Someone I know has a job as a "sober friend." That is the terminology he uses to describe his position although he is not sober himself. His primary responsibility is to hang out with his rich employer and make sure that his boss does not indulge in any drugs or alcohol. I was reflecting upon his odd vocation this past week after I had awakened one morning with a really bad hangover. Of course I cannot afford to hire a sober friend to monitor my own intake. It wouldn't benefit me even if I could because I tend to ignore well-intentioned advice and don't respond negatively to criticism.

As I staggered from my bed I pondered what type of person could help me curb my drinking. The obvious answer is that I'm the only person who can really help myself, but that was an aspect of reality I was prepared to ignore in my muddle-headed state. I picked up a brush to run it through my hair and then put it back down because my head was hurting too much to subject it to any type of stimulation. It was very important to go get some coffee and greasy food to help soak up all that alcohol in my system. Fortunately there's a McDonald's just a few blocks from my home so I headed over there. As I ate my breakfast platter - yep, they have platters there now - I contemplated what or who could help me achieve more moderation in my drinking.

The subject stayed on my mind all morning until I forced myself to go running. Coffee, greasy food, and a sweaty workout will eradicate any hangover. I refer to the technique as "The Russian Way" because I learned it from my vodka-pounding Russian relatives. It really works and by noon I felt great. I didn't have a drinking problem. Why had I been pondering the issue earlier at all?

I drove to go get my mail and the new Sports Illustrated was in my box. Lawrence Taylor, clad in golf attire and rapper jewelry, beamed up at me from the cover. Upon further inspection I noticed that notorious football player Thomas "Hollywood" Henderson's name was on the cover too. Good grief, were Michael Irvin, Bo Belinski, and Darryl Strawberry going to be mentioned in this issue as well? I decided to wait until I got to my car to find out why long-retired LT and Hollywood Henderson were in a current issue of SI, although I was presuming the cover story must be about hard-partying star athletes. Nope, in actuality it was the 7th annual "Where are They Now?" edition. Huh. I wasn't quite sure where Hollywood and LT were at that moment, but I was willing to bet they were going to credit their sobriety with getting them there. Good grief again- now I was going to be thinking about the whole sobriety subject all day long.

When I got home my friend Tyson was sitting in my driveway. He had been hitting the bars with me the night before. "Did you run and puke already?" he asked sarcastically. I just rolled my eyes because I never throw up the morning after. As we walked inside I waved the Sports Illustrated in front of his face. The caption across LT's picture read: "Lawrence Taylor, Saved by Golf." I informed Tyson that I was thinking about stopping drinking for a while. The evil mirth that resonated in his laughter was disturbing as he cackled in my face. Our conversation degenerated into an argument over whether or not I could muster enough self-discipline to stop drinking for any length of time. At some point I heard myself promising that I'd pay him $1000 if I touched any alcohol before January 1, 2007. Yeah, I really said that. His eyes widened with either disbelief, glee, or perhaps both. Had I really just said that? Yes, I had.

In the end I actually put it in writing and Tyson vowed to do everything in his power to make me fall off the wagon..

How did Francesca Le become involved in this ludicrous situation? What made her so angry? Was her discontent a prelude to violence??

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- XXOO Tanya