Don’t Be This Person


PSA: Don’t Day Drink.

By all means, have a couple of beers on the stoop or sip on wine at lunch or have a mimosa or bloody at brunch.

Do NOT drink a combination of cheap wine and mixed drinks and shots in the middle of the day, especially if you already know your body can’t handle it.

In other words, don’t do what I did Saturday.

I’ve never been able to be day drunk. Which probably sound untrue if you know me. I used to sit at a sports bar in Wicker Park to watch football almost every Sunday. There was an awesome bartender who would ask me about my love life while hooking me up with beermosas and shots and breakfast food. The tab would come out to $13.

I would stumble out of there around two p.m. feeling like death. I’d go home for several hours to sleep it off if I had something to do later.

Now that feeling of death has become exponentially worse. I came home Saturday cold to the bone, head pounding, unable to get my bearings. I fell asleep at 8 pm.

And the thing was, none of it was worth it. Yes, I had the best intentions and it was fun to chat with friends and be out on a weekend day sans kid. I was also the one who suggested we go somewhere new and hip, which unsurprisingly translates into some new craft cocktail place in Logan Square.

If you want to eat, you will also end up at some overrated Logan Square establishment where the most important thing is to be SEEN and tagged in photos sitting by the fire pit or at a picnic table on the “patio.”

Perhaps all would have been worth it if our food hadn’t taken forty-five minutes and was still way under cooked. Which, in another, less hungry, more sober frame of mind I wouldn’t have eaten.

I’m just mad I spent all of this money for what exactly?

Apparently to feel like total and utter shit.

Maybe I’m old. Maybe this is a part of parenthood. Maybe this is me trying to be a little more responsible with my money. Whatever it is, I don’t want to spend my free time getting day drunk.

Unless it’s in my backyard. Then I’ll reconsider.

Honestly though, I’ve spent the last three years realizing that hangovers are terrible and I don’t need a drink with passion fruit, cinnamon, hazelnut, truffles and some liquor I’ve never even heard of to make me happy.

I need a mostly empty theater and a tub of popcorn all to myself. I need a pedicure place with really good massage chairs. I need to eat something delicious.

I need to take a nap.

I love my friends. I want to hang out more. I just need to remind myself that my party days are over and I don’t miss them nearly as much as I think I do.

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