beer goggles.
The morning after a booze filled night I can usually count on having a skinny day. And by skinny day I mean that in spite of the bags under my eyes and the overwhelming odor of booze eminating from my pores, I can don any article of clothing in my closet(even the little red nautilus T-shirt that I got for $1 but makes my chest look like a million bucks) and look like I actually USE my gym membership .
Fortunate as I am, my best friend (and registered drinking buddy) is a proud member of the medical community and a regular at drug company funded dinner parties which are shamelessly disguised as "Continuing Ed. Lectures". Point is: she knows stuff about medicine, and what she doesn't know she learns while eating $130 meals at the city's best eateries.
Resulantly, she passes on information that she thinks I may find useful; information that makes us feel both normal and passive to the ways of the human body (i.e.: increased amounts of testosterone are to blame for premature hair loss--yeah that's right, I'm a fucking testosterone FACTORY!). In a recent "course", she came into possession of the knowledge that alcohol works in some fancy-pants chemical reaction that actually blocks the production of some other chemical that makes you retain water. Blah. The point here is that when you're hitting the can every five minutes next Friday night, know that you are excreting all of your body's H2O reserves and not the six Bud Lights that you consumed while whatching Paula Adbul self-destruct on Idol.
This little chemical reaction is the reason for the aforementioned "skinny day". And we, here at the brain*of*brian, have developed this easy to use reason to drink (if you're ever in a bind for an excuse to drink on a random post-season-finale Wednesday night!):
You're welcome.
Drink for happiness. Drink for health. And, goddamn it, drink to get into your skinny jeans!
Fortunate as I am, my best friend (and registered drinking buddy) is a proud member of the medical community and a regular at drug company funded dinner parties which are shamelessly disguised as "Continuing Ed. Lectures". Point is: she knows stuff about medicine, and what she doesn't know she learns while eating $130 meals at the city's best eateries.
Resulantly, she passes on information that she thinks I may find useful; information that makes us feel both normal and passive to the ways of the human body (i.e.: increased amounts of testosterone are to blame for premature hair loss--yeah that's right, I'm a fucking testosterone FACTORY!). In a recent "course", she came into possession of the knowledge that alcohol works in some fancy-pants chemical reaction that actually blocks the production of some other chemical that makes you retain water. Blah. The point here is that when you're hitting the can every five minutes next Friday night, know that you are excreting all of your body's H2O reserves and not the six Bud Lights that you consumed while whatching Paula Adbul self-destruct on Idol.
This little chemical reaction is the reason for the aforementioned "skinny day". And we, here at the brain*of*brian, have developed this easy to use reason to drink (if you're ever in a bind for an excuse to drink on a random post-season-finale Wednesday night!):
"I have got to fit into those pants tomorrow if I ever hope to get that raise/job/piece-of-ass that I've been angling for. I better help things along by getting rid off all of that extra water this old bod is carting around. Who wants a shot?!"
You're welcome.
Drink for happiness. Drink for health. And, goddamn it, drink to get into your skinny jeans!
posted by brian. at 10:48 AM
