1/09/2007
Beerless
When I was in high school, my buddy Gibby once said “Al doesn’t need a girlfriend. He has beer.”
And for the last ten years, this has been mostly true. Sure, there have been a few girlfriends, but those were mostly for lazy, regular sex and to keep my mom from thinking that I’m gay (I’m still not sure she’s convinced), but at the end of the day, there was always beer.
A cold can of Busch on a hot July afternoon.
A pint of Newcastle to help melt the snow off of my boots in a dimly lit pub during January.
A bottle of Sammy Adams Octoberfest while grilling some burgers on a crisp Saturday in the fall.
There was always beer. And I fucking loved it.
And with that, and with great sadness, I tell you this:
I’m giving up beer for the rest of the year.*
See, The Lady Friend and I are getting hitched on a beach, and I would like nothing more than to wear a linen suit with no shirt underneath during the ceremony.** If I tried to pull a sans-shirt in my current state, I’m pretty sure someone would throw up. So in an effort to drop about twenty pounds and get down to my playing weight of 165*** I’m cutting beer and all of its empty calories^ out of my ’07 plans.^^
To have a proper bon voyage to suds, I enjoyed an extremely gluttonous weekend (even by my standards) where I drank: 12 2-Belows (which if I had ever tried before, there is no way I would have been willing to give up on beer for the next 12 months. This shit is unreal), a six of 1554, a sixer of Boulevard Wheat, and a few Blue Moons mixed in for good measure.
Sure, drinking 30-ish beers over a weekend probably isn’t the best way to start a quasi-diet, but then again, shut up. If I have to give up one of the great loves of my life (all for the slim chance that I can get married topless? Good Lord, Al.), I wanted to have one last unhinged, overindulged weekend with them.
And, as much as it pains me to say this, it’s over.
Late Sunday night, as I poured my last Boulevard and got ready to call it a night, I contemplated putting on “It’s so Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday” by Boyz II Men and having a good cry. Instead, I watched Wrestlemania VII and passed the fuck out.
Which, in a way, correctly ends the weird, ridiculous relationship that beer and I have had lo this past decade. So, um... Whatever.
(And the irony that there is thousand island dressing dripping onto my keyboard from the Reuben that I am currently devouring while I write a boring post about losing weight is fucking delicious, thank you very much.)
*Except when watching baseball games. If I don’t drink beer while at Busch, the terrorists will have won.
**I highly, highly doubt anyone will actually let this happen, but a man can dream, no?
***I have no idea what “playing weight” really means (I think Jake Taylor talked about it in “Major League II”), but I’ve always wanted to say it.
^Amazingly fucking delicious empty calories.
^^These footnotes are really annoying.
And for the last ten years, this has been mostly true. Sure, there have been a few girlfriends, but those were mostly for lazy, regular sex and to keep my mom from thinking that I’m gay (I’m still not sure she’s convinced), but at the end of the day, there was always beer.
A cold can of Busch on a hot July afternoon.
A pint of Newcastle to help melt the snow off of my boots in a dimly lit pub during January.
A bottle of Sammy Adams Octoberfest while grilling some burgers on a crisp Saturday in the fall.
There was always beer. And I fucking loved it.
And with that, and with great sadness, I tell you this:
I’m giving up beer for the rest of the year.*
See, The Lady Friend and I are getting hitched on a beach, and I would like nothing more than to wear a linen suit with no shirt underneath during the ceremony.** If I tried to pull a sans-shirt in my current state, I’m pretty sure someone would throw up. So in an effort to drop about twenty pounds and get down to my playing weight of 165*** I’m cutting beer and all of its empty calories^ out of my ’07 plans.^^
To have a proper bon voyage to suds, I enjoyed an extremely gluttonous weekend (even by my standards) where I drank: 12 2-Belows (which if I had ever tried before, there is no way I would have been willing to give up on beer for the next 12 months. This shit is unreal), a six of 1554, a sixer of Boulevard Wheat, and a few Blue Moons mixed in for good measure.
Sure, drinking 30-ish beers over a weekend probably isn’t the best way to start a quasi-diet, but then again, shut up. If I have to give up one of the great loves of my life (all for the slim chance that I can get married topless? Good Lord, Al.), I wanted to have one last unhinged, overindulged weekend with them.
And, as much as it pains me to say this, it’s over.
Late Sunday night, as I poured my last Boulevard and got ready to call it a night, I contemplated putting on “It’s so Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday” by Boyz II Men and having a good cry. Instead, I watched Wrestlemania VII and passed the fuck out.
Which, in a way, correctly ends the weird, ridiculous relationship that beer and I have had lo this past decade. So, um... Whatever.
(And the irony that there is thousand island dressing dripping onto my keyboard from the Reuben that I am currently devouring while I write a boring post about losing weight is fucking delicious, thank you very much.)
*Except when watching baseball games. If I don’t drink beer while at Busch, the terrorists will have won.
**I highly, highly doubt anyone will actually let this happen, but a man can dream, no?
***I have no idea what “playing weight” really means (I think Jake Taylor talked about it in “Major League II”), but I’ve always wanted to say it.
^Amazingly fucking delicious empty calories.
^^These footnotes are really annoying.
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In other news...A-B stock dropped 12 points after first quarter projections were mysteriously lowered.
does that mean i get to wear a linen shirt 2?! you can get me that instead of the iphone.
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