You get a bunch of old gay men together and inevitably the talk will turn to how great the old bars were forty years ago. Fact is, they were. The bars were more fun, I was more fun, and life was good. The thing is, I could sit at a bar and drink for hours without ever having to get up and go to the bathroom. It's a fact that I'd fall off the bar stool drunk before I would have to go relieve myself.
Yesterday Mark and I went over to an old friends house for a cookout. I had four beers during the course of the evening. Now if I had drank four beers forty years ago, I would have been drunk. I wouldn't have had to go pee, but I'd be drunk. For some reason that has flipped. Now beer goes through me without even stopping to say hello to my kidneys. For every beer I had at my friend Dave's house, I had to pee twice. Yet despite all that beer, I didn't even get a buzz. Nothing, it was like I had been drinking soda. On the way home it was more of the same. We live only a short drive away, but by the time we pulled into the garage I had to pee. Which I did. I then fed the dogs and walked them. Once around the block with Scout and I had to pee again. Once more with Chandler and I had to run back so I could pee. Somehow I was peeing more out than what had gone in. As bedtime approached I thought about my mom and what she used to tell me hours before I went to bed, "No more water for Alan." She was right of course, she was the one who had to wash those sheets. And may I add one more thing to what my mom used to say, "No more beer for Alan tonight."