Anorexia-Alcoholism: An Unfortunate Hybrid

Mode of distraction: Trying (and failing) to come up with a Brangelina-esque word for anorexia-alcoholism that I like enough to put in the title. 
Distracting me from: Actually eating lunch on my lunch break. 

As I'm days away from turning 25, the dust from turning 21 has most definitely settled and being able to order drinks at bars, clubs, restaurants, and airplanes has become second nature (okay, ordering on airplanes still feels fun). But, as discussed in a previous entry, I've become focused on this "getting in shape" situation and try to get to the gym 4-5 times a week, and now that I've been doing that for a few months, it should surprise exactly no one who knows me that I've entered the obsessive realm. Not going four times a week feels like failing, and I've come to contemplate everything I put in my mouth (sigh...dick joke, snicker, etc.).

I was out to dinner with Alex's family last night at the delicious Patxi's Chicago Pizza in Hayes Valley, and we discussed the availability of wine and beer. Beer actually sounded good, but I turned it down (in favor of Coke, which really makes no sense for the topic of this blog, but whatever). Almost always at restaurants nowadays I get water, not alcohol. Same for when friends come over for movie nights. In the days of yore I would have enjoyed a nice glass of wine or three to unwind, but now I'll just stick with water or one of the remaining Big Sticks (sigh...dick joke, snicker, etc.) in my freezer from San Francisco's random sunny weekends.

Why? I don't typically want to drink alcohol unless I'm going to get drunk.

Quintessential 21st birthday shot.

Yikes. Really? But yes, it's true. Alcohol, like all things great, is filled with calories, and why waste them when I'm not even going to reap their full benefits? Granted, I'm not trying to lose weight, but I do have pesky lower belly fat that I stare at incessantly upon entering and exiting the shower, and I'm pretty sure that it's a physical manifestation of my drug of choice. Or just natural body fat that would require a more serious exercise/diet effort to lose than I'm willing/able to perform. Either way, it's there, and I'd rather it not be...unless the upside is a lowered sense of awareness while dancing with my favorite people in a crowded, trashy, loud environment. Or shit talking on my couch. Or dodging rats at Hobson's.

So, I've completed Step One. I've admitted I have a problem. Therefore, I'll be pouring myself a singular glass of wine now as soon as I'm off work.

I feel better already.