A is for Alcohol

In the throes of serious heartburn, I have decided to issue a moratorium on alcohol consumption for the workweek ahead. This moratorium is, of course, only applicable to me. I have to say that I feel some slight sense of admiration for those people stoic or stubborn enough to withstand daily drinking for longer than the span of a holiday weekend. Clearly I am not one of those people.

Living in Austin, being as yet still in my twenties, and enjoying close proximity to downtown, I felt more than usual in the spirit of St. Patrick's Day this year. I didn't go out to bars - it was, after all, a Thursday, and just seeing the crowds of green-clad tourists clustered around 6th street made me hurry home after work - but I bought some Guinness, as well as a small bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream, for a cupcake recipe. Of course, the cupcakes only required a half cup of the stout, so I was able to freely enjoy the rest of it in unadulterated form. And I did.

Just as I enjoyed the Dos Equis and scotch-and-Diet Coke at Maggie Mae's during the free Aussie BBQ showcase, the cocktails at the Driskill, the additional beers at the Swan Dive, the Spring Folly variety pack of New Belgium ales that I bought when my cousin arrived in town, the Budweiser 55 calorie beer she bought, and this past weekend's Abita beer binge thanks to a friend's housewarming party.

Obviously, if it is there, I will drink it.  To my discomfort.



One of my many New Year's resolutions this year (of which, so far, I have been almost entirely faithful to two, halfway faithful to one, and completely fickle as far as the others go) was to quit drinking soda. Aside from the aforementioned Scotch and Diet Coke, which in my defense was a) in a small plastic cup, b) containing minimal Diet Coke, c) shared with Marisa and d) purchased for us by an Australian drummer, I have stayed true to shunning soda since the first of the year. I wonder, though, if that effort is strengthening my will and establishing good habits, or if in fact I am using up enough of my finite willpower that my subconscious animal brain is trying to find a way to rebel. You want self-improvement? Hah! I'll show you self improvement. Think it's bad being an overweight television addict? How'd you like to become an alcoholic to boot?

Well, tough, reptile brain. You don't get to call all the shots, dopamine receptors. You're getting the kibosh for at least the next five days. The beer in the fridge will keep.