The picture was taken at Lake Mead near Las Vegas on 4th of July, circa 1985-ish. Those guys in the picture were party ANIMALS. And that's me, on the far right. Pretty cute, huh?
For these long weekends, we typically rented a houseboat, parked it in some remote cove on the far reaches of the lake, and proceeded to party our brains out.
We would ski...
... from dawn until dusk, or until we were too drunk to stand up.We always ate plenty of food - pasta, fruit salad, watermelon, and burgers.
We blasted music all weekend: Jimmy Buffett, Rolling Stones, Chicago (most of these friends grew up in Chicago, so they loved the band), Led Zeppelin, Journey, and Eric Clapton.
We smoked pot and snorted coke. And we drank... WOW, did we drink. Margaritas, mostly. Plenty of tequila flowed ever-so-freely. Beer, wine coolers, bloody mary's, and screwdrivers. But mostly margaritas.
And on the 4th of July...
...we all climbed up on the top of the houseboat -- drunk, stoned, sunburned, and worn out -- and we oooo'ed and aaahhhhh'ed as fireworks lit up the night sky over Las Vegas.
Those were the days when drinking was still fun.
Laughter, music, food, friends, and fun! I have years of irresponsible, irrational, irresistible memories.
But there was bad stuff, too, though...
Typically, someone fell overboard into the lake and required rescuing. Someone else got in a fight with their weekend partner and spent the night sleeping alone on the sand by the water. And, of course, someone would always hook up with a life-long friend for a night of gratuitous sex, with the understanding that all would be forgiven in the morning. (Forgiven... and never forgotten.)
Each year for the past 16 years, I become less and less restless, irritable, and discontent on the 4th of July.
There's still a serious party girl inside this 53-year old body. Sometimes I still long to cut loose... to party like it's 1999... or 2999, I guess.
Sometimes I think I would love to be there again at one of those blow-outs, where the office is left far, far behind along with all my other responsibilities. But I can't go back, and I know it. I can't ever drink again. And that's okay!
I no longer believe the lie in my head that tries to convince me it could be fun again. The truth is, I wouldn't go back now even if I could. I treasure my sober life, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Now, 4th of July is comfortable. No more longing or restlessness. The party-girl inside me is no longer banging on the walls of my soul, demanding to come out and play.
Today, here's what I do:
I go to AA meetings and try to hook up with someone who IS restless, irritable, and discontent just like I used to be. I try to lend a helping hand, a listening ear, an empathetic heart, and a little bit of know-how so that person can get through the 4th of July weekend without picking up a drink. This year, I actually get to chair an AA meeting on the 4th of July.
As a result, I've been able to stay sober for 16 4th of Julys in a row, counting this Saturday. It's a pretty cool deal.
Party on, dude! 
Happy 4th everybody!
Karen
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