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My Body Is A Weirdoland

I was 180 on the dot when I stepped on the scale yesterday, which put me at just one pound over the FinalFive range. The plan was to do an all-protein day and hit the gym, thanks to the power of Staycation™.

That fell apart in two ways: first I had zero energy when the window for hitting the gym came around. So I wound up grabbing some pre-packaged roast beef for a snack and eating 3-4 ounces before running off to Skylight Books to pick up the first book in Deluxe Edition of The Invisibles, which I’d promised myself three months ago. (Despising DC Comics’ current regime doesn’t prevent me from spending money on the back catalogue, apparently.) Still: no gym, and I’m going to have a devil of a time making that up with the holiday here.

The second part was my planned dinner at Mohawk Bend, a popular gastropub in Echo Park that features an insane beer list and dueling vegan/omnivore kitchens. There’s no “8 ounces of carne asada” option on the menu (which is how I usually survive protein days) and the Buffalo-style cauliflower is too hard to pass up. Seriously: its just like Buffalo wings, only made out of the vegetable. I don’t miss the meat at all.

That beer list, tho.

I’m not a heavy drinker by any stretch of the imagination. I can sit with an unopened bottle of my beloved Laphroaig on my kitchen counter for seasons on end. I’ve long prided myself on being a cheap drunk—two and I’m flying—with snobby tastes in beer and liquor. That keeps the system in check.

Mohawk Bend is a weak point, however. Even if I don’t want to drink the beer list is so hefty—60 on tap at any given time—and it cycles through so regularly that I usually cave. Yesterday it was an oatmeal stout which was followed up by a rather fruity sour, because this is Mohawk Bend’s Summer of Sour. Normally I would have the name of the beers for you but that sour was potent enough that it blanked my memory.

I had these alongside a burger with bacon, because I’m a terrible dieter.

Short story long: I got on the scale expecting to be at least 182. Wincing as I stepped on.

179.3.

I don’t understand life.