Being a twenty-something in the city of Chicago with two room mates that are good friends brings a difficult challenge that dieters dread: alcohol. It's hard, even for me (someone who knows pretty much everything there is to know about losing weight), to keep in mind that food is not the only thing that yields calories and weight gain. Beverages also assist in this struggle. Juice, pop, milk, and other drinks cast a haze over us. We don't realize that we are drinking calories. While dieting, water is really the only option, and it's an option I have no problem sticking with. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my Diet Pepsi and Fruit Punch just as much as the next person, but tossing them aside for a few months for water is not a very difficult task. Plus it's cheaper. However, the one drink that is difficult for me to get rid of is the ever popular, and ever fattening, alcohol.

Last night, my room mate decided he wanted to go out. Having been sick for the last few days and doing nothing besides working and sitting around the apartment I decided it was probably a good idea for me to join him. Moise is also trying to lose weight, so I figured it would be okay if I said I didn't want to drink to save on the calories. Long story short, the club we went to was having open bar from 10:00-10:30 and before I knew it Moise had already ordered a round of drinks for our group. Not wanting to be rude, I drank it. And two more. They were little drinks, probably only six ounces each, but after I sucked the three down I felt really bad about it. It wasn't only the vodka; they were mixed with pineapple juice, lemonade, and grenadine. They were tasty, that's for sure, but I don't even want to know how many extra calories I consumed.

Barhopping lead to walking around the city for a bit, doing some dancing, and walking up and down several flights of stairs on and off the "L" - more exercise than I would have had if I'd stayed home - but still. I got home and felt ... like I had failed. The drinks weren't worth the guilt I felt. My first week has been great. I have lost almost eight pounds and I feel like I'm on the path to finally doing it this time. I kept pushing thoughts back and forth about how many calories I consumed, for nothing. I wasn't even buzzed, and around midnight my I'm-still-sick feeling set in so I caught a bus home. It wasn't worth it.

I told myself I would allow myself to go out and drink a little once every two weeks. I think I may cut that down to once a month, or even as far down as special occasions. If I go with that theory I'm probably only going to be drinking twice while OP - St. Patrick's Day and Fourth of July. Well, and my two cousins' weddings. So four times I guess. But even then, will the thought of possibly stalling my weight loss really be worth the few drinks? I suppose by Fourth of July/the weddings it would be worth it, seeing as I will either be at goal or just a few pounds shy. I don't know. I guess I'll have to take each day as it comes. But I do know that having a random drink or two on a random Saturday night is no longer an option. It's really not worth it! Fortunately as of this moment it hasn't stalled anything. Stepping on the scale this morning yielded a positive outcome. But I can't always rely on being that lucky. I guess I'm glad I learned this lesson early on; could have been much worse!