I Hate You, Alcohol

Here’s how I drink. I get a bottle of wine and typically have anywhere from one to three glasses. Three is my cutoff. Three is the number of glasses I can drink without having a hangover the next day. If I have more than three, I’m getting drunk. I’m committing to being wasted, I’m signing the contract. Signed, sealed, delivered, I’m druuujgdgdnkkkkkkkk.

Look, I know my limits. I mean, hello, I’ve been drinking for nearly a decade. I know what the hell I’m doing! I’m not surprised when I puke the next day after drinking more than I could handle. I’m not sitting there, head in toilet, thinking, “THIS IS SO UNEXPECTED. WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?” I get it! I drank too much and now my body is punishing me. Now let’s get these lashes over with so I can just order my pad thai and shame spiral my way through a Real Housewives marathon.

When I drink too much, it’s usually because I’m with people who have a high alcohol tolerance and I’ve foolishly convinced myself that I can keep up with them. All of a sudden, I’m like, “I can steadily drink all day. I’m 26, damn it! Why shouldn’t I be able to?” Um, maybe it’s because, despite my age, I will always have the alcohol tolerance of a 12-year-old girl. I know this about myself but it’s easy to forget when you just want to keep raging with your friends. I have to face the music though and accept that I can’t freaking drink all day. I’ll die! My body will legitimately JUST. DIE. Or, at the very least, pass out under a ceiling fan at 7 p.m. I am shocked by people who can do it without becoming a hot mess. I am shocked by people who feel nothing from three glasses of wine and keep going. I once fell down the stairs after drinking ONE glass of wine.

In college, I ran with a “fast crowd” of people who drank nonstop. Since I was 21 at the time and #NotClearOn my relationship with alcohol yet, I would try to match them drink for drink. “I can drink five margaritas and chase it with a bottle of wine! I’m on spring break, bitch!” What ended up happening was that I’d be vomiting in my friend’s bathroom at 2 a.m. while the rest of our friends had a dance party in the living room that lasted till 7 a.m. I always felt like such a rookie, always the one puking and passing out while the party kept raging on.

I’m ashamed to admit that the same thing happened again last night and this morning I puked, Exorcist-style. I started drinking at 4 p.m. and thought I could keep up with all of my friends but, lo and behold, I was wrong. I ended up passing out at 10 p.m and waking up at five in the morning with terrible nausea and stomach pains. I hobbled downstairs where I took an hour long shower and laid on the couch, unable to fall asleep because I felt like I was going to vomit at any moment. Finally, I went to the bathroom and took matters in my own hands (or finger) and pulled the trigger. Remarkably, I still felt nauseated afterwards and had to curl up in a ball for the next few hours.

Meanwhile, my friends come barreling down the stairs practically singing “BRIGHT, SUNSHINE-Y DAY!” and don’t seem to have a hangover at all, despite having drank and partied more than me.

“OMG, Ryan! Why are you sitting here in the dark and why do you have vomit breath?”

“Because I’m hungover, hello! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOUR HANGOVERS?”

“Oh, I mean, I guess I feel tired.” My friend turns to the few other people in our party and asks, “Do you guys feel tired?”


Are you freaking kidding me? I can barely walk let alone have an ocean moment. Ugh, the alcohol gods do not shine upon me. They don’t give me a pass. I’m certain alcohol hates my guts but that’s okay because I hate its guts too. We might need to do a time-out and see other people because I can no longer put up with its bullishit. TC Mark

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