After a weekend of clubbing and chugging, I found myself lying in bed con una resaca. My head pounded as if my heart relocated to my temples. My tongue was dry and the ridges were bumpy as if I had crossed the Sahara desert, or worse; spend 48 hours making out with The Situation. Then there was the regret that ultimately led to reflection. Still lying there, too groggy to quench my thirst with a tall, glass of water or order my hangover cure (a medium, pepperoni Dominoes pizza – light cheese, extra sauce), I asked myself: what was I getting out of clubbing and chugging anyway?
The answer came to me in a flash. I party hardy because I am a single, 32-year-old woman who is young at heart (and appearance). I am that girl who has happily married friends with children. So instead of twiddling my thumbs hoping my uterus gets lucky, I go clubbing and chugging, living the life of my early 20’s. Instead of spending my Saturday nights playing Peek-a-Boo, I choose to play What the Fuck?
Fun right? Hmmm…not so much.
This lifestyle is empty. Numbers are exchanged but never dialed. Genitals rub against one another but never experience ecstasy. Female feet become sore and never receive the glass slippers. The next morning you’re hungover, and a hangover serves less of a purpose.
The entire nightclub experience is so futile that, after my hangover, I took a month hiatus from drinking hard liquor and club hopping. Since then, I have yet to wake up exhausted, dehydrated, and feeling…old. Bottomline, I’m not 21 anymore and don’t want to be. What I do want to is to love and progress. Now, instead of searching for the next hot spot or gulping drink after drink, I stay in with family, mingle with friends, and attend professional networking events. Once in a while I’ll swig a shot and sway my hips to an upbeat merengue or two, but in moderation. It really is all about balance and accepting reality, which I have certainly done. Porque esta vida de niña is even more pointless than a hangover.