This past week has been so arduous.

I was supposed to detox this week and save my skin but I learned it’s never a good idea to commence a detox on the same week as a national holiday. I celebrated our country’s independence by lamenting the fact that I still can’t get a green card and drowning said sorrows in copious glasses of maker’s mark–the alien’s drink of choice.

On Tuesday I meet up with my friend Sarah and her friend’s at Sapa for their luscious happy hour (which I do not partake in…still in detox mode). I try not to salivate as my friends sip cool, crisp martinis. I stare at my depressing glass of virgin bloody mary. Oh, and my drink ends up being the most expensive item on the bill. 8 dollars versus their $5 martinis. Note to self: It is never a good idea to detox.

We then head over to La Palapa where I am still in detox mode. My friends order ginger margaritas. I cry in my glass of water.

My friend Ursy calls me around 10 and tells me she is at Xunta, a Spanish tapas restaurant on first avenue. I head over and am so ravenous I’m ready to eat a small, Mexican bus boy. I have some bread instead. Oh, and a glass of red wine. This commences the downward spiral of the evening. I have a plate of dates wrapped in bacon and cheese and do not share with anyone even though the whole philosophy behind tapas is being charitable with your food.

Then we head to this bar near Union Square and meet up with more friends. I have about two glasses of maker’s mark ON ICE. I figure it’s not so bad because the ice will eventually melt…

We end the night at 205 bar where I start dancing in the middle of the dance floor. The DJ starts playing some wackass techno and I go up to a burly bouncer and ask, “Can they play some hip hop?” He replies: “I wish.”

The rest of the week is pretty much in the same vein. I celebrate the 4th with hoegardens and ribs. Friday is spent at Elephant restaurant eating pork chops and duck with egg noodles. Then the rest of the weekend is a getaway at my friend Sabbie’s place in Jersey where we worked on our “Jersey tans” (meaning we wanted to get as dark as the Northeast suburban sun would allow) and eat pounds of pork.

I love the summer.