Dry January went well

And by “went well,” I mean I caved 21 days in and drank a margarita and I regret nothing and everything at the same time. Happy 2016.

21 days
504 hours
30240 minutes
1814400 seconds

Let’s give you some context. Dry January is a thing that literally no one has ever heard of because apparently only British people and leprechauns and former Canadian Bachelorettes take part in it. Think No Shave November but instead No Drunken PMS January.

I was minding my own business watching the God-forsaken Bachelor aftershow when former Bachelorette, who is from Canada, was all like I’m not drinking because of Dry January!

And just like that, I was sold because the media has absolutely no influence on my day-to-day life.

I should also point out that I did it as a kind of experiment on my anxiety. My anxiety had been through the roof when I made this decision, so I thought I’ll just cut out alcohol???????? I’ll be a new woman????????? What is the deliciousness of pink wine when you have self-control????? I’ll just give up drinking for an entire month and then indulge on Chris Kyle day. What’s the problem??????

So then it was set. I would give up drinking for an entire month to prove to myself, America, and God that I have self-control. This was going to be like a fruit of the Spirit-type thing. #Galatians5:22. I would dedicate each month out of the year to a different fruit of the Spirit and then I would be named The Very Best Human Being In The World and my rewards in Heaven would be insanely awesome. Ok, I’m done.

But Dry January is not easy and I’m alive to blog about it. It’s so not easy especially when your friends are constantly drunk all the time constantly never sober. I avoided bars, like the Quarter Bar, so much in fact the general manager of the bar saw me there not too long ago and said where have you been, DRY JANUARY IS WHERE I’VE BEEN. I avoided first dates with men because I knew I wouldn’t be able to drink (this is a joke because no one has asked me out ok are you laughing ok). One night, I hung out with Augusta and Cayla (Cayla was taking part in the 24-day AdvoCare challenge) and we all sat around, sober as Robert Downey Jr. and watched Glitter with Mariah Carey. That’s a plot to a horror movie if I’ve ever heard one.

Then the next morning I woke up with a Mariah Carey hangover, which is no doubt what caused her divorce with Nick Cannon and actually worse than anything tequila could ever do to you, and I was like you know what I’ll go to brunch and eat bbq sliders off a brick and I don’t even like mimosas anyway, so this will be easy. Until you realize your friends are actual drunkasses and you never knew the severity of it before because you were always just drinking with them.

But at brunch in Plano, Texas, Augusta was about four mimosas in when she said “Mahi mahi is dolphin.”


Does she say this shit all the time but I’m usually drunk???????????? Did anyone else hear her????????? Where is Ashton Kutcher????????????

I, however, did not avoid Desperados. I ate there two whole times sans margaritas until the third time and that’s when my life fell apart. That’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. That was the tip of the iceberg. That was the final thing. That was the big one. Ok, I’m done. Point is: I caved and ordered a margarita and and here we are today, drunk and sad.

Ok, not really, drunk AND sad. But I did order a delicious frozen margarita with salt and some Desperado chicken tacos and WOW YOU’RE WELCOME, DESPERADOS THIS IS FREE ADVERTISING, and I got a tad tipsy from it because my tolerance was so low.

nothing more delicious.

And then the next weekend, I was at a piano bar in Deep Ellum with a beer in front of me singing and dancing to “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere” by Alan Jackson wondering what my life had become.

Dry January went well. I’m now an even cheaper date because my tolerance is so low and my pants fit better. Thanks for the support. Read what Augusta went through as a bystander to it all here. Like Just PMSing on FB. And It’s Fine I’m Fine. Or don’t. Whatever.

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