I’ve been working on this little project at home for the last couple of days.
Finishing all my beer.
It’s not as crazy as it sounds, there was only eight to begin with.
I was inspired by a couple of factors:
– Recently, on my weekend, I read a blog entry of this blog buddy of mine about his month of dialed-back-drinking.
It was the second friend-quaintance to tell me about their Octsober. If they can do a month, I can do seven-ish days.
– I’ve got my company’s annual leadership seminar coming up in two weeks. Wouldn’t hurt to shed a little bloat beforehand.
– This weekend starts the Gay Christmas celebrations and I – once again – have no plans or intent to celebrate the gay high holiday. But I do enjoy my casual glimpses of the festivities.
– There’s this drunk kid on my MAX into work that is pretty lit – his word – who is escorting his two female friends to the airport.
When I first boarded, I thought it was The Wallpaper, actually. Mexican, mad-dimples and I’d seen on The Facebook that he’d also been out celebrating last night with several female friends, so I was kinda attenuated.
Oh, plus we totally screwed when I got on. He locked eyes with me and while I mentally processed that it wasn’t The Wallpaper, I could tell exactly what was going through his overly-relaxed mind.
It’s not as daunting a task as I made my Dry Week prep sound. I had three beers last night, the final one with my melatonin so I could sleep through the Halloween party in the first floor courtyard of my building.
Then I got a solid six hours of sleep.
Two hours of sleep per beer. That ain’t bad.
Saturday, though…phew. That was a crazy night.
My big nights recently have been four beer maximums. So, that fifth beer was a total party at Chez Galby. But it was a late night, too. I got home from an impromptu bike ride at 7:30, cracked a beer and stretched.
Then I showered, made dinner and over the next several hours I watched two movies, drank four more beers and went to bed at 1:00.
Wild times for Myrtle and me.
Then I was awakened at 6:00 by a work phone call, making my sleep:beer ratio one.
BTW, The Wallpaper’s doppelgänger is 20.
Jesus. Inappropriate sexual frustration. What a way to start a Dry Week.
Oh, he’s a college sophomore…that sounds less letchy.