Category Archives: Funny

Social Distancing: Why I'm loving the Corona Virus

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When I first heard about the Corona Virus some time in January, I had no idea it would turn out to be so serious. The name itself threw me off, after all, it was literally named after the friendliest beer. I mean, when you picture yourself soaking in the sun on some pristine beach in the Carribbean, you see yourself drinking a Corona, not a Schlenkeria (or some other German beer with way too many consonants). A few months down the line and here I am, barricaded in my house with my family, and yet, despite the gravity of the situation, there are many things I’m very thankful for about this pandemic. 

These days, I only venture out for groceries but when I’m there, if I feel a cough coming on, I panic and do everything to try to hold it in. And its not like holding in a fart, this is much tougher, especially as I’m allergic to dust and that’s pretty unavoidable. I’ve been in many awkward situations where my allergies get me death stares and eye ball judgement. Although it does wonders if you need to clear a path somewhere. Who needs to say ‘Excuse me’ when you can just cough. It’s almost like having a superpower.

I never thought I would see the day where coughing would raise more eyebrows and instill more fear than a weapon or good old fashioned indecent exposure. I think you could actually hold up a bank nowadays by just coughing your way to the safe and spitting sputum on the cashier clerks. I can see it now, a burglar enters a bank where everyone is wearing face masks, removes his and yells “All your money or I’ll sneeze!”

The social distancing aspect if by far the greatest bonus. For years and years I have been searching for an excuse to avoid some people like the plague, and lo and behold, the universe sends me an actual plague! There are a certain number of mouth-breathing, incessant talking, sewage breath folks that I’m delighted to never have to hug or mingle with again. It’s wonderful; now when I see these folks, I do my special “Corona Dance”; I throw my hands up in the air like I’m under arrest and I wiggle my ass backwards until said person blends into the horizon, singing “Sorry, have to be careful, I have asthma” as I disappear into the distance, forever. 

As Covid-19 began to really impact healthcare infrastructures and societies started shutting down, the gravity of this apocalypse hurtled at me with full force. In particular, the closing of schools was a shock to the system. I believe my exact words to my husband were “Shoot me in the ass because I’m sure that will hurt less”. Gone were the days of having my morning coffee after dropping my toddler at nursery by lazing on the couch and fantasizing about my pulitzer award. Now it was back to chug your coffee cold while you distract young demon with the theory of relativity, or a balloon. 

But as the first week passed, we both settled into the new reality and I am really loving the extra bonding time. Now we play, laugh and cry together and every day is a new opportunity to try and find new fun activities we can do at home and alone. Seriously, if anyone ever wanted to train their young ones to be successful serial killers, you won’t get another opportunity like this. 

There are many benefits to flattening the curve, and I’m not just referring to my shape. The planet is getting a much needed break from some fleas, families all over the globe are discovering that maybe they should have opted for condoms, and introvert alcoholics are finally venerated with a lifestyle most will condone. So take comfort and know that it’s ok; we’re all in this, alone. 

BeastFeeding: The Untold

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No, that wasn’t a typo. I absolutely meant beast-feeding because for the first month or two your babe is pretty much that; a beast. And not just any run of the mill beast, but a boob connoisseur with poor latching skills and a temper to match Hannibal Lecter’s.

There are many things women don’t really talk about when it comes to making life. They don’t talk about stitches in, excuse the pun, unholy places, they don’t talk about the unbearable depression that reigns over you and they certainly don’t talk about the first month of hell that comes with breastfeeding.

The situation is so widespread that there are actual Lactation Consultants out there. The first time I heard of such a thing, I was on the floor. But my laughter quickly disappeared when my son arrived and I learned that he (and I) needed professional help for what seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Many like to market the whole birthing and breastfeeding thing as so natural and intrinsic; they chime away with advice like “oh don’t worry, you’re body will know what to do.” Well what if your body is an idiot?

I had so many issues to deal with that seemed to completely go against nature. For one thing, I had very fast flow (yes, it’s a thing) meaning the poor little guy choked every time he tried to drink and ended up getting very frustrated. On the bright side though, now I’m sure he’ll do great at marathon beer chugging events in college.

I had heard from women that lactating boobies change size, but what I was unprepared for the sheer volume of swelling, engorgement and eventual sagging of the hoohas. So first they inflame to a supernatural size so that you look like you are wearing pool floaters all the time, which is dangerous if you decide to take a cruise because you will be passed up for a life vest.Then you have wonderful instances of ‘hard boob’ when you miss a feeding; which is literally the pressure from too much milk waiting to make its escape. And finally, as the journey nears the end, you notice that men don’t stare at your chest as much as your crotch anymore, because let’s face it, after your dairy production days thats where your gazongas end up. But hey at least now everything is at an even level, making it more convenient for hubby to service you.

Perhaps the worst thing about the early breastfeeding days is the Latch. You’d think only astronauts in space docking multi million dollar shuttles would have to worry about the exact science of the latch. But no, us weary, sleepless, sore and leaking mamas have to as well. It’s such a prominent issue that there is even a league of lactation consultants out there grouped by that name: La Leche League. Can you imagine if it was this difficult to lose your virginity? And there was a whole league of consultants out there called “Le Pop de Fleur”?

Most babies simply don’t know how to latch properly and this can lead to a myriad of problems including bleeding teets, cracked nipples and excruciating pain for mama and frustration for babe. It might sound horrible to many but the silver lining is that with professional help, it can be rectified and you and your spawn can enjoy many months of pain free and beautiful bonding through breastfeeding.

And ultimately, the hurdles are overcome, and the journey becomes a truly enjoyable one. So if you are one of those new mamas and are hating your life, fret not, it truly does get easier and you can enjoy a wonderful bond with your beast and sagging boobies.

Enemies and Enemas

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Life is great, but it’s not all ice creams and summer vacations. During the course of life, you will be faced with two unpleasant and uncomfortable things; enemies and enemas. Both can be painful, degrading, and despite the slight spelling difference, both do belong in your butt.

You probably got acquainted with enemas or suppositories first. I had a real scare when my parents forced my first glycerin bullet up my rear. I can understand why they would want to get this over with as soon as possible, but there’s really no need for the tactic. First, loving mommy and daddy corner you in a locked room. You can already sense the tension in the air by the way they say your name, like nothing and everything is wrong. In a flash, one parent is holding you down while the other exposes your petite derriere to the chilling draft of a fortified room. To add insult to injury, with no warning at all, some pointy thing makes its way inside a hole you so far know only as “Exit”, hereby shattering your belief in constant concepts.

The misery doesn’t end there; your parents have to hold you down for some time otherwise you would just stand up and fart the intruder back in their faces. So you are held down, whimpering, while doting parents shush you like a wild animal about to be put to sleep. After they are satisfied that said slick medication has dissolved, you are allowed your freedom and modesty back (temporarily anyway, till the medication starts its expulsive magic).

Just like suppositories, enemies will present themselves in painful situations in life. They shame you, force you to feel uncomfortable, and will certainly put you in compromising positions. And even if you do eventually become sodomistcally inclined, enemies will always be the more painful of the two.

Luckily though, just as enemas eventually do offer some relief, so too can the snakes that slither around you. One of the greatest things about being in uncomfortable or negative situations is that it can challenge you to brainstorm your way out of it, or find a solution. If you have that one slut in the office whose very pulse causes you to cringe, eventually your inner warrior will find clever ways to avoid/manipulate/kill said germ without leaving a trace.

The journey might be painful, but learning how to make the most even of bad situations is an invaluable skill that can do wonders in the long run. If everything went your way in life instead of against the stream, you’d grow up to be whiny wuss or the subject of many voodoo dolls. The scars help mold you into a stronger, better version of yourself, so welcome those enemas and enemies with open cheeks and arms.

Enemies & Enemas

  • Both are misrepresented by advertising and packaging
  • Both will cost you something, although one is cheaper, and it’s not the one you find on shelves
  • Both work behind the scenes to make you miserable, although one offers faster relief
  • Both are mass produced, although one comes in all shapes and sizes
  • Both are a pain in the ass yet both belong where the sun doesn’t shine

 

enemas

 

 

 

 

Bigger is NOT Better

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No, I’m not talking about men’s love muscles; although obviously anything under 3 inches should be donated to science. I’m talking about the widening sizes of female butts. I get that Kim K caused quite a stir with her transformation into some kind of ass monster, but now that I’m seeing this trend in daily life from normal women not married to Kanye, I’m more than a little creeped out.

I see them at the gym, at the mall, sometimes they block the moon, and many seem to have their own gravitational pull because I just can’t pull my eyes away. The obsession is maddening. If you type “how can I get a big” in Google, the first suggestion is “bigger bum?” The methods are sickening. You can either opt for the healthy route and squat yourself into a slow herniated death, which is fine because at least once you do croak, they can bury you face down for the world to marvel at your luscious cheeks. Or you can go the artificial route and stuff your derriere with anything from silicone, fat, or little children’s dreams.

Either way, there’s a fine line between socially passable and downright cracked (couldn’t resist)-out. If you suffer from ass cheeks that are as limp as a comatose patient’s handshake, then it wouldn’t hurt society if you snuck in a squat or two. However if you have a behind that prevents you from falling into toilets, then opting for an operation to enhance it to the size of a prize stallion’s ass is just demented. Sure, beauty is the eye of the beholder but this trend specifically sprang up because of some lame-o makeshift celebrities and its hurting people; specifically me and my eyes.

Butt implants, aside from being terrifying to human eyes (especially ones connected to functioning brains) do carry some health risks. Sure there are risks with any normal surgery but I’m sure very few run the horrendous notion of ending up with an infected asshole. Yes, see they cut near your glory hole so that there are no scars. Of course this leaves one of your most important orifices for relief at risk of malfunctioning, which could land you in a pile of shit.

It takes about 6 weeks to recover from butt augmentation. For 6 weeks, you should avoid sitting, or your cheeks could either harden or shift (how great would that be; having your ass fat right under your boobs?). The recovery sounds so painfully ridiculous that I’m amazed at its popularity. It’s like waking up to a world where suddenly it’s trending to pull out your own teeth while sober because the geriatric look is dope.

When you have to physically change your body with surgery to (not) fit in, then you have crossed the line from weak willed to blatantly psychotic. Congratulations on your new large ass. Here are your pills, your extra-large thongs, and a husband who will cheat on you with the first Rhinoceros he comes across.

 

ass

Hair We Go Again

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I dread this time.. when the grey starts to sneak out like a guilty teen, when the ends split wider than a porn star’s vagina, and when the frizz gets wilder than an addict at a festival.

What does it mean?

I have to make my way back to the dreaded chair: the HairMesser’s chair.

It’s more common than you think. For every time you see a pretty lady all dolled up with gorgeous locks, know that behind that success there were at least a dozen mishaps with hair dressers when she left the salon looking like raccoons tried to mate with her ideas.

There are just too many awkward facts about going to the hairdresser. Go to a venue once and if you exchange mild pleasantries with one hair dude, you are more bound to him than your husband in matrimony. Heaven forbid you ever dream of trying another guy he works with, whence you are met with the same judgement as trying to convince your husband to let you fuck his best friend.

You have the talkers, whom I just cant keep up with. I mean, when I get to that chair, I just wanna lay back and let the pampering begin. Instead, I’m often faced with a person who wants to talk about politics, the weather, the folly of married life, etc. and this is all fine and dandy, but come my twentieth visit, I have just as much fun faking the enjoyment as I do at 5 am.

The straight ones come with their own drama. You can’t be too friendly otherwise he’ll try to penetrate your ear when you are not paying attention, and contrary to what he might try to convince you of, this will not help with your migraines at all.

Now on to the actual hair. I don’t know what training they give these “artists” but its definitely not on hair. Its sad but most of them will completely forget about what your hair actually needs and try to push the most expensive treatment down your…scalp.

I have very dry hair- chalk it up to years of vacillating between Madonna blonde and Snow White black. Point is that what’s left of the locks are pretty damned fragile and instead of respecting that, every bozo with a hair blower tries to convince me that a 6 hour treatment with BOTOX or chemicals they use to preserve corpses will do wonders for my look. It’s as criminal as visiting your GP and having him recommend a kidney removal because you’ll drop that 0.3 KG that’s bugging you.

Women have to bear with a lot of bad hair before they find the right dresser or routine that will keep most threads on their heads. And while its nice to look at a well put together maiden with each strand in its respectable place, try to afford the poor specimen some sympathy if you spot a gal with way too much frizz and jungle fever going on. After all, she could have just been fending off ear-intercourse.

From ABC to OCD

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Ah, the beautiful carefree spirit of children. They play, they swing, they run amok in all sorts of nooks and crannies. They kiss each other on the mouth, they start their meals with an aperitif of boogers and have absolutely no qualms with grabbing moving insects off the ground to cleanse their budding and innocent palates. Of course this doesn’t last. As we age, we put less and less things in our mouth (some of us, anyways). And invariably, many of us grow into less and less tolerant maniacs. So why does this transformation occur? Are we doomed to climb an upward slope with our placidity until we rot?

I was a messy, messy child. I was a messy, messy young adult. I’m still messy today, albeit less, but I have developed a touch of OCD in weird things and I can’t reconcile this with my character. For instance, if you come over and eat a cookie in my house without a plate, I will literally silently stare and try to memorize where each baked boulder lands, while I plot on disemboweling your loved ones. Then I will spend the rest of the evening with a fake smile, trying to count the nanoseconds till you leave and I can find said bubonic-plague-spreading morsels.

If I visit a public bathroom, I cannot touch the doorknob to leave. I need a tissue shielding me from the cold metal protrusion, from which I am sure I can visibly see creepy crawlies jumping up and down, touching themselves and yelling “Come on sugar! Bring your unsuspecting paw! I just want a ride baby!” Not ten years ago, this was absolutely no issue for me (the doorknobs, not the molesting bacteria, if I had known about those fuckers then, things would have been a whole lot different). Now, if the bathroom is out of tissues, I will literally wait till someone comes in to make my escape. How has this happened?

How did I go from someone who would share a beer with any sort of mammal to a person who cringes when someone takes a sip of my drink? There are very, very few people who I can tolerate sharing any body fluids with, and they include me. Is this a sign of insanity on the horizon? Is this one of many mental disorders that is fated to cloud my future days?

According to research, the shift towards intolerance in older age is linked to the epoch you grew up in as well as atrophy of certain parts of the brain. Additionally, some research shows that “intellectual curiosity tends to decline in old age”, which could support us becoming more and more closed off to certain behaviors. I take offense at that. Partly because I don’t want my intellectual curiosity to go down, and because I don’t agree. If I leave cookie crumbles to rue my house, it is not a sign of the degradation of my intellectual curiosity. Just because I’m not curious as to how many bugs will fester in my furniture doesn’t mean I am any less curious then I was in my 20s. I never once saw a child stuff a bug into its mouth, and while they sat there drooling with one twitching insect limb poking out did I think to myself “Oh what a wonderfully curious creature! Bless it!”

No, kids are stupid; they eat shit off the floor because they don’t know how to live without adult supervision. Many people are bums, and I don’t like cookie shit on my floors because I don’t want to host a free buffet for grimy guests. I like to think of my developing OCD as a glorious sign of my budding character, not a hindering consequence of my greying hair.

Ultimately, change is inevitable and it is a beautiful part of the life cycle. Even if it means you will invite less people over to your house. If you too are showing premature signs of Jack Nicholson levels of OCD, fear not, the road ahead is not all bad. You may end up with less friends but you can relish in the fact that you have less insects and disease in your life.

Also, there are just as many sources that say we become more mellow with age as there are that claim the opposite. The uptake from this is that: 1) we know research doesn’t count for shit and 2) your older days could really go either way.  I say embrace the tide, let the slobs cry over the corpses of their loved ones, let the bacteria keep longing for your skin, and do not go gentle into that good night!

 

crazy-cat

 

 

 

The Science of Stupid

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It’s one thing to believe in Santa when you are young. It’s quite another to grow into a sound adult who shares serious “Santa spotted in Brazil” posts on Facebook based on some asinine source. Day in and day out, I am simply astounded by the sheer amount of bull manure that is shared on social media and defended as fact. Unfortunately, not only has news reporting become sullied by sensationalism and outright deceit, but science is having her day in the pit as well thanks to those who perpetuate false claims.

At school, we were taught the difference between fact and fiction. But more important now is the difference between fact and opinion. The world has become inundated with self-proclaimed experts that spew out garbage with throngs of drones just accepting whatever shit comes their way. Just because you’ve experienced something doesn’t give you the right to suddenly claim to be an expert and start spreading your ignorance around. If that were the case, I would attach ‘tequila connoisseur’ to my name on all official documents, and roam the earth sucking up agave liquor from all the finest venues. Yet just because I consume industrial amounts doesn’t mean I get to be interviewed about the atomic differences between brands.

Study has become a greatly abused word today. Reporters and people hide behind the title to make outrageous claims that are too absurd for words. How is it possible that there are still people that don’t know the difference between satire, blogs and science reports? For a very succinct and hilarious explanation of the problem, please watch this awesome video by one of my heroes; John Oliver (Here). Essentially, it boils down to the fact that research studies sometimes have misleading or catchy headlines that get completely blown out of proportion by traditional media.

And it’s not like science isn’t sexy enough on its own. Ever watched ‘How the Universe works’ or Morgan Freeman’s Through the Wormhole? That shit is literally so cool it hurts to understand.  The world around us is astounding, the way nature works on our planet and off it are simply beyond wonder. Do we really need to latch on to stupid claims about how smelling farts cures cancer? Or how the vibrational energy in my heart will soothe your throbbing hemorrhoids?

It’s one thing to want to believe, but it’s another to not only buy the lies but spread them as well. Sure, I would love to live in a world where instead of chemo all I had to do was sniff some butts to heal, but that’s not the way it works. If you are going to start defending a claim, please make sure it comes from a recognized scientific source, not a blog. When I was studying history in university, I remember one teacher constantly hammering us with “check your sources, check your sources, check your sources” over and over. This person needs to start a religion because there are bucket loads of morons that believe just about anything today.

If it seems like I’m coming off kinda mean, I’m not. There is a study that has actually honed down our Bullshit Receptivity Scale and how it relates to our intelligence. If you are in doubt that you may yourself be a victim of this, simply apply the scientific method to whatever you are in doubt of and you will be on your way. For example, let’s say my friend Jerome tells Cinderella “hey Cinderella, did you know that licking cows makes you lose weight?” Cinderella is excited, because who the fuck enjoys actual dieting? Cinderella goes to a farm, weighs herself, and then licks some cows. After a few of these sessions, she notices no change in her weight, however she has developed a fever. What does Cinderella conclude? That Jerome is an asshole.

Enough ignorance. Ignorance is at the root of all evil in our world today and we begin to change the universe by changing ourselves, and I don’t mean what you’re wearing, I mean from within. If you can search for porn on the internet, then you are capable of deciphering what’s fact from what’s drivel. Part of our definition as humans is that we have the intellectual capacity for critical thinking. If you don’t apply it, you might as well walk around with a bell around your neck, and a ‘beef’ stamp on your ass.

stupid

Uncensored Adult Play

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A big trend that had adults spinning in circles (literally) over the last year is Hula Hooping. If you attend outdoor music festivals or similar events, you will undoubtedly come across a bunch of adults playing with hoops. These large gaping holes come in a rich array of eye-catching colors, sizes and some even light up. While it is all very beautiful and mesmerizing to watch, what really struck me was when a friend of mine commented, “I think it’s become so popular now because we don’t play anymore as adults.”

It’s sad but true. When we were kids, our parents could throw us on a sandy beach with a bucket and we would be entertained for hours. 20 years later, on that same beach, we might still use the bucket but only to transport industrial amounts of alcohol in it, as we lay like beached mammals passively sunning ourselves, and worrying about getting sand in our lives. Don’t get me wrong, the booze is great, but it shouldn’t be the only accessory to adult play.

Luckily though, not all youthful games have been buried with our childhood. Hula Hoops are back with a vengeance, and apparently if adults are going to hoop, they are going to do it with flair. I personally took up hooping a few months ago and I looked into purchasing an LED hoop. If you’ve seen one of these bad boys in action, you won’t bother asking why. It is literally like opening a portal to another dimension where rainbows give birth. The price tags on some of these items are a little steep, though. On a certain website, one particularly bright, pulsating circle of retina-burning colors ran for nearly 300$!  Sure you could get cheaper hoops, but without the threat of a seizure, where was the fun?

What surprised me was the sheer number of items on this site specifically made for us grown-ups to mess about. I stumbled across an LED Levitation Wand; a pulsating stick you manipulate through a string that goes around your finger so that it literally looks like you are a wizard, playing with your wand. It was very touching to find that there were still manufacturers out there driven to nurture our imagination (and scare or fascinate intoxicated souls with an electric orgy of night-stabbing LED).

The market for grown-up entertainment certainly seems to be burgeoning. Another activity that has exploded recently is the adult coloring book. It seems that overnight, the trend swept the globe and many of us clamored to buy our pens and books and proceeded to relive our youthful pastimes. Dubbed as part of the “Peter Pan Market” by The New Yorker, it is clear that playtime for adults is catching on as a positive, growing trend.

I looked into the benefits of adult play and after dodging a few porn sites, I finally found substantial evidence that play is good for grown-ups. Play makes us happy, releases pent up energy, nurtures our creativity, and essentially separates us from drones. If we neglect our play, we will undoubtedly evolve into uninspired, dull, foul breathed Vogons from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Some of us have already transformed; I face many a corporate Vogon who spend most of their time fretting over idiotic things like the historical significance of paper clips while strapped to modern-day torture devices called office chairs, while a whole universe exists outside their window.

It doesn’t have to be hooping. If you can’t bear the thought of being silly in public, there are other activities you can pursue. Yet if you can commit yourself to a few hours of play a week, you will soon become a happier, healthier person. Just be wary when you search for “adult toys” on the internet.

silly vogon

Ode to Idiot

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There’s a lot to be said about your inner idiot. It’s a side we all have, and one that society needs, really. Let me differentiate off the bat; I’m referring to the fun loving, let-me-make-an-ass-of-me-self, yes I’ll have 18 more shots, sure I’ll squirt lemon in that lion’s eye-kind of idiot. I am resolutely not talking about the authentic Grade A idiots; the ones that believe everything on the internet, think that a plant in the desert can cure cancer, or the ones that think that their face massager is fooling anyone. Clear distinction. An easy way to tell off the bat is that real idiots don’t laugh at themselves, take themselves more seriously than science, and generally illicit a lot of gore and violence in us awesome folks.

Now getting back to the former kind of idiot, here’s why society needs this awesome guy. I’m sure most of us agree that what we do during the week does not represent who we truly are. We work hard. We smile at people we fantasize about stabbing with pens. We show respect to people we wouldn’t pee on if they were on fire. It’s a five day cycle of repression and spirit breaking. Well maybe not all days and all weeks are like that, but a big part of it is.

Luckily these cycles of hell are dotted with 2 day breaks where you can escape the asinine meetings and bad breath to escape to a world of friends, intoxication and expression through dance. While I don’t condone destroying your health every single weekend, there is something to be said for the therapeutic value of indulging in your idiotic roots every now and again. I recently celebrated in the desert and I absolutely let myself go. I distinctly remember the moment. I was surrounded by strangers, I was way too many shots in to care and the tension I had been nurturing from the office was making the muscles on my back cramp. And I said to myself “tonight, I let go. Tonight I don’t give a fuck. Hide your kids.”

As soon as the decision was made, I descended into the abyss of madness. It was glorious. I spoke of STDs, I ran amok with dogs, I made racially questionable statements, I harassed the innocent bystanders, I flooded my vicinity with screams and howls and I let it all hang out.

The next morning, when I regained consciousness, I felt a tangible difference in how relieved I was, physically, mentally and spiritually. Sure I lost my voice and my dignity, but I was reborn, rejuvenated and ready to face more clashes with the Grade A idiots that I was bound to encounter.

Returning back to society was discernibly easier; it was akin to bursting through the womb. I had to gasp to take my first breath but despite being covered in amniotic fluid, I was physically ready to climb the ladder of life. It made me realize; we all need to nurture our inner idiots once in a while, for our own and society’s sake. You can’t conform to a dysfunctional societal structure without breaking the norm sporadically and mooning strangers. So in the interest of humanity, the next time you encounter an idiot raving about, give them a hug, and hide your butt while you walk away.

inner idiot

I’d like a skinny bitch, please

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I’m actually referring to the drink here; vodka and soda water. Yeah, it’s a thing. My husband, aka the long and lean noodle, has it almost exclusively. I, on the other hand, prefer shorter drinks that usually have traces of worm in them and leave you so confused and delirious by the end of the night that you end up having conversations about religion with plants. I’m absolutely fine with this state, what I’m not fine with is banning alcohol abuse from diets.

On my 4th week of a strict atoms-only meal plan, I began to miss my drunken escapades with society’s refugees. Diets are as varied as the people who need them, yet most of them explicitly ban most traces of good-times-booze. According to many new reports, alcohol is detrimental to weight loss because the minute it is in you, your body stops burning fat and switches to burning alcohol.

Yet it seems to me that these scientists need to differentiate between types of alcohol and how you consume them. If, like this author, you smoothly sashay into a club at ten with the intent of having “one or two glasses of wine”, only to stumble into the men’s toilet at midnight with traces of Jager, Tequila and vomit on your shirt, then banning alcohol is probably a safe bet that you will reach your weight loss goal.

On the other hand, if you can somehow commit to the oxymoron of “sensible drinking”, then you just might have a chance to escape your calorie deficient days with giggle filled evenings. The following list will help fellow dieters commit to a smaller waistline without skimping on good times:

1) Designate a Bar Vader, preferably a good friend otherwise this won’t work, who will shadow you throughout the evening and ensure that you stick to one type of the approved alcohol list. This is for those of us who have the resolve yet struggle with reality.

2) Pace yourself. In this race, the tortoise is the winner. If you have had a light dinner, you won’t need that much liquor anyway, and if you space out the drinks to one per hour, you should be fine.

3) Move! This is no time to sit and ponder the fate of humanity. If you are drinking your carbs, you should be moving, dancing or molesting some piece of furniture/security guard. At least give your body a chance to burn those empty calories instead of converting them into self-hating prophecies.

4) Avoid the sugary, mixed stuff. So long Pina Coladas, anything with an umbrella, or drinks that make your pancreas erect. Instead, befriend the straight up folks like tequila, vodka, gin and the like.

5) To beer, or not to beer. This is a tough one. I know some folks who drink this exclusively and are physically free of the Homer Simpson gut. Yet they are also quite active and drink nothing else. If you use beer as a chaser then it’s probably a good idea to cut it out, otherwise limit your intake.

6) This is probably the most important: Avoid the fast food in the aftermath! I don’t care if the McD’s vendor has promised you his first born, late night eating is a sin by normal standards, and late night junk food binging is an invitation for all sorts of snug trouble.

Thanks to these simple rules, I still make the rounds on the weekends. They have helped me maintain a balance between my night life and my daily commitment to health. For other sources that allow your inner lush to come out and play, try the following. In the meantime, I am enjoying the fruits of my starvation, while keeping my thirst in check.

 

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