to stay standing up sober sometimes.
Of course, I've have had a few drunken falls of my own. The time I missed the flight of steps coming down from a widow's walk was lesson enough.
The thing is, it's just not funny to be the clown anymore. It's also just not comfortable. I prefer to lay down on my bed, not the ground.
Sometimes I feel like an ex-smoker who wants to ban smoking, but I don't fault anyone for drinking. I have alcoholism in my family and know it can be too much, but I don't pretend to know that limit, and I don't want to find it.
I just prefer to keep my wild stories in the past, and save the new, less wild ones for now and the future.
Laura Lewis is an adventurous 20-something who knows how to make the most of being single. Her column appears every other Thursday.