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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

I'm just about to head off down the pub to watch the Ireland v France match (my prediction for the match is that we will lose, but hopefully defiantly and with some feeling). I'm also just about to head into a new challenge for myself: drinking spirits.

The challenge I set for myself at the beginning of this week was to not have any beer at all for the rest of the week, because I don't need it and I can give it up any time I want to. This challenge I failed miserably less than 10 hours after I had set it for myself, when I had not one but two pints of the beer, with the pathetic excuse that (see below) my dreamy boyfriend was talking to two bitchy ladies and I wasn't allowed to punch them to death.

Tonight, therefore, I'm not giving up alcohol. I'm giving up the beer. I'm going to see what happens when I drink spirits. This experiment is important because (1) the amount of beer I'm drinking is making me very fat; (2) the amount of beer I'm drinking is stripping away the lining of my stomach; (3) the amount of beer I'm drinking is costing me too much money and (4) I'm nearly thirty. I need to be able to throw back vodka neat and laugh with abandon when my children/neighbours/therapists are at an impressionable age, so that I can be referred to as Scary Mommy/Cat Lady/Patient number 429.

Wish me luck.


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