So here I am. Four days into my daily workout routine in an effort to lose weight. But there’s still a big slab of prime rib in the fridge leftover from Christmas. Might as well blow the ‘diet’ all at once and just eat it. I’m working out every day, and it’s better not to have the temptation. (Besides, how long will it keep?)
I’m stuffed. I lay on the couch and watch a little TV. The phone rings. My friends are bored. Well, Jerry has been under a lot of stress recently. He’s feeling guilty about the film being stalled, and he has a couple of customers that wanted their videos post haste. He could stand to blow off some steam. Come on over.
Jerry and his g/f and Paul. They were hungry. We’re good enough friends that it’s understood I have an open kitchen. I have some ground beef in the fridge that I haven’t put into individual bags for the freezer. But instead they found one of the 2½-pound chuck roasts that we cook on the barbie. ‘Dude, you offer us hamburger when you have this?’ But it’s frozen! ‘Not for long!’ Paul went directly for the green bean casserole, which I’d told him to finish off if he wanted it. Sherri set to work microwave defrosting the roast. Yes, I have chips left. Up there on the fridge. Of course you can have the Ritz crackers. Whoops, Paul found the bag of turkey! The remainder of my baguette disappeared in a wash of that wonderful olive oil I got for Christmas.
Then out came the rum. Cruzan 151. And the home-made hot buttered rum stuff, leftover from Christmas. Make 'em strong! So not only did I have a huge dinner earlier; but I’m also drinking alcohol, which is not something one should put in one’s body when one is trying to lose weight. And it had margarine and brown sugar in it to boot.
I only had like eight charcoal briquettes. Having eaten, the strong drink had little effect on me; unlike my famished companions. I drove to the corner market, a half-mile away, to get some more. Oh, and bring back some sausages. When I got home my friends had found the container of Ben & Jerry’s New York Chocolate Chunk ice cream. And the Stolichnaya vodka. Hot buttered rum took on a new twist. Well, I wasn’t going to eat the ice cream anyway. I was going to have another hot buttered rum, but Jerry insisted I drink one of Sherri’s 151/marge/brown sugar/vodka/ice cream concoctions. Red flags went up. I’m trying to lose weight! No ice cream! But I was outvoted three-to-one. It was okay. I prefered it without the ‘extras’.
The slab-o-deadcow being thawed, the briquettes ready to char flesh, the meat was put on the barbie. Oh, man! That smells so good! But I didn’t have any. I was full. Jerry couldn’t believe I was turning down this excellent ‘steak’ that had become a staple of our get-togethers. Paul’s a big guy. (‘The Big Mick’.) Six-two, and 265 pounds. He got a second chunk of beef. The Oberto hot sausages disappeared like a half-dozen disappearing things.
And then it was time for a walk. I’d already done my daily exercises, and I’d already walked a mile and a half around the block. But my friends were feeling the effect of the alcohol on recently-empty stomachs. So we took a walk to a couple of bars about a mile down the road. The first one, known for its karaoke, was kind of dead. So we went to the hipper one a little way down. More karaoke there. A woman was singing Daddy’s Hands. (Okay, so maybe it’s not so hip. But this is Birch Bay, m’kay?) Jerry and Paul were outside smoking. Sherri and I listened to the song, looked at each other, and started laughing. Sounded like some sort of incest thing. No alcohol was consumed during the excursion.
Anyway, I got another two miles of walking last night.
Back at the old homestead we hung out for a little bit, then Paul had to go home. Jerry and Sherri were riding with him, so they had to leave too. I discovered a piece of steak about the size of a one-inch slice of a two-by-four. (And certainly much more tender! It always turns out good.) I wrapped it in foil and put it in the fridge. I lay back down on the couch to watch a film on TCM. What the hell. I ate the last piece of meat cold. Surveying the debris in the kitchen I decided to leave the mess until today. I crawled into my rack around three AM.
Does it bother me that my friends raided my fridge and ate a gi-normous slab of good beef? No. Does it bother me that they opened the Ben & Jerry’s? I’m trying to lose weight and wasn’t going to eat it anyway. Does it bother me that I paid for a packet of sausages and didn’t get any? Of course not. I like to be a good host, and I wasn’t hungry anyway. These are my friends. If they need to blow off some steam, then the Johnny Cave is the place to do it! And I’m happy to have them. But…
I didn’t get to bed until three. Just got up less than an hour ago. I’m dragging a bit. I don’t feel like exercising right now.
But I will, dammit! In a couple of hours I’ll have two pots of tea in me. I’ll do my push-ups and sit-ups and jogging and weight-lifting, and I’ll equal or exceed the number of reps I did yesterday. Probably won’t go for a walk though.
I wonder what will happen tonight? 
