Monday, August 09, 2004
The Experiment
I have made a decision, effective yesterday. Aside from a glass of wine to compliment a nice dinner, I'm giving up alcohol for the rest of the month. It will very much be an experiment. There isn't really any one event or moment that I can point to that made me commit to this. Just a very damaging trend that's been building for a very long time.
Saturday night was an awesome time. A friend of mine from work had her birthday party at a this bar, classy place, Cafe Noura. Tons of people there and the beverages were flowing. The layout to this place is fairly deceptive. At first, you don't realize how deep the bar extends. It flows seamlessly from outdoor patios to cozy interiors. You'd better have excellent depth perception if you're going there because everything is lined with mirrors. You would be amazed at how many drunks that night walked face first into a wall. I can proudly say that I wasn't one of them, however, I was heavily intoxicated. Add the heavy pre-partying beforehand and I was pretty lit. Have no fear, folks, there was no driving on my part. We took cabs everywhere. That includes one ride up to the Hollywood Hills for an "after party" that was a big "waste of time." Regardless, I end up back at home and crash some time after 5 a.m.
I'm not conscious again 'til I get a phone call alerting me that it's 1 o'clock and people have already begun showing up for the barbecue my housemates and I are hosting. What do I do? I shrug it off, fall back asleep. My head is pounding and there's no way I can deal with lots of people right then. About 45 minutes later, I stir awake and lay motionless in the middle of my queen size bed, my khakis and belt from the night before still on. As I lie there I think to myself, "No one should be drinking as much whiskey as I regularly do. No one." I never got sick, but I felt like shit. This is killing me both financially and literally. Again, there's no one thing I can single out for me making this choice, but those few minutes in bed before I dragged my sorry ass into the shower seemed to be the clincher. I guzzled water yesterday like my life depended on it and I was fine with that.
The BBQ, incidentally, went off splendidly.
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Saturday night was an awesome time. A friend of mine from work had her birthday party at a this bar, classy place, Cafe Noura. Tons of people there and the beverages were flowing. The layout to this place is fairly deceptive. At first, you don't realize how deep the bar extends. It flows seamlessly from outdoor patios to cozy interiors. You'd better have excellent depth perception if you're going there because everything is lined with mirrors. You would be amazed at how many drunks that night walked face first into a wall. I can proudly say that I wasn't one of them, however, I was heavily intoxicated. Add the heavy pre-partying beforehand and I was pretty lit. Have no fear, folks, there was no driving on my part. We took cabs everywhere. That includes one ride up to the Hollywood Hills for an "after party" that was a big "waste of time." Regardless, I end up back at home and crash some time after 5 a.m.
I'm not conscious again 'til I get a phone call alerting me that it's 1 o'clock and people have already begun showing up for the barbecue my housemates and I are hosting. What do I do? I shrug it off, fall back asleep. My head is pounding and there's no way I can deal with lots of people right then. About 45 minutes later, I stir awake and lay motionless in the middle of my queen size bed, my khakis and belt from the night before still on. As I lie there I think to myself, "No one should be drinking as much whiskey as I regularly do. No one." I never got sick, but I felt like shit. This is killing me both financially and literally. Again, there's no one thing I can single out for me making this choice, but those few minutes in bed before I dragged my sorry ass into the shower seemed to be the clincher. I guzzled water yesterday like my life depended on it and I was fine with that.
The BBQ, incidentally, went off splendidly.
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