Confessions of a Sober Sister

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Nice Move

Confessions Of A Sober Sister

I know they tell you that being a sober sister isn’t that bad, but that’s just to force someone to take on the task. I’m here to tell you it’s not that bad, because it’s actually worse.

I had no idea exactly how crazy all of you could get until I was forced to be sober and actually see for myself. Honestly, just hide your business. I know I’ve almost been sent home from a party or five, but I always manage to escape before a sober sister can take control. I’ve always done my best to avoid authority when I’m getting weird, especially if a gentleman caller is involved. If this venue had video cameras anywhere, you’d all be on Girls Gone Wild. They could make a comeback with your antics alone. Congratulations.

I know the first part of any mixer resembles a middle school dance, but you don’t need to drink every beverage at the bar to make it better. Try half that. I enjoy a solid pregame, but I usually try not to vomit outside the venue before the party even starts (I wait until after, obviously). It’s cool that you’re taking it in another direction.

Now, not to call anyone out, but you know what you did. I did not need to see your personal trip to Brazil at the bar. I know your date was cute, but it was a little obvious when the two of you disappeared to the bathroom for twenty minutes. Girlfriend, there was only one toilet at the venue. The line was at a standstill, and because the restroom was occupied for so long, ladies were vomiting in places they shouldn’t have been vomiting. You probably should’ve zipped up your dress on your way out, but that’s what sober sisters are there for. We try to make sure our parties aren’t too pornographic, but you crossed that line when every boy at the party saw your privates.

I’m not going to name names, but it is not okay to take a couple of Tylenol PM with your rice cake and wash it down with ten shots. After last night, I thought my gag reflex had developed an immunity to the sight of vomit, but your regurgitation took the (rice) cake. No one wants to leave the party to take you and your date home, especially when he may or may not have utilized the bathroom in the taxi. Hopefully he’ll be potty-trained in time for our next date party. A girl can dream.

To the intertwined couples macking like conjoined twins, I know you thought it was romantic up against that wall (because you were too drunk to stand upright, you mongoloids), but it was almost impossible to pry you off of each other and onto the bus. All I can say is been there, done that, and my apologies to the risk management team for my impromptu tryst during semi-formal. It gets awkward to hold the bus so you can get it on before you get on it.

Once you were all aboard the hot mess express, trouble ensued. Sure, drop your beer bottle on the bus floor. The kids can narrowly avoid the shards of glass come Monday, and they’ll just step over the questionable fluids they find. Hope you managed to avoid that disaster zone, since half of you left with only one shoe. The bar looked like an island of mismatched toys for designer heels and empty water bottles by the end of the night.

By the end of this party, I felt drunk, and not in the good way. In the bad way when you know you’ve had enough. I mean, yes, I had a couple of cocktails myself, but it doesn’t count if no one saw. Plus, it’s not like I personally purchased them. It was just to get me through the night, so don’t tell standards. I’ve done enough for them lately.

Contrary to popular belief, sober sisters are not the enemy. No one in the world enjoys being sober when everybody else is one drink away from oblivion. So, yes, sober sisters are totally judging all of you, but it’s mostly because we’re displeased that we have to take care of your shenanigans and can’t be having our own. Ya’ll were too much. But I love you hot messes, so see you next Saturday, when you’ll have to manage my risks, because I plan on making up for tonight in a serious way. Sorry I’m not sorry for raining on your parade.

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