This weekend, H2B and I met some friends to "go out". In a bigger, cooler city, one could say we "went clubbing", but it's Halifax, so we don't club. I used to go out on the regular--we're talking every Thursday, Friday, and Saturdays, with the occasional Wednesday student night at the Dome (also known as the Do Me, because that's kind of the theme of the shithole--it reeks of desperation). But since I got on this health kick a year or so again I have cut wayyyy back on the drunken debauchery.

As a result, my bank account got fatter as my waistline got smaller. Suddenly I was spending a couple hundred fewer dollars every week in cover charges, taxis, drinks, and post-bar donair pizza, taking in about 1,000 fewer calories per weekend night out, and encountering an approximate 98% decline in embarrassing moments and regrets. Not a bad trade-off!

However, where I used to be able to knock back 10 or so drinks in one sitting and not be any worse for wear the next day, my alcohol tolerance is shot to the max and I end up getting disgusting hangovers now, all the time. I used to drink a bottle of wine on a regular Wednesday night while eating dinner and reading magazines. Now a bottle of wine equals a six-Advil day in a dark room with an empty garbage can in very close proximity.

Anyway, on Saturday night we met up with a bunch of people and went to Peddler's. Not sure if anyone reading this is familiar with the Halifax bar scene but Peddler's is basically devoid of any atmosphere whatsoever and the only reasons I can think of to go there is the drink prices: $2 for a single, $4 for a double--and the very high likelihood that you'll get to see two popped-collared Jagerbombers pounding the Axe Effect right out of one another. We went there and basically lurked in the corner next to the Hot Nuts machine and watched an Asian guy go more or less apeshit excited and come back a minimum of four times to get hot nuts. I was trying pretty frantically to get drunk-- and had about three double rum and diet Cokes and one disgusting shot of Sourpuss. Those kinds of establishments are not really doable when sober. The highlight of the evening was probably getting into a big conversation in front of the bar with a girl who overheard me calling my friend Adam Chuck Bass and singing "Womanizer" at him. This girl launched into a big spiel about how she loves Gossip Girl and ended with me putting my fist in her face and yelling "POUND IT!!" because we'd totally bonded over our favourite show. When we were leaving the bar, I saw her making out with some goof on a stool and she actually stopped sucking face to lean back and crane around and screech "GOSSIP GIRL FOR LIFE!" at me. Obviously we're meant to be BFF.

Unfortunately, on Sunday morning I woke up feeling like 10 pounds of shit in a 5-pound bag. I crawled around on the bathroom floor, leaning my forehead against the cool tiles for relief. I pulled a pillow over my face and whined for H2B to bring me Advil. He came into the bedroom with a pot and a spoon from the kitchen and banged on them and I think I actually started to cry. No sympathy from that one when it's a self-induced illness, that's for sure!*

Now that December is here, there are going to be more and more opportunities to drink and indulge, and this post is going to serve as a reminder to me to NOT overdo it. Thinking that I'm actually a good dancer for a couple of hours is not worth a day of misery. On Sunday, I said, "I'm never drinking againnnnnnn..." (yeah, with 7 n's.) Obviously that's not true, but over the holidays I'm going to be careful to alternate one alcoholic drink with one glass of water and not let myself get to a point of embarrassment and sickness. I'm getting old and I can no longer party like it's 1999.

*He did bring me Advil and ginger ale and also sat with me through three episodes of Gossip Girl, offered to get me McDonald's greasy hangover cure breakfast, and didn't tease when I kept having to run to the bathroom. He's really not that mean to me in my weaker moments :)