Welcome to my installment of our blog project, “Adventures in Drinking.”

I debated with myself a lot about how I was going to do this post. I ended up doing kind of a chronological drinking history. It’s been kind of interesting to see how my activities have changed over the years. Sometimes I miss being in my 20’s, but only sometimes…

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I’ve been of legal drinking age since 1984, when I moved to Texas at the age of 18. (That was the legal age back in the day. Also, stop mathing in your head; I’m 48, so give your mind a break.) And wouldn’t you know it? We were stationed in a dry county. I couldn’t even get my head around that for a while. I was used to my folks rolling up to the local Safeway and picking up whatever adult beverage that tickled their fancy; from wines to the hard stuff. What do you mean we can’t get a six pack at the Albertson’s down the street?  There was a package/class 6 store on base, however, but I have to tell you; once it is legal to do, the challenge is gone, therefore the thrill of getting away with something is, too.

Now, that’s not to say that we didn’t do it. I think there is a picture in one of my old photo albums of a handful of us playing cards with a fifth of something sitting on the table. I was a beer and wine kind of girl, because that is what I was familiar with growing up, although my parents had a pretty healthy liquor cabinet.

In the early adult years we did most of our drinking at home with friends and we’d end up keeping everyone overnight. We were so scared of drinking and driving, and the effect it would have on everyone’s careers. I guess I should mention that I married young and my spouse went into the Air Force, so our friends were all young military members, and nobody wanted to get popped for a DWI.

We did, that first summer away from home, go out clubbing, and returned to find the apartment door wide open, and I remember bursting in, yelling at the top of my voice, “Ok, burglars, we’re home now, so you need to leave!” I initially thought that we’d not latched the door properly and the west Texas wind blew it open. Imagine our surprised when we found the TV, stereo, my grandmother’s antique garnet ring, and most of our leftovers missing. That sobered my ass up fast.

As many “right-out-of-high-school” marriages do, mine fell apart. Not being one to learn quickly from my mistakes, I remarried another airman. NOT, mind you, that I think airmen are bad people; they aren’t, as a general rule, but my big three relationship boo-boo’s were all with Air Force guys. That’s another story, though. Come to think of it…”The Neighbors” were stationed at the base here…

At any rate, the second husband (we were married from 87 until we separated in 01, so it wasn’t a terribly short run) and I got stationed 90 miles down the highway from Lubbock at a base in eastern New Mexico where we made a lot of fun friends. Our summer Friday and Saturday nights were spent out under our carport with coolers of beer and a boom box. There was much pole dancing over those weekends. 😀 (Okay, they weren’t round poles, but those square supports that held the carport up…) Granted, we weren’t good, nor were we graceful, but we sure had fun, and the husbands never complained, ha ha. This was an ideal situation for us, simply because we all had young children, so going out every weekend wasn’t going to happen, and we had more fun than we ever would have had at the NCO club. We were home and able to check on the kids, nobody had to drive, so win-win. To this day I can’t listen to anything from the Purple Rain album without smiling. 🙂

Time passed, as it always does, and we found ourselves on the east coast. Specifically in the same area I live now. We lived on base for the first year or so and spent a LOT of time at the NCO club. Killians Red, by the pitcher, was liquid courage. I learned how to line dance drinking that stuff. I also grew a pair on those Wednesday nights, to also sing some karaoke. Something about enough beer makes me think that a) I can dance; and b) I am a freaking rock star! (In my defense, however, I did win a competition singing Sixpence None The Richer’s “Kiss Me.”) Those were my nights out with the girls. Friday nights were when the husbands came out, too, and we’d sign a bunch of my friends in from my job and all go dancing (because, again, give me beer and I magically can move like Paula Abdul without pom poms). I also learned the very valuable skill of playing shuffleboard during this time.

Those were fun times, but seemed to kind of go the way of the dinosaur when the husband and I started realizing the marriage was coming to a screeching halt.

My current (and final) husband and I don’t really go out much, anymore. We’re more homebodies these days. I think a lot of that has something to do with the fact that most of the night life out here caters to a younger crowd, and we are parents of that younger crowd, so you can pretty much do the math. Up until a year or so ago, when we wanted to have a little fun, we’d get some friends and/or my boys together and hook up the Wii and throw some Rock Band or Guitar Hero on, and because nobody else would sing, it defaulted to me. Consequently, the more I drank, the better I sang, or maybe that was only in my mind, ha ha. We spent a LOT of ridiculously fun Friday and Saturday nights hopping around the living room jamming like we were world class musicians.

Since I’ve gotten calorie conscious, the boys have all moved out, and I spend more time lifting weights and writing, my drinking has slowed down considerably. I used to be a several glass of wine a night kind of girl, but damn, the calories. If I’m not doing a girl’s weekend at the coast, usually wine is a treat, and oh, those nights of giggling and getting silly are so damned memorable! These days I’m inclined to enjoy a nice vodka tonic in a hot bubble bath with either a good book, new reader list blogs to read, a movie on the tablet, or catching up with old friends on Facebook.

My, how times have changed. I can say, however, none of us ever got pulled (we always had a designated driver when we went out), none of us were seriously injured in our escapades (although I could always tell when I’d danced too much the next morning; the muscle soreness was an indicator of how much fun I’d had the night before), and we all pretty much played it safe. Yes, another side effect of being an adult when many of us WERE adult at the ripe old age of eighteen. Responsibility is a good thing.

Things I’ve learned:

• Tequila makes me angry for no reason;
• Tequila, when mixed with other alcohol, makes me sick;
• I should not drink tequila;
• My aim is dead on if throwing something. I usually cannot hit the broad side of a barn. Darts, apparently, is my game (give the clumsy drunk girl a handful of pointy objects to throw);
• A nice vodka tonic has about 1/3 the calories of a glass of wine.

Stupid things I’ve done:

• Get REALLY angry after a few shots of tequila;
• Danced on the table at the NCO club (this behavior is frowned upon);
• I tried to swim in the ocean after dark (getting in water to swim while inebriated is not smart at ALL);
• Fallen off of a platform flip-flop, twisting my ankle pretty well;
• Tripped over the door frame, falling (surprise) and bruising my foot on the very first night of our girls’ beach weekend;
• Addressed the Security Police officer responding to the noise complaint as “Ocifer Friendly;”
• This list should be a LOT longer, but apparently the other stupid things that happened were long enough ago that any witnesses are not easy enough to track down and ask, and/or I just can’t remember. 😀

Reading over this, it occurs to me that 99.9% of the time I boring when under the influence. (Boring=safe, though, right? *yawn*)

One thing remains constant, however. When drinking, my belief in my most awesome singing voice stands firm. 😉

Until next time…