Life Lesson #31: Nobody puts Penny in a corner.

As I sit here, eyes glazed over from about two hours of sleep, stomach a pool of churning, half digested, innumerable shots-worth of vodka, I wonder: why the hell do I do this to myself? And how, oh how, am I going to get through Sunday dinner with Alfred?

Last night was the third in a litany of long, fun filled evenings. And because I’m still twiddling around in the world of unemployed people, I’ve looked towards each night as a chance to make Partying My Pants Off a temporary, part-time gig, if you will. And so, at this very moment, I figure that there’s a solid two bottles of vodka, one and a half bottles of vino, a six-pack of Bud Light, and a plethora of shots - ranging from fruity girl things to hard-ass Jameson and Jagger - rushing through my veins and polluting my blood. Cut me open and I bet you could start a bar with what I got pooling inside of me.

I know that I’ve consumed a little too much over the past few days (no way am I going to admit that this dates back further – you know it, I know it, let’s just kept it at that and move on). And I also know that in a bit, when the grandparents shuffle in and my dad and I brace ourselves for the insanity to follow, more red wine, and probably some champagne, will be added to the Poison Potluck I’ve got going on. Which the thought of just made me break into a sweat.

So I’m going to make a Fall Resolution of sorts. A call to turn it down, just a notch. Because I enjoy myself way too much to make any drastic changes here. I just don’t know how necessary it is anymore (or ever was, actually) to drink for eight hours straight. Or try and find an open bar at five in the morning. Or mix every freakin’ alcohol under the sun in one evening. Or black out, indulge in a shopping spree at Seven Eleven, and still not remember when I find the plastic bag filled with half a chicken salad sandwich and an ice cream wrapper at the foot of my bed the next afternoon.

Now, to be perfectly honest, I fear that I won’t really be able to stick to this resolution. The only one I’ve ever been able to keep is giving up Tin Lizzy’s for New Years 2006 (nine months later, I still haven’t gone back). It’s kind of like a dark place for me. I walk in, forgot what sane, rational thought and appropriate behavior are, usually get myself into some sort of trouble, and, well, let’s just say mornings after that place are ones I would never tell my parents about. Ever.

Being the ban of this bar in my life is the only resolution I’ve got to show for years of half-hearted attempts to lose ten pounds, save some cash, and take up salsa dancing, I’d like to pad my stab at not being such a lush with a few more goals. That way, if my main objective falls short of success, I can at least pull off one (or more) of the others.

And so I present my list of Things I’m Giving Up With the End of Summer:

Retirement. Sure, it’s a grand ole’ time. I get to do things like mini golf on a Tuesday, sleeping ‘til noon on Wednesday, and staying out till five am on Thursday. I’m hoping to squeeze in a Bronx Zoo visit next week and I know a few of you want to scream GO PURPLE KNIGHT! with me at Medieval Times in the near future. But acting like I won the lotto or something isn’t getting me very far. I mean, I’m living with my parents again for crying out loud. And while I love that I can do laundry in the middle of the day in my robe, it’s not worth declaring my permanent withdrawal from the workforce.

The C word. I, as well as a few others (you know who you are my dear friends), totally abused this not-so-lovely term for the vagina this summer. I’ve decided I’m not even going to spell it out as my first step to C-freeing my life. Ironically, I went to a comedy club on Friday night and Alex Borstein (aka, the voice of Lois from The Family Guy) went on a tangent trying to get us ladies to embrace the word. And while I laughed hard enough to almost tinkle myself, I’m going to have to refuse to follow in her footsteps.

Not doing sports. I’ve never been part of a sports team. This is ridiculous, no? And so, thanks to Madonna and her gung-ho desire to try new stuff this fall, she signed a whole bunch of us up for dodgeball. Ok, so maybe it’s not exactly what you thought of when I brought up sports team. And the chances of me doing much more than sitting on the bench cheering for my teammates and calling out profanities (except the C word, of course) to the losers we are going to beat are slim, I admit. But it’s what I consider a giant step in the right direction. Who knows? Maybe I’ll discover my hidden ass-kicking dodgeball talent and one day open up a Penny Piers, where I impart by impressive ducking and diving skills to the masses. It could happen.

Potty mouth. I drop a lot of F bombs. A lot. And while I’d never use the word ‘classy’ to describe myself, my case of Profanity Tourettes surely doesn’t help matters. So I’m going to try to keep these in check. Unless I’m really pissed off or stub my toe or something. Then cover you F-ing ears, ladies and gents.

Slacking. I owe everyone that reads this to kill time at work a BIG apology. You guys are awesome and often give great feedback. And how do I show my appreciation? Um, by not writing anything for a month. For no good reasons other than not being home much and general laziness. But I will not do that anymore. Unless for a really damn good reason. Like a Sunday Funday hangover or a jammed finger from my amazing leap that helped our team win during the championship dodgeball game (yes, these are what I denote as worthy-of-not-writing events).
Life Lesson # 31: I think it’s about that time, dear readers, that I got my shit together and life back on track. The old Penny has been quietly sitting in the corner, waiting for me to get out the last of the C and F bombs. She’s been patient. And she’s been kind. And so for everyone’s sake, I’m going to slowly bring her back to the stage. I’m still going to party like a rock star and show up to my as-of-yet non-existent job late on a Friday morning. That’s probably never going to change. But I’m working towards letting the old Penny dance again.

'Cause you can't keep a good girl down. Especially me.