I stopped drinking when I was 29. I was tired of the consequences outweighing the benefits—tired of calling in sick to work, tired of hooking up with people I would have run from sober, tired of crying and throwing things for no reason. Oh, and did I mention I was tired of all the drama drinking brought to my love life? Sure, there were the occasional incident-free drunken date nights. But when men were brought into the mix(ed drink), I didn't tend to remain the cute, funny little version of me. My usually-sharp wit would dull into a mushy puddle of need. You know what I'm talking about: "You don't realllllllly love me! I don't believe you love me! I need you to love me! Do you promise you love me?" Ugh. The Frisky: Do Courting Rituals Make Us Whores?
I'm 33 now, and still sober, but at a crossroads. I've been alcohol-free for almost four years, and to be honest, a glass of wine is starting to sound pretty good. I miss it—it's as simple as that. I miss sipping a margarita (on the rocks, no salt) with my Mexican food. I miss the elegant flute of champagne at the dawn of each New Year. I miss sharing a bottle of wine with my paramour du jour. Now, before you write me off as nothing more than a raging alcoholic in denial, please know: I'm not sitting around sobbing because I miss getting sloshed. I was never physically addicted to alcohol—drinking was just something I did to help quiet the ever-running whir of my overthinker's oversensitive brain. Plus I liked the taste (no, really, I did). The Frisky: Confessions Of A Maybe Excessive Drinker
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So I'm thinking about saying sayonara to the dry life and allowing myself a glass of wine with dinner. The thing is, I'm terrified—and mainly about the consequences for my love life. The Frisky: How Intervention Helped Me To Forgive
Like I said, I wasn't always the most delightful date when I drank. Sure, I was fine with one glass of wine. But living in NYC in my mid-to-late 20s (an extended rough patch), one drink often led to more. There was the night I met up with Tom, an adorable drummer from an up-and-coming indie band, whom I'd met on an online dating site. Over our third or fourth vodka tonic, we somehow established that he was close friends with my first love (and first heartbreak), Jim. Instead of taking this tidbit in stride and bonding over a shared connection, I, um, started crying. And then I told Tom every wrenching detail of my years-old breakup with Jim. Because obviously the dude needed to know how important Jim had been to me, how I'd written an entire zine about him, how I'd believed he was my soul mate, how he had been The One …The Frisky: MERRIme, A New Web Comedy About Online Dating