drunk dieting

okay, so there’s no secret that there is less of me to love these days. in fact, i'm quite proud of my shrinking presence in the world. be gone, Tastykake, I’m through with you now.

but there’s one thing about weight-loss that no one talks about it; it’s the dramatic toll on your drinking tolerance.

when it’s diet season (defined as the weeks or months prior to an event in which the clothing you’ll wear makes you nauseous at the thought of being in them, i.e. bathing suit, bridesmaid gown, etc.), all bets are off.

people have managed to live on carrots sticks and celery (a zero calorie food) for a month before a vacation. or have lived to tell about doing similarly stupid, stupid things with food. always though, the first thing most people tend to avoid most during these moments of famine is alcohol.

why? it’s the calories, stupid. when suddenly faced with only consuming 1200 or 1500 calories a day, do you really want to spend them on beer? hardcore peeps might answer yes, but that’s another issue entirely.

for dieters, when that beer is the caloric equivalent of dinner, 99% of the time dinner wins. on those occasions when a dieter decides, “i’m going for it. give me a light beer, barkeep,” is usually when trouble ensues.

see a dieter, in restricting his or her diet, is also changing his or her bodies’ metabolism to adjust to the new food intake. the dieter’s mind doesn’t adapt as quickly. if, in his or her previous life, he or she could drink 4 beers and still be able to walk a straight line, i will bet you money that after being on a diet, he or she will zigzag all over the place after the same amount.

sure, there’s gotta be a scientific reason for this. (just like there’s a reason for writing this.) and for those of us who had a hard time holding their drinks before, well, you’re screwed. you’re doubly screwed if you try to put your diet first and eat less to drink more.

an evening might go something like this:
dieter mind: hmm, i need to be sensible tonight. so if i have the chardonnay, i will skip the bread.

dieter belly: no! don’t skip the bread. you haven’t eaten bread in a week. c’mon, you’re killing me here. oh man, this place even has the good oil to dip it in. please don’t skip the bread.

dieter mind: this wine tastes so good. it’s seems like forever since i had a glass. mmmm.

dieter belly: it's because it has been ages since we had a glass. this is pretty nice but, ah, some bread or some of those nice fried appetizers the waiter just brought out might be nice, too. just a little bite, okay?

mind: i am so relaxed - i’ve missed this feeling. but my belly is killing my buzz. quit rumbling, tummy.

belly: now you’re telling me to be quiet? you’ve got nerve, brain. go ahead, order the second glass of wine – you ordered a salad. here’s your warning “smarty pants” -- there better be a dessert in front of you or else.

mind: you’re so silly, belly. [hiccup] there is no dessert coming.

belly: no bread. no appetizers. and a salad with NO dessert. this is war, smarty pants, and i’m taking prisoners.

the worst part of this is? there are no “Mothers Against Drunk Dieting” groups out there, warning people not to drink and eat celery sticks. no counselor at Weight Watchers, Nutri-Systems, LA Weight-Loss or Jenny Craig will warn you that you are about to become a lightweight drinker again.

but my liver had the last laugh. it took out a restraining order on both my belly and my brain.