  Today, my night will be like any other night - except for the singing transvestites and chocolate mousse-filled Prada shoes. Tonight, I am attending a bachelorette party for my friend Alice at the esteemed drag show restaurant, Lucky Cheng's. The evening promises to feature debauchery and mayhem. The evening also promises to feature me nursing one martini for six hours. Though I have never been a big drinker, I have sunk to new liquor tolerance lows. A waft of rubbing alcohol will often result in my dancing on a table. The opportunities for free mass consumption of drinks have waned since graduating from college. And with it, my tolerance. I'm not that heartbroken quite frankly. While others are vomiting in the corner of bars and grinding against men named Guadalupe (not that the majority of people drink to this state), I will remain vomit- and grind-free at the end of the night.
Some people glance at me curiously at social events when I am clutching a diet Coke with straw in a room full of gin and tonics. But I would rather be viewed as a girl who potentially collects My Little Ponies than have my head and heart explode (upon drinking, my head heats up and my heart feels like it's auditioning for the play "Stomp") to socially drink with everyone else. Besides. Someone has to drive your drunk a** home. 
