Use as directed

As a rule, I am unconcerned about my weight. Nevertheless, this morning I was checking my body mass index online, which I do from time to time so as to confirm that I'm still squarely hanging out in the Overweight category. On the same site, I noticed an add for Miller Lite. Did I know, the girl wearing the bikini seemed to be asking (via Flash graphics), that a Miller Lite has only 96 calories? Way less that my usual summer drinks choices, like those diet-killing pina colodas.

Why is anyone who's counting her calorie intake so much as looking at beer? Don't these people have sprints to run? I won't even drink beer because I prefer my liquor to go down a little smoother than something that tastes like liquid bread. I had half a Guinness once and my body couldn't bear to accept anything else for at least 36 hours - not food, not booze, not sincere compliments. Nothing. And I'm the sort of person who considers nachos with chili as a viable meal option.

Now this really isn't new. I can't be the only one who remembers the ad campaign that Bacardi was running a few years ago where they were mighty proud of themselves that Bacardi & Diet Coke only had 66 calories. And probably the most ridiculous thing was that the commercial showed two guys in a bar being all, "Oh, sweet, I don't need ruin all that ab work I did this morning! I might even have a second drink tonight! High five, bro!" Then they pretend that they want anything to do with ladyparts. And scene.

Manorexia goes mainstream! My question was always, "Why are we following these two douchebags around the bar? Aren't there some hotter guys over there, drinking whiskey and playing air guitar to Def Leppard?" Those are the people I want to be drinking with. I really don't want anyone who's legitimately concerned about how many calories are in a rum & coke blocking my access to the bar. Leave the alcohol for those of us who aren't fanatical about carbs, resistance training or obeying the voices who say you're not good enough until you can fit into Chip & Pepper jeans.

I'll let you in on a little secret - liquor in general tastes pretty bad. This is reason why I don't do shots until strongly coerced. Well, that and because vomit tastes pretty bad too. So I'm not drinking that scotch because it's tasty and refreshing. Certainly not to wash down my Lean Cuisine panini. I drink scotch because it's not as sickeningly sweet as, say, raspberry vodka and because it's the straightest route from sober to Not Sober, in all its varying degrees. And, more often than not, I will close out my night of scotch at 3AM with 2 slices of pizza - which definitely has more than 66 calories.

Now, of course, my BMI still has me in the Overweight category. I guess it's possible that if I started drinking Miller Lite, I might be able to whittle myself down to a socially acceptable waist size. However drunk is more fun than skinny.

Johnnie and Ella

If you ever have one of those nights where you decide the best thing you can do is snuggle up with some jazz and a bottle of scotch (the whole bottle), let me elaborate on the necessary precautions that you should take:

• Turn off your cell phone: people that you haven't spoken to in five years will not call you back. They don't even remember who you are. Or, if they do, they will not accept the charges.
• You will sing: loudly and enough to annoy the gay guys next door, despite the fact that it's basically payback since you've had to listen to more than your share of Kylie Minogue at high volumes. But be aware that you're not in the key you think you are. And that song is harder to sing than you think it is. But go on, girlfriend.
• Make the drinks stronger: who cares if the soda is flat? And don't worry about how late the deli across the street is open. Drinking it straight will seem less unsavory in a little while, trust me.
• Pretend: go ahead and think you're tragically romantic. You are drunk by yourself and cursing iTunes because they don't have the painfully sad, live version of "One More For My Baby" that you wanted. Just listen to something by AC/DC and get over yourself.

And the important thing to remember is that tomorrow? Yeah. It's going to hurt.

Welcome to the holiday season!

The bars are wide open, and - half a bottle of Dewar's into the evening - I almost tackled a very slight woman in a bowtie for some cold meat on a cracker.

What can I say: I like living on the razor's edge of personal and professional humiliation.