Late to the Party

This article was initially published on Substack, but I feel like I've been neglecting my blog lately, so it is now featured here as well. Much love to you all.

(23 years old)

My first drink was a shot of fireball. It tasted like cinnamon bears but a little warmer. It was one of those tiny bottles. My friends wanted to drink with me. I wanted to know if it actually felt sinful to drink. I was still going to church back then.

We went to my crush’s house. There were four of us, all three younger than me, and I felt very safe. After the shot, I tried a Truly and then an IPA. I felt a little dizzy, but in a good way. When everyone was ready to go, I went home and I tucked myself into bed, slightly terrified that I would wake up hungover the next day.

Before I fell asleep, I made a voice memo for my dead best friend because I was convinced that she was watching me from heaven (disappointed in my inability to keep the word of wisdom). I was not hungover the next morning. This was excellent news, I could go to church.

In my little ballet flats, I snuck into the back of the chapel. I was scared that “alcoholic” was sharpied on my soul and that everyone else could see it. I didn’t take the sacrament.

My second drink was half of a rum and coke split with my roommate at a nightclub in Spain. I was on a BYU study abroad, but I didn’t want another redbull at 1am. No one else was there, so I wasn’t worried about getting caught. I felt grown up. Chic even. At this point in my life, I was more worried about my peers than the “all seeing eye” of God.

We ordered our drink in Spanish, which was a little daunting. The bartender was nice when we didn’t know what kind of rum we wanted. I expected to get a little tipsy. Honestly, I felt nothing, but my Spanish was crisp for the next hour.

Two months later, on the same study abroad, I tried sangria with two of my other friends. A three-way split. I liked it less than the rum and coke, but it was classic Spain thing, so I had to try it while I was living there. I was still 23.

After that study abroad, I was more open to the idea of drinking. I still got scared that people would judge me, so I never ordered a drink when I went out, but my friend Lily and I would make drinks to match movies. For example, we would get sushi and make a blood red drink to watch Jaws. Then, when our movie was over, we would walk around the neighborhood and deliberate.

Somewhere around this era, I bought grapefruit beer because it looked cute. It was okay. But, I never knew what kind of alcohol to bring to events, so I pretended that I really liked it and always brought a case. I was 24 by this time. I drank maybe once a month.

House parties with my coworkers at Texas Roadhouse were the next step in my journey with alcohol. They were always a little blurry. Cigarettes in the little backyard. Mario Kart in the living room. Never ending games of beer pong (I still don’t know how to play). The forbidden upstairs (unless you were hooking up with one of the boys that rented the house). To the credit of all involved, there was always a theme and people always tried to come on theme. My only regret is that I love to kiss people when I’m drunk and I definitely kissed more of my coworkers than I should have.

They were a safe place for me to learn about alcohol though. God bless them all.

The first time I drank at a real bar was at a dive bar on a date. His name was Brandon or maybe Robby. I’ve seen both versions on dating apps since then. I ordered an Angry Orchard because the list of drinks was alphabetized. I had to make a quick decision and it was the first item on the list. For being a random drink, I didn’t hate it. We hooked up later that night. He smelled like blueberry vape and I never saw him again. (thank god).

Months later, my friends and I went to Salt Lake with a mixed group of sober and much less sober people. I exclusively pregamed with Baileys Irish Cream. Admittedly, that was a really weird choice. After a 45 minute drive, we went dancing and I learned that I didn’t pre-game hard enough. I ended up fully sober before the night was over. The dancing was still fun.

Honestly, a lot of 25 was alcohol free for me. I grew up having fun without alcohol, so I always have a good time, even sober. Being drunk mostly makes me want to have sex, so it is not necessary for me to drink if the goal is just dancing and taking cute pictures. Thus, my drinking is based entirely on how often my friends want to go out or stay in.

Now, one week into being 26, I feel more capable when it comes to understanding how clubs, bars, and alcohol work. I know about cover charges and being super dizzy in the bathroom. I know about photobooths and how to convince men to buy drinks for me so I can save a little money on nights out. I don’t throw up anymore and I have only been hungover twice (and I’d like to keep it that way).

Sometimes, I still wonder if I need to slow down. Technically, I am not supposed to drink on my anti-psychotic and my therapist cautioned that I may be at risk for heavy drinking because sometimes I have multiple drinks in one day (she is mormon so i think i’m chillin’).

Compared to most of the world, and what I see portrayed in media, I think I am okay.

My main rule: I don’t drink alone. I always have to be with someone else. So far, this has served me well.

Cheers!

Yours truly,

Macy