In our early to mid-20s, most of us probably experienced what is euphemistically known as a “lost weekend.” These temporary nosedives into extreme excess are frequently characterized by Jager shots with PBR chasers, beer pong, public nudity, making out with strangers, and/or pooping on your ex-boyfriend's car.
Far from being frowned upon, these occasional binges have become something of a cultural rite of passage, the crazy times you'll laugh about later over dinner with your former drinking buddies when you've all grown the fuck up.
But sometimes a youthful boozer is afflicted with a chronic case of arrested development and continues haunting the same old barstool, much to the detriment of grown-up jobs and relationships. When a 30-year-old stumbles from the bar to the taco truck and drips meat and salsa down her shirt before passing out on the curb, it's no longer cute and silly; it's just tired and kind of sad.
For these reasons I have recently capped the streams of whiskey flowing into my own life and quit being such an unrepentant drunk, for once. Here are five things I've noticed.