montezuma's revenge

So. Krystal and I had a long talk about how we are too fucking old to be pulling shit like we did on Sunday night. And on a fucking Sunday, the lord's day. Come on.

And I am usually such a prude. I usually have a couple beers and then I say, "Oh, no more for me, thank you. I'm driving." That totally did not happen last night. That Natalie stayed home on Sunday. She went to bed early like she usually does, which left early-20's self-destructive Natalie in charge. The same Natalie who drank too much rum a lot. The same Natalie who gave herself a black eye when she drank a bottle of Cruzan and then fell into the sink. The same Natalie who puked in the planter outside of Caz's. Yikes...

I feel like, for me, there is always a reason why I overdrink. There is always some kind of anxiety or tension or fear or something that I am trying to kill with liquor. So what emotions was I trying to drown on Sunday?

I think it probably has to do with Jenga. And by that I mean it has to do with my perceptions about my life, my very tenuous stability (which is an oxymoron and kind of doesn't make sense except in my head).

And maybe also it's weird to be friends with fancy South Tulsa people, even though it's not really like that. They are cool people who happen to live in South Tulsa.

And maybe also I have a really hard time saying "no," so of course I'll have another shot if you set it right in front of me. (This is my problem, not yours, obviously.)

I don't even like liquor. It tastes awful. I love beer though. It is delicious and my favorite. So I think the healthy thing for me is to mainly stick to good old beer, and save the liquor for the fancy people who actually like to drink it.

Also maybe I should relax a little.