A Breakup Letter to Liquor...

... but first, due to unforeseen events that occurred in the last 45 minutes, I must give two shout-outs.

To whichever kitty of mine coughed up the giant hairball on the dark area rug so that I would not see it as I happened along in my bare feet- thanks. There's nothing quite like the sudden feeling of a squishy, wet ball of regurgitated fur between my toes to make me feel alive and glad to be a cat owner.

To Convertible Boy, thank you for pulling up alongside me while I was walking my dog a bit ago and making me feel slightly creeped out yet relieved that I am still remotely attractive to strange men, even from behind. When you slowed down, I assumed you needed to pull into the driveway I was crossing. When you continued to follow me blaring your rap music as I walked, I was flattered for two seconds then completely annoyed. I'm sure the dirty look I gave you spoke volumes, as you drove away after that. I imagine you're very nice and probably wear long shorts that go down past your knees, perfectly starched Ed Hardy t-shirts, extremely clean Nikes and way too much cologne when you take girls out on dates, but there was just no connection. I am very into my boyfriend (who, by the way, doesn't drive around like a total douche and leer at innocent women walking their dogs while playing even douchier music as loud as his speakers will go) and not only that, my dog was ready to eat your balls as hors d'oeuvres. Better luck trolling the streets of Toledo in the areas where the hood rats walk around.

Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Liquor.

Dear Liquor,

I know this will be a devastating blow to you (as well as to the liquor sales at Flicks). We have such a history, after all. You've comforted me in bad times and amplified my happiness in good times. I owe my "Life Of The Party" title to you, I really do.

But I'm breaking up with you. I just can't see you anymore.

Surely you saw this coming. Didn't you feel my resentment when I would wake up the day after a fun-filled night together and you were still hanging around bringing me down? You're always so much fun in the moment, but you never know when to leave and I don't always know when to quit you.

You've made my 20s quite the party, old friend. Remember when you got me and my friends kicked out of the bar on my birthday because the bartender said my dress was way too short? I would never have had the guts to wear that dress if it weren't for the fact I was imbibing you while I was getting ready to go out.

And who could forget the liquid courage you gave me to sock that nasty blonde in the mouth after she slapped my male friend in his face? I don't fight, nor do I know HOW to fight, Liquor. You gave me brute strength and false courage that night (you also got my hair pulled, as the horrible blonde did not appreciate some dark-haired, pissed off girl walking up and punching her without any warning or explanation whatsoever... but I didn't feel it thanks to you!).

You've made me embrace public nudity, idiocy and all out craziness throughout the years. I will never, ever forget you (neither will my friends- TRUST me).

However. The world only needs one Ke$ha. And while I still have ten months left to wear glitter, I do not want to go skating into my 30s still slamming the hard stuff (although I may need your help coping with easing into my thirtieth year- I don't know how I will deal with it otherwise). There's nothing more unattractive than a woman in her thirties who boozes too much. Plus, by the time I'm in my mid thirties I'm sure I will have children and be far too busy for you, so it's better we part ways now (please note, if I do not in fact have children by my mid-thirties I may beg you to take me back to help me come to terms with my sad, sad life as a cat lady).

Don't be jealous of beer, wine and homemade brandy (yes, there ARE loopholes to my no-liquor rule) who are, for the time being, allowed to remain in my life. They just don't have the same "Holy shit, that's girl's gone batshit crazy!" effect on me that you tend to. Our relationship is toxic, Liquor. It's love-hate and I just can't handle the emotional roller coaster. And it isn't fair to you- you deserve better than me. Go find yourself a girl in her early twenties, one with no responsibilities or conscience who can swill you without throwing up or breaking into the neighbor's pool for a midnight swim. Or drunk dialing her father using a British accent as a prank.

I know you'll be OK. We both knew this day would come, Liquor. I feel bad about dumping you, I really do. I feel just as bad as I did when I was thirteen and realized I had to stop playing with Barbies or become the laughingstock of the entire junior high. But as it was when I put Barbie in her suitcase, this is for the best.

XOXOXOXO
Amanda