bill murray i am

last weekend desperation was oozing out of my pores in the form of mr. wheat, mrs. barley, and mr. hops.

as ive gracefully aged over the years (to a vine-ripened twenty six), i have noted that my nightlong rock-outs have rapidly degraded to a nights where i am out like a rock.

i cant party like i used to, and quite frankly, im not sure that i really want to.

this common lament has been whispered by many an aging party-goer; a result of a sharply declining alkeyhall tolerance, a brutal five day work week, and a growing propensity to ‘hate’ drunks.

when did we become such haters?

it wasn’t that long ago that i was slamming beers nonstop, shaking my ass like a porn star, and picking on the dregs of the four am bars*. now i find myself, drinking fast (but getting ‘inebriated’ faster), catching up with friends that i haven’t seen all week (talking against the back wall of the dancefloor), and jumping in a cab as soon as its safe to say that ‘all the hot girls are boring, and blah’.

when did we become so quick to give up?

some like to say that weve become wiser (and less likely to put up with the bullshit) as we’ve aged.

i like to simply say that we’ve all become old farts - me included.

which is why my recent decision to live with four twenty three year-old roommates has been a welcome shock to my system.

a shock in the ‘everyone-has-to-shotgun-three-beers-before-going-out’ kinda welcome.

an announcement that i barely blinked at when my roommate made it (im already back to my old form. ha!)

as a disembodied observer, i am not surprised to note that there is direct correlation between the increasing level of my consumption (shotgunning beers, playing quarters, and a beer paaaarty or few) and my declining level of social cynicism.

LP bars that were once deemed cheesy have been revisited and enjoyed. and the trixie type girls who were once deemed stupid have been upgraded to silly and fun.

in a nutshell, hanging out with four less-than-cynical versions of myself has been tremendously liberating.

at least that’s how it felt as i rocked-out this past weekend.

unfortunately my twenty six year-old body was wide awake by eight am the next morning. and even tho i was up at eight, i was barely cognizant until three pm.

my twenty six year old weekends have now become as worthless as my twenty three year old roommates.

which is quite disconcerting, since, like my elder(ly) peers, i have developed quite an affinity for activities that are scheduled for early mornings.

my preference for tennis, volleyball, volunteering, bike rides, long runs, reading, and writing has been supplanted by mindless viewing of saturday morning cartoons, entourage reruns, and episodes of weeds (on-demand cable is another ‘perk’ garnered from living with my roommates).

i would love to get up and do what i used to do, but sadly my mind fog refuses to lift after only four hours of sleep – and yet my body is pre-programmed to wake up early, which ultimately leaves me in limbo till late afternoon.

which is why i found myself pounding out my sixteen mile training run on a hot and humid saturday afternoon, instead of a cool and crisp jog at dawn.

by mile five mister, missus, and mister were oozing out of my body like slimer visa-vis ghostbuster, and their squishy voices were mocking me every step of the way.

its no wonder that i bonked at six and barely completed a twelve mile out-and-back.

i didn’t finish my training run, and which means that ill have to pay for it this weekend. a payment that i dread since ive already got some pretty heavy party plans lined up for friday and saturday night.

i can probably keep this lifestyle up for a little while, but somethings gotta give eventually.

and hopefully its not going to result in an elderly women (i.e. diane keaton) gettin nekkid. ha!