Keeping fit and alcohol

Ok, so its January; you've laid out all of your new years resolutions which include; No more chocolate, no more coffee and a new energy that commands getting fit. Like any other completely delusional moron that falls under this category (usually the entire country), you're all excited about how your going to have a 6 pack in 3 months, soley because you wandered down to the local gym and actually made the commitment of joining for a year; not fathoming for second, the level of work this requires both inside and outside the gym. So, you arrive on your first day all kitted out in brand new 'training gear' that you bought in Penneys for the price of a packet of chewing gum but you suddenly realise you havent got a fricking clue how to use any of the machines. Take the treadmill for instance, I jump on and pretend to stretch my legs for about 7 minutes while I scan the controls looking for the auto-start button. Or when you sit into a Hammerstrength machine and you begin doing the exercise as you believe it to be correct, but once you get up and walk away, you notice someone else addresses the machine facing the other direction. You think to yourself for a second; 'perhaps they're doing it wrong', but the laser cut rock hard abs that are literally bursting out of the persons vest, compared to your belly that looks like its been carrying a 26 month overdue baby elephant, confirms in your head that perhaps you were the one who looked like a complete and utter simpleton a moment ago. So, to avoid repeating this embarressing mistake, you rob a bank in order to afford to pay a personal trainer and you get them to show you the ropes. Soon you begin to get addicted to the whole fitness buzz; you go to the gym more and more and yet still you dont see the results you want. This is when you discover a thing called calories and the fact that they are more evil than Saddam Hussein playing GTA Vice City (Can you imagine the blood?). So, you begin to cut your diet; white bread, butter and of course your still sticking to your 'no chocolate' resoluton (yeah right - you were caught in the work stock room crouched in the corner gollum-ing one of those gigantic Toblerones werent you, WERENT YOU!)(Gollum-ing - A Deco'ism- This is to describe someone who hasnt washed in days, scavanging on the remains of other peoples food). But the one thing we dont seem to cut out of our diet is alcohol. I kid you not, there is enough calories in one pint of beer to give you ongoing-embolisms... And to think, I gave up my Cadburys Caramels and my fizzy drinks for nothing, NOTHING! Here I am looking at myself in the mirror blinded by the Star Trek monster I see staring back at me and its all because I went out on the weekend and drank 20 pints of Miller?! NO WAY!? REALLY!? But it could be down to the quality of the hungover workouts that I do on a Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday; I may aswell sit at home in the bath tub and do 3 press-ups in the water because I feel so God damn mouldy after that 20-pint weekend, that all I want to do is leave the weights room and go for a steam. The reason for this is that once im sweating away behind the sheeted, condensation filled glass; I can feel the vodka and the Miller seeping out of every orifice in my body. Then I squeeze the dripping rims of my shorts into my 'trainig flask' and voila, 'a curer'. Could I just want to see some proper results out the €750 per year that I pay in the gym? Is that one of the reasons im droughting my alcohol consumption? Nah, I spoke to Hercules this morning and he was telling me about how insecure he was since his wife left him; then he caught a glimpse of my body while I was changing and he began to cry, so that can't be it. Especially since his wife was hiding in my bedroom. What I do know is that keeping fit and alcohol dont go well together. Last Christmas I was actually able to balance an entire Christmas Turkey on my belly with enough room for my entire family to sit around me and eat it comfortably; my God that was embarressing - it was like that time in primary school when my best friend lost his pencil in my hair. Seriously, I looked like a Jackson Five member meets Annie meets spongebob square-pants - no wonder I was virgin until I shaved it off. Honestly, the little guy wouldnt dare go in there after his yellow
2B pencil; I dont blame him either, that would have been like putting his hand into a blender; a red heads hair is lethal. Think of a brillopad mixed with barbed wire and just imagine it on someones head. Anyway, so Declan, SINCE YOUR SO FRICKIN WISE, how much CAN we drink that will still allow us to strive for that six pack? - I hear you ask... I dont know, go buy a balaclava, rob a bank and ask someone who gives a crap; if you need me, ill be in the steam room.

Bottomline no8; If you want to get a worthwhile workout done in a week, try not to drink too much on the weekend..... and make sure you cut your childhood hair before your 22.

Next Post: Alcohol and a first date

Slan mo Chara,

Deco

Trying to talk your way into a nightclub when drunk

Its the 16th day of the month, you're paid on the 23rd... You're in that no-mans-land of financial depression and you're dying for a night of outrageous drunken debauchary and so, in order to save a few sheckles but at the same time transform yourself into an arc for alcohol; you trot along to the nearest off-licence (that now closes at 10pm; yet another cunning decision made by the current Irish government) and purchase a ridiculous 24 bottles of Miller and a Shoulder of vodka. You've bought these drinks at roughly 7pm and your plan is to hit the city centre before 11pm. First of all, THERE IS NO FRICKIN WAY you're going to drink anywhere NEAR that volume of alcohol but, the Cavan in you prevails as you assess the price of 10 bottles versus the deal on the crate. Then you spend the next 3 hours guzzling down as many bottles as possible attempting to justify the significant leap of stupidity you made earlier, by buying so much alcohol in the first place. Usually in my instance I gather a couple of friends and we end up in my house while a number of us take turns playing the guitar; I sink the bottles with such speed and aggression that I look like the lead actor in a porno entitled; 'Deepthroat; The Truth behind the Watergate scandal' -a film in which Richard Dickson must use any means necessary to keep a lid on his polictical wrong-doings. As the box of Miller gets more and more empty, soon enough we find ourselves singing all the pub-songs under the sun to the point where-by we actually close our eyes and go to that 'special place'. Once we've polished off an acceptable number of drinks, we call the cab; more often then not, making it wait outside for 10 minutes just for arriving early thus allowing us to finish the 3-part vodka, quarter part 7up that I have concocted. Have you ever heard the likes of it!? MAKING A CAB WAIT FOR BEING ON TIME?! Thats like returning a Dominos home-delivery for arriving within the 40 minutes! Then, once you've all clambered into the 'seven seater' you ask the Taxi-driver to turn up the music so you can continue the piss poor sing song you were having in the house; making his night just that bit more suicidal. Imagine the poor guy, he's just cleaned his cab from picking up some wilder-tart that drank herself into oblivion who chose his back seat as the basin to catch her carrots and now; he has to deal with a group of whaling Tomcats who sound like they're all riding eachother simultaneously. Fantastic. So we pull up outside 'Break for the Border' and fall out of the taxi, marching toward the bouncers in 'sober mode'. (Why does that involve holding your breath and narrowing your eyes?). As the que shortens and you near the top, one of you tell the rest to quiet down.
" Where are ya's coming from lads?" Asks the shorter of the bouncers, clearly taking the lead in order to broach his small-man syndrome. The elected spokesperson says;
"Blanchardstown" with a friendly and somewhat geeky smile, attempting to portray someone who isnt even capable of starting any trouble.
"Were yee drinkin' before-hand lads?". This is where the lying begins:
"Only a couple in the house...". The bouncer then turns to his larger henchman prompting him for a judgement and then he speaks ,sounding like Darth Vader when he points at me and asks; " Do you have ID?"... Of course the rest of the lads saunter on by while I remain outside with Jaws from Moonraker who is looking at me like im just out of the womb. "Yeah sure" - I reply, while I ruffle through my wallet for my drivers licence (which by the way, has been folded so many times it looks an origami bird made by Steven Seagal). I present it to him while making idle chat saying things like: "So... Is it busy inside?" - which he blatently ignores (Im not bothered, I just tell myself he probably cant speak English). He then hands my drivers licence back to me through his index and middle finger and gestures me to enter the club... However, once ive been kicked out for flogging a female terradactyl, I make it my mission to re-enter the club. I hang around outside for about half an hour trying to convince Darth Vader to let me back in for one of the following reasons; usually I start by trying to pull on his heart strings by telling him its a work night-out and its really embarressing for my colleagues to see me in this light. If that doesnt work, I tell him its my mates birthday, hoping he will give me the benefit of the doubt enough not to let me ruin HIS night; If that fails I reduce myself to simply begging him to let me in and that I promise I will 'behave'... If im not back in by then I reach for the ACE in my pack;

"Alright, I'll go home then, my jacket is inside, can I go get it?"... and BOOM!... 'INSIDE IM DANCING!'... ;)

Bottomline no7: Your pokerface doesnt work on all bouncers...Just the ones that dont think independent from the hive. But you wouldnt need a pokerface if.... Ah now we're catching on... :P

Next post: Keeping fit and Alcohol...

Slan mo Chara

Deco

People who smoke 'only when they drink'...Ridiculous

Well folks, its Sunday morning and I am currently sitting on my bed having just woken up after being out on the alcohol-free piss for the weekend. My mate Kev decided during the week that he was going to try this social experiment with me but within 20 minutes of sitting down in the local pub on Friday night and half a glass of fizzy orange later, surely enough he had ordered 2 shot of Zambucka and a pint of Miller (lets face it Kev, you lost before the notion even entered your head). The thing I am here to talk about today however is why people smoke 'only' when they drink. Oh yes, one substance that can kill me is not enough, lets attack two vital organs at once. One of my sober observations from the weekend passed is that whenever I go to a nightclub, I spend most of my time out in the smoking area with my friends (and I dont even smoke). Oh great FRICKIN idea, lets re-mortgage our apartments so we can pay into an extortionate nightclub and then go stand in the smoking area under extremely powerful patio lights that in most cases give me 3rd degree burns on the tops of my ears. Whats the attraction? I can understand why people who smoke 24-7 feel the need to be out in the oh-so comfortable atomic mushroom cloud of Marlboro, John player Blue and Camel (yes I actually saw a guy smoking Camel - and I thought smoking couldnt get any 'cooler'?). But how often have we been standing there on what appears to the set for the sequel to 'The Mist' and seen someone who you've never known to smoke, light up a cancer stick? Usually you make a statement like; "I didnt know you smoked?" to which they reply; "I only smoke when I drink...". A number of things pass through my mind when someone says this to me. Number 1, are they ashamed of the fact that they actually smoke 24-7 and have realised through my body language and the way I posed the question, that I find it a horrible turn off? Which leads me to think that she / he could fancy me... Which then makes me begin to conjure images in my head of what it would be like to mate with this person (because of this, I completely miss the next 7 or 8 things they've said to me). In any case, I find it difficult to understand the reasoning behind people who actually dont smoke, but have this idea that smoking goes hand in hand, with drinking. IS THE INITIAL TASTE OF ALCOHOL NOT DISGUSTING ENOUGH? (dont get me wrong, after the first beer goes down, the rest taste like sweet sweet nectar fresh from the hives of Cameron country). But have they not realised that the mix of alcohol and smoking can lead to one of the following; The Frankfurter arm that in this instance contains a cigarette usually flops onto someones shoulder engraving a pea sized, lifelong scar, or at the very least results in flicking red hot ash directly into someones eye, blinding them for all eternity; leads them to transform into middle-class beggers as they prowl the smoking area begging people for 'a smoke'; in some instances, gives them the ability to breathe fire and of course the most obvious, LEADS TO FRICKIN LUNG CANCER! I am just one of these people who despises smoking (i have nothing against SMOKERS), but this is where the centre of my argument is coming from; I would never, in a million years even TRY smoking yet a couple of months ago, I got paraplegically drunk in a friends house and decided I would see what it was like. I woke up the next morning not only with the most horrdenous hungover, but also felt like the kids on the street and staged the annual Bonfire within the confines of my mouth. It was without a doubt, one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life that GUESS WHAT, drink drove me to it. I think I should give alcohol a villianous name for the purposes of this blog. Hmmm, what could it be....? Ill come back to it.

Bottomline No 6: If the people who smoked only when they drank, didnt drink; they wouldnt smoke at all and so, drastcially reduce the risk of dying in a horrible gurgling bubble bath of lung disease.

Next Post: Trying to talk your way into a nightclub when drunk.

Slan mo Chara,

Deco

The Importance of a good Wingman

You're standing at a bar with your best friend. Its one of those spontaneous nights-out when your both in top form; for once, the beer doesnt taste like pure barley and youve spotted a beautiul girl in a red dress eye-boning you from across the pub. You're elated because you know for a damn fact that physically, you are to her what Gordon Brown is to Shakira, but you continue to hope that shes short-sighted enough not to notice this until the lights go down and the music comes on. So the next hour passes with several moments of fleeting flirting that has now brought both of you to the attention that there is something there, a spark; A wonderousness that resembles the lyrical bullshit in James Blunt's 'Your beautiful'; only you're not going to just look at her and then walk away like he did... the puff. All he had to do was bring her to starbucks?? Anyway, you're made of sterner stuff, now is the time to make your move. By now, everything has gone into slow motion as she 'come hithers' you with her pouted, blood red lipstick and her billowing golden hair (where's the wind coming from?). You turn to your mate, choke back the remainder of your pint and slam it down on the bar with the raw sexual prowess only a seasoned lumber-jack can exude. Your mate gives you the nod and you're off, your flight to paradise begins... You're cruising, cruising and cruising towards her. By now, the wind has swept up under her dress in true Munroe fashion and you've just realised Chis De Burgh is walking alongside you singing 'Lady in Red'; its perfect... You're upon her, you can feel her breath on yours, you can smell her perfume and she, your 'Black Panther' aftershave that in this instance has worked 60% of the time, every time. Your about to kiss... ITS BEAUTIFUL! YOUR LIPS GRAZE HERS AND............... Suddenly her fat overprotective and highly jealous friend swoops in and snatches her away. As they walk away she gives you a nasty look through her bushy eyebrows and she then ricochets the blinding strobe light off her retainer into your eyes just for good measure. You're in total shock, not because you've just missed the opportunity of a lifetime but because you've just seen a pig fly. You dont know what to do? You're standing there all alone, your wife-to-be is about to see you cry when out of NOWHERE; your mate rockets right passed you on the dance floor, grabs the planet by the elbow and, without even grimacing at the remains of the mountain kill that dangles out one side of her mouth, swings her around and plants an almighty wet one on her lips! You and her are astonished! Your mate then pulls her onto the dance floor, luring her away from your wife to be, sacrificing himself for you to make the move you were destined to. You kiss her and its amazing - electric in fact. Before you know it, all four of you are at the bar at the end of the night. By now your mate has demolished 12 tequila and 13 pints. He is a wreck. You're all about to part ways when your wife-to-be asks; "so, should the four of us go back to mine for a few more drinks?". You look at your mate, he looks at his catch for the night and waits for a bunch of over zealous fishermen to burst in and take a picture of him with his 'prize'... They never come so He looks back at you and he turns to the bar......"4 more tequila please and whatever the others are having".... "Lets go..."

Bottomline no 5: I dont want to drink that much Tequila ever again...

Next Post: People who smoke 'only when they drink'...Ridiculous

Slan mo Chara

Deco

The difference between sober & drunken dancing

Dance (from French danser, perhaps from Frankish) is a sport and art form that generally refers to movement of the body, usually rhythmic and to music,[1] used as a form of expression, social interaction or presented in a spiritual or performance setting. This is the definition of the term 'dance' on Wikipedia. Do you think that whoever posted this wonderful definition has actually ever seen a drunk OR sober person dancing in a nightclub? Lets start with drunk people because lets face it its easier. Whenever im in a nightclub and Im sober, I feel like im in the middle of a troop of clinically epileptic proboscis monkeys. They are flailing around like pricks in the wind without a care in the world and more often then not, an arm imitating the consistency of a 2ft long Frankfurter sausage being violently shaken at one end, flops out from the mob and knocks my drink out of my hand and all over my brand new white t-shirt. Pulling power for the night, reduced to zero. But the real dangerous ones are the ones on the dance floor... My God; dance floors are like an eliminator course for drunk teenagers. I was once passing through a dance floor to get to the bar on the other side and I actually stopped a guy and asked him if he was ok because he looked like he was being electricuted by the sheer sound of the music. Before going out, does everyone just sit in and watch clips of manx cats getting thrown into bath tubs and try to mimic its reaction? Cats dont like water one bit thats all ill say. The funniest thing about being drunk and dancing is that you actually think your the business. All your inhibitions are out the window and you are giving it sox. When Im dancing while drunk, there is no doubt in my mind that Im on the Wade Robson project and that Im going to win. Im genuinely convinced Im a post pubescent George Sampson. Another thing,when a drunk bloke tries to be sexy while dancing its one of the most disturbing things ive ever seen. Trust me, my mirror exploded. Lets face it, there is no such thing as a drunk bloke who can turn a woman on with his 'moves'. Well, Chuck Norris could but thats a whole different kettle of fish. (Does anyone know where this expression came from because its the most obscure thing to say). Then, when a well known song comes on everyone begins to mimic the moves from the music video, popular songs where this happens are: Thriller, Time of my life from Dirty Dancing and any Beyonce song that allows girls to raise their arms into a wing'ed position and attempt to shake their 'booty' like she does. Let me say it once; nobody and I mean nobody, can shake their ass like Beyonce. Plus she gave Tailor swift her moment after Kanye West made a complete 'Jackass' of himself - as quoted from President Obama. What a champion of a man he is. Not to mention the level of sweat that comes out of you when your dancing in a room full of 500 people. In fact when I put it like that it sounds ridiculous.Techically it should be the last thing you would do when in an overcrowded area; its like going into a sauna fully clothed? Who knows, Im not even making sense anymore. Truth be known, I am tired from a long day in work (sympathy please?........you, who didnt give me sympathy, I will find you) Sober people dancing..... I wish there was a way you could see me laughing right now. Elmur Fudd would have a field day if he was created to hunt sober people in nightclubs rather than Bugs Bunny. They stick out a mile. First of all, they are barely moving. If at all, they are literally just bending their knees and holding their drink close to their chest and pretending to have conversations with eachother in order to appear 'cool'. But this is usually because they are actually acting oblivious to their surroundings but yet at the same time, taking everything in. Usually these people dance in packs, so be careful. If you find you have stumbled into the middle of their pack just drop to the ground and attempt to do some breakdancing. This is a specially designed defensive position against sober dancers because like I said, they barely bend their knees. And then comes the Dance off. Why O why do we have to have Dance offs when 99.9% of the time, the two partys facing off may aswell own the right to park their cars in the disable spot outside shopping centres.It truly escapes me yet through the miracle of drink, I continue to do it. Its Arthur Guinness day today and if I see another person write 'To Arthur', 'To Martha' or 'To llama's' on their facebook I think im going to scorpion kick my laptop out the window. Did you know that in 1754, Arthur signed a 9000 year lease for the Guinness factory at James Gate in Dublin city centre? 9000 years? Did he invent Guinness with then intention for it to make him immortal!? Still, at least hes not around to see cringe worthy videos of himself dancing around like a wildly wired wombat wilderwomble...

Bottomline no 4: Dancing is great craic, but when drunk, be prepared to make a show of yourself. I know I do.

Next Post: "The importance of a good Wingman"

Slan mo Chara,

Deco

The joys of sending drunken text messages

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Im 'rich' because of alcohol

Its 11.15pm, Sunday. The night is fresh and the darkness cold. There is a silence that sits amidst the stars and it whispers to the lifeless breeze that kisses your face in the dead of the blackness. All is quiet. The tree's bend to and fro, rocking in the night to the sound of the sweet lulliby that screeches with each of their creaks. There is a calmness about this night, a stillness that I have not seen in quite some time now. Why does the scene seem so different when Ive lived here my whole life?......... BECAUSE IM NOT LOCKED IN HEAVEN NIGHTCLUB THATS WHY! Oh yes my friends, I am sitting in my dining room eagerly anticipating the feeling of freshness that will come with my awakening tomorrow morning. To quickly recap on my first 2 posts, we now understand that I have a hair style that looks like someone whose head is on fire, Im terrified of spiders, we've gone through a typcial week in my life and we know that the Minister for health would have a lot more professional credibility, if she wasnt a juggernaut. Most importantly however we touched on bottomline number 1; 'Free will and choice' together with the first in a series of reasons as to why I am committing myself to an alcohol free body until Christmas eve 2009; because almighty benders on weekends quite simply drain your energy for the subsequent week. Now I would like to touch on another important contribution as to why I am attempting such a challenge; Money. Basically, I would like some. I get up every day at 8am, go to work and work hard, so I can pay for things like my car insurance, my mobile phone bill, my gym and the full destruction of my FRICKIN LIVER! Its true, any and every spare cent that is left after paying the essentials is virtually liquified into one gigantic hangover. But thats not the worst part. I make a reasonable wage and I get paid by the month. So usually, I still have money for the first 2 weeks after payday; its when I begin to bring my lunches into work that people know I have yet again spent my hard earned cash on running the proverbial 'session' gauntlet and have just come to the stage where the oversized pendulum swinging axe has wholloped me right in the testicles. Dead End Deco. But it doesnt stop there; You see its always when you havent got a shilling, that the best things are happening in your local; perhaps its somebodys birthday or maybe your car tax needs to be renewed and you simply cant continue to take the risk of driving without it because it expired 6 months ago? (any Garda reading this; that never actually happened, purely an example). Like I mentioned in 'In the beginning', alcohol has taken free reign over my body and mind and by some of the things I see on nights out, most other peoples too. I mean I was in a nightclub in town last year and I saw two teenagers having sex in the corner! Blatent and for everyone to see. When I finished my popcorn and the battery on my camera phone died, I left the club immediately, disgusted with the 'teenie boppers' of my generation. But lets not get off the point; As I said, it gets progressively worse once I realise Im broke for the remaining 2 weeks of the month and so I do what any authentic Irish man would do: I ask one of my mates for a loan. Not so I can buy things like petrol and food but so I can go to that strategically placed birthday party. Thats exactly it, my money and alcohol conspire against me. B13 - 'You sunk my battleship', says my wallet and a lifesized pint of beer as they high five eachother while watching me pick up the 2 cents I momentarily dropped, knowing that it actually will make the difference between me living or dying this month. God damn them, God damn them to hell. What is the worth of an alcohol fuelled night out? It costs the guts of 200EURO for a night in the city centre. I dont know if anyone else does this but I go to a bank machine and I take out an inordinate amount of cash and I say to myself, there is no way im going to spend all of this, but just in case... If you do, YOUR LYING TO YOURSELF! I do it every time I get paid. Its that freudiant desire that is telling me to drink drink drink, but I dont know why I want to? I take out more money not as a safety net, but because I know im going to bastardise my body with a substance that makes me sick! Copious amounts of alcohol goes hand in hand with copious amounts of money yet still I continue to wreck my body and spend my cash. Are we slaves or is it just our culture as Irish people? Culture; yes hold on everyone, lets put a picture of a drunk Irish girl dressed as the Exorcist child puking all over a shamrock on a poster that says; 'Ireland, Come here to die a slow and painful alcopop related death, but dont worry, you'll have the craic'. Yeah, thats going to reel in the tourists. Do the Polish or American people not understand how expensive Dublin city is? Christ I had to get NAMA to buy my debts as part of an under-the-table agreement with Fianna Fail. Another thing I find hilarious is that because we are officially in a recession, all of the shops and restaurants and pubs are halving their prices and doing more and more to gain our custom. So now, my local offers all drinks for 3 euro on both Fridays and Saturdays and the local nightclub offers the same on Sundays. WHY THANK YOU VERY MUCH SATAN, now you've made it a CERTIFIABLE FACT THAT IM GOING TO BECOME A RAVING ALCOHOLIC....... No... I cant, not at the moment, DAMMIT NOT BEFORE CHRISTMAS EVE 2009!......... YOU WANNA KNOW WHY!??! HUH!? DO YA!????...................................Because I have no money

Bottomline no 2: If we didnt drink SO much, we would have the money to drink when we really wanted to. And of course to pay that car tax ;)

Next post: "The joys of sending drunk text messages"

Slan mo Chara,

Deco

In the beginning.....

So, now that you know me a little better; lets touch a little on why I have decided to do something as crazy as not drink any alcohol for the bones of 3 months. Well, there is a simple side to this and there is a deeper, darker side. Dont worry, you will hear both. So I guess its more logical to start with the simple side: 'In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.' Genisis 1:1. This opening verse of the Holy Bible rambles on to talk about how the earth was empty and God created animals and eventually, man to fill the void of vastness across the plains of the world (No, Im not trying recruit new members for my 'God Squad'). My point is this, alcohol has been around since before this book was written; even though there is no definitive source of alcohol's birthplace, there is evidence that implies the existence of fermented liquor in China over 9000 years ago. It is from this moment back then that our fates here, in the 21st Century, were doomed to be enslaved by its power. Is that untrue? For some yes, but for most of the younger people in Ireland, not likely. I am 23 years old and this is what my week consists of: I wake up on a Monday morning without the need to rush to the toilet in order to avoid getting sick on my bedroom floor. Not because I havent been drinking the night before or because I haven't eaten bad chicken, but because through years of practice, I am able to projectile vomit from my bed directly to my bathroom without even proppoing myself up on pillows. This is quite a skill usually because it involves the airbourne vomit to negotiate a closed door and a corner. Then I haul myself out of bed and realise I dont have time for a shower; the most disgusting start to a week possible. I get to work and I mean this genuinely, I dont let it affect my performance. I am in sales and it requires consistent high energy. But the real problem is when I get home. FRICKEN ALIENS COULD BE LANDING OUTSIDE MY HOUSE AND I WOULDNT CARE! - I am straight to bed and my evening is whisked away dreaming about having a six pack and duelling McGyver on a bridge suspended above molten lava in a battle where by I am just about to deliver the killing stroke, when we realise that the real enemies are crouched in a cave somewhere in the middle-east and so; I extend my hand and pull him back to safety. Meanwhile Jessica Alba has been watching from afar and swoons at my compassion. The 3 of us walk off into the sunset as a dove lands on my shoulder. Tuesday and Wednesday is like being in an earthly version of hell. If I was to describe how quickly these days move, I would tell you to imagine Mary Harney chasing an empty ice-cream van. I have no energy to do anything other then go for a steam in the gym and drink tea all night long. Thursday, I finally garner the energy to muster a minute level of enthusiasm purely because I know the weekend is looming and I might do a workout in the gym. Friday I finish an hour earlier in work and BANG! GIVE ME A FUCKING DRINNNNK!!! The rest of the weekend is usually spent swimming a metaphorial fish bowl of Heineken and Vodka with interspersed lapses of actual memory loss and me trying to remember if I was hungover at any point. WHY the bloody hell do I do this to myself on a chronic basis? I mean, I dont actually crave the taste of alcohol like I do the taste of a Cadburys caramel. It was when I posed this question to myself that led me to ask two more questions; do I have a problem or are we all just socially dependent on alcohol? Of course I dont have a problem so.... What is it about 'boozing' that makes it the absolute epicentre of our social certitude? Who knows? Im not here to provide a social commentary on the communal behaviour of the youth of Ireland. What I do know is that on a simple level, one of the answers to 'WHY' I am going to stay off the drink is because I am just fed up having no energy and slugging through my week solely because I crossed from the sane world into berserkland on the weekend just passed, using alcohol as the mode of transport. In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth, man followed suit and was given something called free will, choice. Thats bottomline number 1. Bottomline number 2 I will cover in my next post; "Im 'rich' because of alcohol".

Slan mo Chara,

Deco

Deco's introduction and Welcome!

Whats the craic Folks!? Well, the battle between me and my will power has begun. From Today, I aim not to drink a drop of alcohol until Christmas Eve 2009. Before I go into the why's and what's of doing this, I feel I should introduce myself. Most people who will read this will already know me. But those who dont, well...... My Name is Declan Francis Greene, (yes Francis, dont laugh it was my Grandfathers name) nobody calls me Declan though because Im from a little place in Blanchardstown called Corduff and if I didnt alter my name at young age to 'DecO', I wouldnt have been deemed 'mad' enough to live in this often misunderstood corner of the world. Its imperative however that when you pronounce this nickname you enunciate the 'O' at the end as if you were imperonating the vocals of a Ronan Keating song. Then and only then will your transformation into a Blanch head, be complete.
I am a mighty 7ft 7" with arms like tree trunks and hair that can only be described as a glorious lions main that has be set aflame by an arsonist high on prozac. I have the sculpted body of a Spartan warrior and the strength measured only by a Herculaen strong man who is so pumped on steroids, that the needles are still attached to his body. Thats all a lie by the way... Except for the hair... Im about 5ft 7", my face is a Smorgasbord of freckles that in some photographs make me look like I have a terminal illness, but in others, depending on the angle, make me look like im wearing make-up (any other 'frecklors' out there will understand what I mean). Please take note of the word 'Frecklor' - this is the first example of what I will refer to as a Deco'ism. It is a fictional word that I have conjured to describe something or someone because I simply dont have the motivation to look up the real definition (not that there is a collaborative word for a community of freckle endowed people).
I have many hobbits, er I mean hobbies (or at least I used to); Jiu Jitsu, Capoeira, tennis, badminton, Guitar and I enjoy the occasional beer with my friends. Circle and remove the 10 letter adjective in the previous sentence.
I have an innate and paralysing fear of Spiders; I know Im 10,000 times bigger but thats not the point! They have eight legs! Anyway, thats the only passage I have to femininity. Thats a lie too; you should hear my taste in music... Im serious, if you were to judge my sexuality on the hopelessly romantic songs that I listen to, you would think I was a raging homosexual. Not that love songs should be typecast as 'Gay Music'. Not that theres anything wrong being homosexual...er....em.... Im treading thin ice here arent I? ....er...erm...... LOOK, ITS ELVIS! (while I run away).
Well I think thats a good start.... Im off to get some food. (not sure if you knew about this but food is essential to survival). We'll get into the meat of why I want to get off the drink in my next post. Trust me, theres more to it than you know....

Slan mo chara

Deco