Because You're an Alcoholic

It was no big deal when you were 19. At that point, two $8 V&Ts at some sticky West Village nightclub would be enough to have you draped across the bar showing off your cute new panties to Mr. Merlin Bronques. Even after sharing a cab home to make sure your comrades didn't pass out on the sidewalk somewhere, an entire night out could be accomplished for under $30. Some of us probably also wore Wet Seal clothes back then, so it's not like wardrobe expenses were particularly burdensome.

But the years go by and all those cups of the white whiskey tone up your liver even faster than the juice did A-Rod (wait, we do sports metaphors around here now? Things ARE getting rough). What used to be $20 benders have now morphed into unmanageable $100 affairs and anyone without an extremely solid line of credit is forced to scrounge for "recession specials" at the International Bar. To be quite frank, bumming charity whiskey shots off of a 40 year-old still nursing fantasies of emo-band stardom or the girl who dies her hair Manic Panic green is just about the lowest of the low. It's like 1998 or something up in here.

So finally the shame forces you home to drink cases of domestics bought at Rite-Aid and the only upside is that there's no room left in the refrigerator for food, so no need for a gym membership anymore. Beer is sort of like food, right? Carbs, iron, B vitamins? I'm starting to get the feeling this recession is going to be pretty hard on my physical health.