Remember last Monday, Internet? I was going off about how things have gotta change, about how I need to wrangle in the craziness a bit. I’m proud to report that things are going fantastically.

(Mr. and Mrs. Naked)

I attended a wedding over the weekend. Buck F. Naked tied the knot to his life long love, Beer. It was a beautiful ceremony, and it was all I could do to hold back my tears. They weren’t tears of joy, Internet, they were tears of woe. As Buck married Beer, I realized how my own relationship with Beer has lost some of that spark, that infatuation you feel at the beginning of a love affair. I could have been Beer’s man, but I let Beer get away. Where is love?

I got this new system anyway, and it’s finally looking like I’m gonna clean up my act.

Here’s how it works: Don’t get obliterated.

See how that goes? It’s not very complicated. I find it a little sad that I had to think about it and put forth an actual effort to enforce it, but it was effort that got my in this situation in the first place. As Hunter Thompson said, “Buy the ticket; take the ride.” I decided a while ago that if I was gonna party, I was gonna party. Come to think of it, a lot of that was decided while I was on a big Hunter S. Thompson kick. That rat bastard psychotic….

(No sign of bats and manta rays… yet.)

Not every adventure is the greatest adventure ever. That seems rather sad, because we love to hope for greatness in everything we do, but it’s unfortunately not always the result. In the past, each time I headed out the door I was expecting something incredible to happen that night. Would this be the night that changed everything, man. The world is my oyster, and I had everything I needed to experience it: two working legs and a gumption to test the boundaries of decent society. Well, it was fun. Now it’s different.

It’s not like the party’s over. Far from it. It’s more of a realization that there’s a difference between a party and watching reruns of Cheers. (Although that would be an awesome party.) I’m a pretty big guy and I can handle my liquor, but does that have to be proven every time? Just because I can put down 3 or 4 beers without losing much motor skill doesn’t mean that each time I have a beer I need to follow it with 2 or 3 more. Seems kind of obvious, now.

The funny thing is, this really isn’t “new” to me. Before I moved to Los Angeles, there were plenty of situations I found myself in where I curbed my enthusiasm towards getting trashed. It’s just something about this town that we all feel like we’ve gotta live up to the Hollywood Standard, trashing hotel rooms and drinking until the sun is up. You see enough Poison videos in your youth and you get some ideas.

(I got a ton of other awesome ideas in my youth, too.)

So, I’m just not trying to win an unspoken contest anymore. I can relax and enjoy, and so I did this last weekend. Virtually no hangover, arguably a more fun weekend than any recent, and not a single cut! I even sailed Sunday: no blood! This is the first time I’ve been to the sailboat and not drawn my own blood in some fashion or other. I did lose the Genoa Sail bag in the ocean though. Damn it.

Next weekend in Wisconsin will be my greatest test. I’m smoking ultra lights now, and cutting back on my beer and whiskey levels. They won’t even recognize me now, because I’ll look so in shape and healthy!

Um, yeah.

End of line.