Beautiful Day in Hangoverville

I do love 77-degree February Saturday afternoons in Austin. Paradise. Wish I'd have been able to enjoy it more, though.

We had our annual Valentine's Day date-night-tradeoff-with-the-Noxiouses last night. First we saw Juno at the Alamo Drafthouse. It was excellent. Very funny, though I cried through the last third of it. Afterwards, we went for a drink at Flying Saucer, and though I was still all weepy and sentimental from the movie, we had a very lovely time drinking beer and squeezing on their big comfy couches.

The thing is, I only had one beer there...HOWEVER, that one beer turned out to be a ginormous, 22-oz Rogue Chocolate Stout. The supplemental beer we had upon picking up the children afterwards...a light little ale, a Fireman's Four...put my dieting, and thus not regularly drinking, body, over the edge into tipsiness. And, sadly, that's all it takes anymore to moderately ruin the next day for me, seventy-seven degrees and sunny notwithstanding.

I've decided that alcohol is the single worst enemy to my weight loss, more than any food I can think of. Alcohol contributes to my weight gain in every stage of the experience, from the actual calories consumed within the alcohol, to the lowering of inhibitions about what I'll eat when I'm tipsy, to the hangover tending the next day (in which I must eat something fattening approximately every hour and a half or I will vomit).

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Thanks for the lovely responses to the post about my dream about my dad. I was very touched by the stories that many of you shared with me.

Perhaps there truly are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio. I'm prepared to accept that there are things I will never completely understand, and that this occurrence, apparently by no means unique to me, may be one of them. Whatever it was, the communal response that it triggered just made it that much more meaningful.

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However, my dream last night was that Nick Rhodes, Simon LeBon, and John Taylor were waiting for me outside, in the late evening, in the parking lot of the School For the Blind, across Lamar from Mandola's. They were all wearing fashionable black and white suits. When I approached them, I said, "You're still here?" Simon replied, "We never left you, Mags." And, I realized that they were the guiding muses for my life, and I thanked them, and went on.

I'm tending to think that I can chalk that one up to wishful thinking plus Rogue Chocolate Stout, rather than a visitation from a spirit guide, though.