As my best friend likes to say when we're down at her shore house and the clock strikes noon, "It's five o'clock somewhere!" And it is. Especially now that I'm enjoying a life free of a job, a boss, and tomorrow's early meeting/conference call/Gossip Girl discussion at the water cooler, it seems like every hour should be happy hour.
Upon first receiving my pink slip I firmly decided that I would not lose my motivation or become lazy in any way. I told myself that I would continue to get up early to workout and keep myself on a strict schedule designed to pack as much possible into each day; furthermore,I would achieve world peace and end world hunger. This lasted for about a week. Since then, I've decided to become, as I like to look at it, more European. I am doing so by sleeping in, getting workouts walking about town rather than in the gym, and eating late lunches that are full cheese and wine.
So when I decided to become a connoisseur of my local wine store's bargain bin, I began my samplings at around 7 or 8pm over dinner. Soon I started having a glass at 5 or 6pm as I cook because a little vino just makes everything taste better (and look a little sloppier). In fact, think vino is responsible for me inventing the suprisingy delicous, zuchinni-cinnamon-jalepeno burger. A few days later, when 4pm rolled around and I took my "Oprah break", I thought, "What the hell? That malbec is calling my name."
Now as I sit here, fresh off a late lunch thinking about how nothing gets my creative juices going like a yummy cabernet, I'm wondering, how early is too early? Would one consider me to have a problem if I were to sip a cocktail in front of my computer at 2:30 in the afternoon on a Monday? If I changed my name to something French, would that make it OK? If I started wearing lots of black eyeliner and smoking, would that make it OK? If I started hanging out with Lindsay Lohan, would that make it OK? Throw me a bone please!
Until I can justify it in my own head, I'll have to stick to a 3pm coffee fix instead of a mainline of that sweet-grape-nectar-of-the-gods. I don't think it'll take too long to figure something out.
For now, having no better excuse, I'm just going to call myself Jean-Francois-Michele-Baguette, so I can sip my wine and eat my cheese guilt-free no matter what time it is. To my close friends, I look forward to the intervention. To my party-buddies, I look forward to the relapse.