Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Lesson Learned!

I realize that as we wander through our pointless little existences, we should probably occasionally pay attention and try to learn the lessons that life seems to be trying to teach us, but sometimes I get a little confused.

I recently stopped drinking beer for a few weeks, for a couple of reasons, not the least of which was that I seemed to be getting a little soft around the waistline. I am by no means what anyone would call athletic, but I don’t want to have to buy a bunch of new clothes, either, so it seemed like losing a few pounds was in order.

After days of exhaustive research, I discovered a plethora of methods for achieving my goal; unfortunately, most were cost-prohibitive, as my obviously-insufficient health insurance carrier refused to cover liposuction, gastrointestinal bypass, stomach stapling, or any of the other logical (and only mildly intrusive) choices. That left either increasing my level of exercise or changing my dietary habits, and those of you who know me are familiar with my aversion to physical activity – the former was clearly not an option.

So beer-cation it was! Three and a half goddamn weeks without those empty calories, three and a half goddamn weeks of weighing myself every morning, and … nothing. Not one goddamn pound lost. I was understandably confused, and certainly disappointed, but I recognize a lost cause when I see it*, and as wiser men than I have said, “Fool me once, shame on you … continue to not enjoy frosty cold adult beverages when there are no discernable benefits, shame on me.”

And so on Friday, and throughout the just-passed weekend, I had myself a beer or three, resigning myself to a future of doughboyish softness, and trying to maintain something of a good attitude by telling myself that at least my smokin-hot ass was holding its shape (though all the while avoiding full-length mirrors, of course).

Monday finally arrived, and just for kicks, I walked down to the basement at my place of employment where the scale is kept. Three pounds gone. Three pounds gone! It was a Christmas National Fettucini Alfredo Day Miracle! Furthermore, those three pounds took me below a certain integer multiple of 100 pounds, which, while entirely arbitrary, was still something of a convenient benchmark and all the more rewarding.

So back to my original thesis of learning life’s lessons and all that: What the hell am I supposed to take away from all of this? Drinking = good = skinny? Being a data-driven objectivist, I know that the numbers don’t lie, so I guess I’ll just have to accept that, as much as it pains me.

It's tough being so rational sometimes.

* No, I don’t. I really, really don’t.

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