NOTE: This is a blog about two guys attempting to lose weight over a six-week period. They kicked off their weight loss "strategies" on Jan. 10.
Temptations. Everyone wants to know about temptations.
Do I freak out when I see someone eat a cheeseburger? How do I handle three pizzas being delivered to our part of the office? How do I deal with the L.A. food trucks lurking around every palm tree?
Yes I want those things. Badly. January is almost over, and I haven't had anything from a fast-food window for most of the month, and last night I was more tempted than ever to eat bad things.
I had just seen the legendary Wanda Jackson rip up the El Rey with Jack White leading a well-dressed, sexy, bluesy 11-piece rock band through a rollicking set that had the sold out crowd swaying and dancing to the gritty beat.
With good times come good beers. Upon entering the Art Deco establishment, I ordered a large Shock Top and made my way over to the stage with the hot babe who had suggested the show. She had been there the night before and was so blown away by the sass, snarl and style of the 73-year-old Jackson -- a recent Rock & Roll Hall of Fame inductee -- that she had to go again Monday.
Plus I'm sure Jack White's electric sex appeal didn't hurt either.
Halfway through the set, nature called, which meant an Amstel Light on the way back from the loo.
Since I had just a small glass of water for breakfast and half a salad for lunch, and half a Subway chicken breast foot-long for dinner, I figured I could have two beers at the rock show. The Bears had just broken my heart the day before; I was due a little splurge.
But the show only got hotter. The band heated up, Wanda kept belting out the truly classic rock, and Jack did his best to stay out of the limelight, but that guitar of his needed to shine.
When the show was over, the audience chanted "Wanda! Wanda! Wanda!" But the house lights eventually lit up the room, and we all looked at each other, our faces glowing.
My little party didn't want the party to stop. A nightcap at nearby Molly Malone's was suggested.
Beers for everyone, but since it was past midnight, I had a double Baileys. As in Irish Creme.
It was a habit. Something should have told me that anything that ends in creme is probably not the best thing for a man trying to get in shape, but I ordered it, we all had a fun conversation, and another round was ordered.
Just a single Bailey's, please.
Later I found out that although one shot of the delicious mixture of Irish whiskey and liqueur was only 95 calories, it accounted for 135% of the daily recommended amount of cholesterol.
But that isn't where the dietary drama ended.
After the bar, after the hugs, after the plans to rejoin in Vegas, etc., after the getting in the car, there it was: the Jack in the Box sign.
How good would two tacos taste right now?
And curly fries.
How about just one taco and a few curly fries?
How about just one taco?
How about just one curly fry?
I have a fast car. I drove fast in the other direction.
Temptation avoided ... for the night.
Granola bar was discovered in the passenger's seat and ravished on the way home, however.