Just about everybody in Los Angeles owes me a drink…

My best friend Kim and I were talking the other day about some of the crazy things I did when I was drinking.  She was planning a trip to Los Angeles to visit her daughter, and this came up:*

“Mare, remember the time you had the party at the W Hotel in Los Angeles?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“Do you even know anyone in Los Angeles?”

“Not really.  It was kind of like Risky Business, everyone brought their friends.  David Lee Roth was there,” I said.

“Didn’t they drink up all the liquor and then empty the mini-bar?”

“Two mini-bars.  It was a suite.  I got so drunk I went to bed at like nine o’clock, and in the morning it was like a movie – stockings hanging from the chandelier, someone’s shoe on the balcony, trash everywhere and both mini-bars with the doors wide open and ransacked.  It was like I’d been robbed. “

“My God.  My husband won’t even let me get a water out of the mini-bar.  How much did that cost?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” I said.  “I didn’t even look at the bill.  But a pack of M&M’s was like $12.00, so probably a lot.”

“I think there might be something else wrong with you – other than being an alcoholic,” she said.

And like many things Kim says, that got me thinking…

Is it possible, dear reader, that I’m going to go through the colossal HASSLE of getting sober just to find out I’ve been self medicating a “BIGGER PROBLEM”?