Saturday night fever

So what do you do on a Saturday night when you don’t drink and the only people you know are drinkers?  Isn’t everybody a drinker?  It’s not that it makes me want to drink, my cravings are more personal after all this time.  It’s just too awkward when people ask me why I’m not drinking or worse try to give me a drink and I give it back or they see me dump it.  What do I say? “No, sorry, I shouldn’t. You see I’m a raging alcoholic and if I so much as sniff this my inner crazy will be set loose on you poor unsuspecting partygoers.” And if I were to drink?  It used to be a joke in my circle that there was drunk Blue and normal Blue.  When drunk Blue took over all bets were off.  Nothing and no one was safe.  My best friends were victims of my scathing remarks and picking on the little guy was just shits and giggles.   I’d scream obscenities for twenty minutes and nod off mid sentence only to wake five minutes later to finish my tirade.  So no, please don’t try to coerce me to drink at your party.  I’ll just stay home where sanity is more easily maintained and that bitch temptation does not even bother to knock.

Whenever you go out with drinkers or go to a party you inevitably end up babysitting.  From letting some drunk cry on your shoulder about lost love to holding some stupid bitches hair back while she pukes.  As an experienced alcoholic I learned to always have a hair tye.  The amateurs just get on my nerves.  I don’t mean to come off as if I don’t care, but I couldn’t give two shits.

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