The single glass of wine with dinner . . . the cold beer on a hot day . . . the champagne flute raised in a toast . . . what I'd drink if Hunter S. Thompson wanted to get wasted with me . . . these are my fantasies lately. Too bad I've gone sober. When Sacha Z. Scoblic was drinking, she was a rock star; the days were rough and the nights filled with laughter and blackouts. Then she gave it up. She had to. Here are her adventures in an utterly and maddeningly sober world . . . and how she discovered that nothing is as odd and fantastic as life without a drink in hand . . .
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