This is how it begins. He asks me to stand before him in my lace underwear, high heels, hose and bra. He sits in a chair and watches closely as I disrobe, making approving noises, even winking to put me at ease.
“Turn around please,” he says and then, “Yes, right there. Stop there.”
Even though we’ve been married for over three years, I’ve never done anything like this sober. I don’t know what to do, or where to put my hands. Without the buzz and fog of alcohol, I am clumsy and giggly and awkward. Keep reading »
I ran with a pretty tame crowd as a high schooler. We considered it a wild night if we’d wrapped a musical theater production and all piled into someone’s basement to watch the entire Star Wars trilogy on VHS and surreptitiously make out with each other. I liked it that way, and never sought out anything more raucous, so the first time anyone actually offered me a drink was in college. And when I say, “offered,” I mean, “forced me to consume through endless, irritating cajoling.” My housemates heard that I’d never been drunk and insisted that we do a shot together. It was some vile concoction called Black Haus, and knocking it back nearly made me gag. They pushed for another shot, but I stood my ground. I loved them, but I wasn’t going to guzzle a substance that tasted like blackberry-flavored cough syrup to prove it. Keep reading »
The following piece was originally published on The Fix.
Since I was 19, I’ve worked on and off as a prostitute in New York City. I learned a lot about men during my decade of escorting, from seeing the insides of their apartments and uncensored sexual requests, but it wasn’t until I quit drinking and using drugs three years ago that I began to notice that many of my clients shared a surprising characteristic: They were sober.
As soon as I was looking for the signs, it became obvious that I was seeing a disproportionate amount of recovering addicts. Eventually, I would start bringing up drinking just to test my own hypothesis. Over and over again, I would find out that the guys who were paying me to drool all over their junk had been sober for a decade or two.
And most of them were married, too, of course. Keep reading »
Scientists are hard at work on a pill that will limit the effects of alcohol on our brains, so that we can drink more without acting stupid. An experimental “sober pill” was given to a group of mice who, despite being sufficiently sauced, did not act like drunken a**holes. Uh, how do drunk mice normally act? Anyhow, the point is the pill works by shutting down the immune response of certain cells in the brain. Even thought the mice were wasted, this pill made their reflexes sharper and their balance better. “When a mouse gets drunk, it is quite similar to a human that’s drunk. It can’t work its motor co-ordination properly. If you stop these immune cells from working, the animals didn’t get drunk,” one of the researchers explained. How exciting for us. Well, maybe not. Does the thought of a sober pill frighten anyone else? All I can think of are all the possible ways humans will find to abuse this pill. It seems counter-intuitive to shut down our normal brain functions just so we can throw back a few more cocktails without slurring. [Daily Mail]
What do you think? Would you pop a sober pill before a night of drinking?
Here’s the thing about drinking — it’s a multi-tasking activity and it makes lots of things even better. Here are just some things I really enjoy doing with a glass of wine in my hand:
- Taking a hot bath while reading a gossip magazine
- Liveblogging award shows and “The Bachelor”
- Cooking and eating
- Playing fetch with my dog in our building’s long hallway (since our apartment is small and it’s too cold for the dog park right now)
- Reading in bed
For the record, these are all frequent activities in my life and I will miss my friend Vino when I am doing them during this period of sobriety. Because I’m also giving up men — particularly the dating and sexing of them — I know I need to find new activities to put my energy into, especially things that wouldn’t be improved by, say, my favorite cocktail of Cristalino champagne and grapefruit juice. Keep reading »
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. Keep reading »