Wednesday, December 31, 2014

     It’s New Years Eve, and I can’t drink. It really doesn’t matter why, the question arises: Who cares? I care. Imagine getting all psyched for a big celebration and filling your champagne glass with Arnold Palmer. Now if Arnold were a fold up 40-year-old with a tight ass who jumps out of the glass just as you’re ready to take a sip, fine. If it’s the AP that’s sold in silver cans full of sweet shit with zero calories, no nutrients, caffeine and ZERO alcohol, then you’re screwed.

     I’d like to say I’m over it. It’s been ten days, and my AP has served me well. That may not sound like a big sacrifice to some, but for those of us on the party circuit, it sucks. At lunch today, the restaurant manager came over and said, “Champagne tonight?” I wanted to wipe the friendly grin off her face with her effen garlic biscuit, but I held my temper and smiled politely biting my tongue. Mr. Wonderful gave her a lame smirk and stuffed another garlic bite in his craw. I hadn’t even thought about not being able to buzz  on the bubbly at midnight until she brought it up. Thanks, lady.

     I have come to realize that our entire life revolves around activities that demand alcohol:   tail gates, wine tastings, birthday celebrations, graduations, the 19th hole, March Madness Monday--it’s all about the waste(d). 

     My former personal trainer tried to convince me that every ounce of the yummy I drank would go directly to my abs. After spending what seemed like four hours doing crunches, all I could do with that statement was growl.  Even though I no longer work with him, his words haunt me. Good thing, as it’s one more motivation to be “good."This kind of “good” was not on my self-improvement list. In fact, I figured that once I got thin, fit, educated and pleasured, alcohol was the prize. Guess not.

     Y’all have a wonderful time raising those glasses. Don’t worry about me--I’ll be fine. I will not wake up in the middle of the night with a headache or a guilt trip. I will not have an extra two pounds of water weight around my tiny waist. I will not have lost brain cells, and I will not have spent an extra $40 plus tip for my dinner. I will also be bored as hell and have no friends. Some choice.

(Sung to the tune of Auld Lang Syne)
For fine wine bottles of the past
I don’t want on my mind
For buttery red and sparkling white
oh, please don’t be unkind.

For I loved wine and cosmos too
I drank them in my prime
I miss the fizz, the nose and taste
now my drinks all taste like slime.

Poor me, Poor me, Oh, how I’m sad
I wish that I could drink
Oh, party on, my friends of old

I think I’ll call my shrink:)