I don't wanna talk about it.: White Girl Wasted

It's been three years since I graduated from college and, boy, have things changed. While in school, I would go to the bars Tuesday through Saturday and still uphold wine nights on Sunday. If this were my current lifestyle, I would be classified as a raging alcoholic, but this behavior is completely standard in college. In fact, if you're not drinking four days a week, you may as well drop out and pursue a career in freak management.

Since college, I've become a real adult human with a real adult job and real adult expenses. It's terrible. The combination of being responsible and working 40 hours a week is grueling. My social life has taken a hit, too. Friday nights used to involve kegs, shots and short skirts; now they consist of Seamless web and sweatpants. Sadly, staying up 'til 11:45 is considered a wild night for me.

My pathetic behavior has earned me the nickname "grandma" by friends, and I'm not even upset about it. First of all, if I'm a grandma then I have the complexion of a 25-year-old and impressively perky boobs -- so, thank you for the compliment. Secondly, I am almost always productive on Saturdays since I'm not nursing a hangover from the night before. And lastly, I'm not on a quest to find a husband, which makes watching Bravo and eating bolognese a completely acceptable Friday night.

I'm quite positive a 7-year-old has a more exhilarating social calendar than I do -- but when I do go out, I get "turnt up" (is that how the kids are saying it?). Give me four shots of Jameson and I'm your new best friend. Give me six shots of Jameson and I transform into a white girl dancing machine. Most girls try to look sexy while dancing by displaying their moves on a table or grinding up on dudes. Not this girl. I'm probably the only person in the United States who still "raises the roof" and requests Motown at a bar filled with people in their mid 20's. I have about as much rhythm as a mom at a Bar Mitzvah. The worst part is: once that Jameson warms my belly and "ABC" comes on, I am convinced I'm the sixth member of the Jackson 5. In my drunken stupor, I'm certain that my moves are a hit and everyone is digging them -- I mean, why else would strangers be crowded around me taking videos? This is usually the last memory I have from the night.

The morning after is always agonizing. These are usually the chain of events after I wake up:

1) Intensely chug a bottle of water

2) Make a vow never to drink again (seriously, this time)

3) Realize there's makeup all over my pillow because I slept on my face

4) Make a vow always to take off my makeup even when I'm drunk (seriously, this time)

5) Whine and moan in bed for 30 minutes

6) Order a bacon, egg and cheese on Seamless

7) Begin receiving texts from friends containing videos of me dancing like a straight up freak

8) Make a vow never to dance in public again (SERIOUSLY, THIS TIME)

I guess the reason I don't go out as often is that I can't bounce back the way I used to. In college, I could drink until 5 am and still be able to make it to my 12 o'clock class and then go out again that night. Now after a night of drinking, I wake up with bruises, muscle aches and a hangover that lasts for the better half of the week. It ain't pretty.

I always have a blast when I go out and I would go out more often, but the truth is: I don't think you guys could handle it.