Girl’s Night Out: What Happened

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Note: This is part two to the post Girl’s Night Out.

I spent way too much energy thinking of bad excuses, so that I could flake on going to my friend’s birthday. I thought of a hundred excuses, but I knew that I wasn’t going to use any of them. I had to go. I had to try going out sober.

This evening was the first time I had the chance to test run my shakily, uncertain and sober self. It was a group of friends whose relationship with me was not solely dependent on alcohol. The birthday girl was my old roommate, and although we used to party plenty of times, she was someone that I was completely comfortable not drinking around. And, she was actually one of the few friends that I had disclosed my issues with alcohol, and my recent attempt at having a different life, before many others.

This group was safe. They liked me and didn’t care if I drank or not. They weren’t people that enabled my defective behaviors, they were friends that I knew would act like they didn’t care whether I had issues or not. Real friends.

It was a girl’s night out for a birthday dinner, and a show at the local comedy club. I love seeing stand up, but I hadn’t ever done it without sucking down those over priced drinks that you feel guilty interrupting the show while trying to flag down the overloaded server for another. Maybe without that distraction, listen more to the jokes. Maybe my skin would crawl the entire time, with me eyeballing my girlfriend’s drinks and unable to concentrate on the comedian’s words. I was thinking it would be the latter.

I drove myself to the club. In my previous life, I always met up before going out at a friend’s house. This way someone else would drive, and I was free to drink as much as I wanted. And, I could get started with a few drinks under the belt before even walking out the door. This usually ended with me having to sleep uncomfortably on someone’s couch, where the lack of adequate blinds let light in as soon as the sun rose. This inconvenience didn’t matter; being able to drink as much as I wanted was always the organizing principle.

This time was different. I wasn’t as anxious as I expected. I certainly wasn’t as excited to be going out either, but I figured a comedy show is rarely a bad time.

We got to the restaurant, and waited 40 minutes for our table. We waited so long that we had to rush to eat. The packed bar side of the restaurant was that familiar, dark, and overcrowded. It seemed so unappealing, looking at it with my sober eyes. I just didn’t care to squeeze through the crowds, and fight for a table. I’d rather be at a bookstore.

I ordered water to drink at dinner. The reality of me not drinking ended up not being a very big deal. It was amplified in my head, as usual. I didn’t discuss why I wasn’t drinking, but no one really asked me either. The friend who’s birthday it was knew my back story more than anyone, and she was like the hub of the group. Either they heard about it from her or they didn’t care. They probably didn’t care, and I should stop thinking that everyone was thinking about me.

All of the girls but me ordered Jager shots to start. It didn’t really bother me. The hefeweizen that the girl sitting next me was drinking began to quietly whisper my name, and I had to turn and not look at it. I cheered with my water, and wasn’t really bothered by it. One of my friends turned down her Jager shot once it arrived, because she ended up deciding on a delicate salad to eat for dinner. The two didn’t mix, she said. I remembered that I wasn’t incapable of this type of thinking. This is why I couldn’t drink.

We got into the comedy club and they ended up having desert. We ordered one of each on the menu. Deep fried cheesecake bites almost made up for my lack of alcohol. Almost.

The combination of the waiter not really caring if we satisfied the two item minimum, and everyone else ordering at least one drink made all my worries seem worthless. Reality is never as traumatic as it is in my head. You’d think I would remember that.

My friend turned to me in the dark club before the show, after the waiter took our order. Not a word had been spoken about my dry behavior, and she said, “What’s it like… being on a diet and being surrounded by carrot cake?” I said yeah, kind of. Her attempt at empathy made me feel better, yet more alone.

I hope it isn’t going to always feel like going on a diet. I hope the carrot cake fades away, into the background, instead of whispering to me about how delicious it would be.

The truth was the evening ended up being somewhat uneventful. I didn’t drink. I made it through without wanting to scratch my eye balls out, and while having a decent time.

I’m avoiding going out again, for the time being at least. I’d rather go to a bookstore because there, the hef doesn’t whisper to me.