Wedding Knocks Kenneth Hard Off The Wagon

 I talked myself into allowing myself to skip one day of the Dry January for a wedding I was attending. I allowed myself to take in input from people, knowing full well no one was going to say, "Stick with it!" No way. Everyone was saying, "Oh you got a babysitter overnight and a hotel? Just drink, man! And they just said what I needed to hear. 15 Miller Lites and a couple edibles later and I was hungover for 2.5 days. 

So, I'm back on that damn Chuck Wagon. 30 out of 31 days of the month still wouldn't be too bad. I intentionally bought and intentionally drank my first six pack of non alcoholic beer tonight. I just wanted to feel like a man with my beer in front of the TV for a must win Bulls game. I opted for Beck's non alcoholic skunktastic crappola slop. Wow. Mrs. Noisewater said to me, "You never go with a green bottle." Dang, she's right. Heineken, Becks, and Rolling Rock are all yucky. They taste green.

Green Hell

You know what else? 45-years-old feels old. The other night we were watching that Peacemaker show on HBO and that actor from Terminator 2 was in it, the T1000. Mrs. Noisewater was like, "Wow! He looks old." I told her, "Yeah, he is old. That came out in like 1991, and I was 14. You figure he was was like 30 then. And I'm 45 now, so he's gotta be . . . God damn, I'm 45? The T1000 is old and so am I. He can't run like that anymore and I never could.

T1000 vs the T45

But, I think this not drinking thing is going to be good for my health. There are even abdominal muscles trying to poke through. They're like, "Hey, there's no IPA and greasy hangover fat in here, now's our chance to shine!" Sorry abs, your asses are going right back into hiding in February when I go right back to my horrible patterns. Or will I? I just need to assess at the end of this month.

The family is good. Desi is a wild man still. We came home the day after that wedding to a freezing home. We went into panic that something was broken, but nope. That little two-year-old impish gremlin turned off the heat switch in the basement. Erik is still hilarious. Tonight when I was tucking him in the top bunk he was in was creaking like crazy. I said, "What is that?" He goes, "That's just my weight. I'm Lord Humongous." I love when my kids say goofy stuff back to me that I don't even realize I say. Lord Humongous is the big bad guy in "Road Warriors" who may or may not have been into some homosexual S&M stuff, but I think he got the name for having bulging muscles all over the place.

Just. Walk. Away. and Just. Go. To. Sleep, Erik Noisewater.

Okay, I'm out of here. Hoping to keep up these basement posts every few nights. I need your support, Seven Readers. Let's keep each other motivated. I'm off to do the rounds on the blog roll. Let me know if there's anyone else I should be reading. I've been out of the game too long and have lost tough. Bye.

A couple quick things . . .

1. There was a time where I really did think I would be a published writer of some kind.  As I get older, the creative juices don't flow like they used to.  I wish I could bottle up whatever manic crazy energy I had back then and use it for a couple hours a day.  Just a couple.  Not all day long because I might have been out of my mind back then.  

2. Want to know what I'm doing these days?  Still podcasts that hardly anyone listens to.  And the topic of the latest one?  The best nude scenes in film history.  Yeah, still stuff like that.  But who cares.  As long as I stay busy.  Tonight my good friend, Crom, is coming by to edit the podcast and fix up some snags we have hit along the way.  Look for an installment to come out really soon.  

3. Oh, here's a funny story.  I'm lying down on my stomach the other day (editing the boobie podcast), and Mrs. Noisewater says, "Ooh, I think that's a spider vein on your leg.  Does anyone in your family get those?"  I sullenly reported that my dad gets them, along with varicose veins, and hemorrhoids.  To cheer myself up I said, "But can we call them spidey veins?  It's cuter."  That got a laugh.  That's all I need are laughs from friends, loved ones, and you fine folks . . .

It's summer, and I was finally walking around on the streets outside my apartment at 1AM on a Thursday and not in my bed being woken up by the drunk Chicagoans like I usually am around that time.  What have I learned?  Well that's a lot of saying "Wooooo!" for a Thursday.  Thursday is also the night that the alley outside my bedroom window often becomes Drunk Fight Club.  As you may have seen in some previous posts, sometimes I will open up the window and get my two cents in, settle some arguments when I can . . .

The thing is, most people have to get to work Friday morning, but 22-year-olds don't care about any of that.  If they can stay out all night and maybe even scare up some ass, who cares if they're a little tired the next day?  And even if they are a little run down, they will just have a bloody mary right after work on Friday, and then they're right back in the game, perhaps a vodka Red Bull or two if that doesn't do the trick.  You can fight off hangovers so much easier at that age.

To be honest, I'm never mad when I wake up from the "wooooo's!"; I just wish I was 22 again . . .

You Know How I Know I'm Old?

I used to rub one out if I needed to take a nap.

Now I read.

Sorry. That's a weak post, but it was too racy for Facebook.

Someone Asked Me To Go To "Tron" . . .

. . . on opening night, and I said, "I don't really like going to 'the show' that much anymore.

Let me tell you why this is an old guy thing to say:

1. The fact that leaving the house to see a movie is too big of an outing for me.

2. The fact that I said "the show." It's the first time I've ever said that, and the only people I know to say that were my friends' parents when I was a kid.

How about you, Seven Readers? Have you had any signs that you're old lately?

I had to get measured for a tuxedo the other day, and when the gal asked if I wanted to use the same measurements from my last measurement from December, I said that I'd like to get remeasured. Why? Because I have been pumping iron, so I'm thinking that my dimensions are going to be unbelievably huge now, right? When she was done measuring, I asked her if she could tell me how my measurements stacked up against December's.

The results?

Turns out only my neck got bigger.

That's just about the worst thing she could have said. If my waist went down or my chest went up, even if just a half inch in a favorable direction for either one, those would be good things, but my neck just getting fatter?

What a bummer, but I have worked out every day this week. Also, I have my first mixed martial arts training class on Saturday, so maybe I can put a dent in this fat neck of mine . . .

I was just looking in the mirror while I was brushing me teeth, and why do we do that, incidentally? There really is no need to, and we always make the most stupid looking faces while brushing, so why in the world do we insist on staring at ourselves?

Okay, I have a point to this post, and I'm going to stick to it. No more tangents, I promise.

So, while I was marveling at my stupid brushing faces I noticed that the legions of grey hairs on the right side of my head are growing in numbers. Only a careful eye, because of my blond hair, notices them, but tonight I felt like I should just settle in for the evening with some metamucil and a good episode of Matlock. There is a chance I'll look cool with Gray hair, like MacGyver, but I'm worried I'll just look like Leslie Nielsen. Gray hair? "Surely you can't be serious . . . "

So I grabbed some scissors and began cutting. The end result is I’m a little less gray over there, but I now have maybe the dumbest looking sideburns of all time. I thought about trying to even out the other end, but I figured if I started doing that I'd keep over compensating on each side until I was completely bald by the end of the night. I could just see adding that little disaster into my wealth of misadventures.

I turn 30 in January. I'm terrified. If this is how I react to a few stray grays I may be in deep shit.