Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Drinking in your 20s vs. Drinking in your 30s

Dear God, Allah, Jesus, or anybody up there who is listening,

I solemnly swear to never drink again if you can cure me of my current condition. I am obviously dying, and I am positive without your help, nothing will ever make me feel better again. I have tried every remedy known to man, but as the day drags on, my condition is getting worse. I am afraid I am not going to make it.
Send my parents my love.

I know I have vowed to stop drinking on numerous occasions in the past, but I assure you this time, no truer words have ever been spoken. I even mean it more than last Sunday, and the ones before that when I promised to give up the devil’s juice for good.

Please cleanse me of my ailment, so I may begin feeding the homeless, fostering shelter dogs, and working on a cure for cancer.

                                                              Thank you in advance,
                                                                                                   30 something year old me.

Dear God,

Please send pizza because I spent my rent money on tequila shots.

                                                                      You’re the best,
                                                                                                20 something year old me.

My bargaining with various higher beings probably began shortly after my 30th birthday party and has continued nearly every weekend since.

Although it is hard to pin point the exact moment your body decides to turn on you, around 30 it takes away one of your most prized and under-appreciated possessions…the ability to drink all of the alcohol with little to no consequences.

If you are still in your 20s, enjoy it while you can because I promise, you will miss it when it’s gone…especially on Day 2 of your hangover.  You could blend up a Gatorade, Pedialyte, and Advil smoothie, and not even that could save you.

Go ahead and forget about that “hair of the dog” shit too because the sheer thought of trying to cure your hangover by drinking more alcohol will make you vomit, again. Oh, and in case you were wondering how many times a person can throw up and not actually die, the limit does not exist.

Delayed recovery time isn’t the only thing that drastically changes as you get older. Let us not forget about...

Pre-gaming. In your 20s, this is an ingenious plan to get drunker, faster, and for cheaper.  In your 30s, this idea is stored in the part of your memory with your crush on Freddie Prinze Jr.  You have probably forgotten he even existed up until this moment.  Same is probably true of purse flasks and Jagger bombs.

I’d like to say by the time you turn 30, shots become a thing of the past, but many wasted Sundays have taught me otherwise.  However, when you are in your 20s you take shots in order to get wasted, and when you are in your 30s, you take them because you are wasted. Intoxicated o’clock is the only time these evil fuckers seem like a good idea. If only your sober self could tell your 2 am self to avoid them like the plague, or worse, well liquor…

Remember your previous excitement in your 20s when you “won” a free open bar party? Now older and wiser, someone would have to pay me to attend one of those shit shows. If given the option of drinking vodka out of a plastic bottle or my toilet, I may “Orange is the New Black” it…as long as it’s Ketel One.

Also, if you’re anything like me, your preferred type of alcohol in your 20s was “cold,” but in your 30s nothing excites you more than craft beers and cocktails.

Maple Bacon Ale?!

Lavender infused egg foam with honey comb Hibiscus leaves?!

Bring. It. On.

If it has six or more ingredients, I am all over it… just as long as I can drink it somewhere with more chairs than there are people.

Clubs? What are these things you speak of? Are they similar to pre-gaming? I am not familiar…

Since turning 30, my favorite drinking spot has become my couch. The guest list is exclusive, there’s no dress code, and the wine selection is extensive. And who said there are no advantages to aging?

Stop saying you live in Chicago if you are from the Suburbs.

I grew up in the Midwest in a small suburb, and I always knew the minute I turned 18, I was going to move to the city. I am of course referring to Chicago and not New York like some of those ‘Hills’ bitches implied is the only one.

I watched numerous friends go away to college while I chose to attend one in the heart of downtown. Many moved away in search of warmer weather or better opportunities, but I remained. I toughed it out every winter (although the snowpocalype a few years back really tested my patience), and I paid my bills through a series of less than desirable jobs (one word: Wrigleyville). To this day, I still fall asleep to the sweet symphony of sirens every night.

Why would I want to leave? I live somewhere where every year I get to go to the beach, ice skating, and apple picking all in the same place. There is always something to do, including a street or food festival nearly every weekend, and I can get just about anything I need/desire delivered within an hour at time, day or night. Hellooooo shitty pizza at 5 am!

Some of the most beautiful architecture you will ever see is in Chicago, you can eat all of your feelings via the most delicious pizza and hot dogs, and our Art Institute is rated the best in the entire world (take that Louvre’!). Even George Lucas wants a piece of that sweet museum pie when he builds his here in 2019.

I could literally go on and on, but to summarize: Chicago is one of the greatest cities in the world. With that being said, if you don’t reside directly in it, stop claiming it as your own. I am talking to you Schaumburg and Naperville.

If you live in the suburbs, stop saying you are from Chicago.

I have been living in the city for over a decade, and I will tell you first hand, there is no greater way to piss off a true Chicagoan than to say you are from Chicago when you live in a suburb nearly an hour or more away. Calling it “Chi-Town” is a close second.

Call it “Chi-raq” and I will punch you in your throat.

I know many of you lighting your torches at this very moment will argue, “It is just easier than saying, “I live in (insert random shitty suburb here),” but if you have to pay a toll to get the city, you clearly don’t live within it. Therefore, claiming you do is about as authentic as Drake’s street cred.*

*(If you have been living under a rock, google “Hotline Bling.” Yes, mom. I will show you how to use google next week.)

See, there is a certain amount of bullshit one must encounter when living in a major city regardless of how amazing it is. If you do not experience these things, you don’t get to have your cake and call it Chicago too.

You don’t have to deal with the fresh scent of urine on your morning commute, nor do you spend a decent part of your day trying to distinguish between an actual crazy person and an irate homeless person, and you sure as shit don’t have to worry someone will call “Dibs” on the parking spot you spent hours shoveling out. Those of us that live here feel like we earned the right to call this wonderfully crazy place home so if your favorite bar is in a strip mall, stop claiming to be part of our exquisite madness.