Progress! Follow along at home!

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Here's some inspiration for you all! or I Will Never Look That Good In a Bikini!

http://www.cnn.com/2011/10/25/health/beauty-queen-weightloss/index.html?iref=obnetwork

Need a little inspiration? Miss Bree Boyce lost 112 pounds and won herself a beauty pageant. She’s healthy, she’s happy and it’s nice to see a success story like this. Way to go, Miss South Carolina.

Now, before any of start grousing about "beauty pageants" and how they objectify woman and all that malarky, let’s just rejoice in the story of someone who had a goal and stuck to it.

See? Don’t you feel better now?

So, what did we learn today? Well, that with some motivation you can accomplish your weight loss goals. You know it, I know it. Hell, I was on my way handily until I fell off the wagon and landed open-mouthed on a great big pile of sheetcake. It's just nice to be reminded that's all.

Secondly, Doing a Google image search for Bree Boyce gets you some lovely shots of Ms. S.C.(both before and after) but also, a tad inexplicably:

Seth Green and Cedric the Entertainer…

Third, if it were not for spell-check, I’d have called them beauty contests up above. Thank you, spell-check!

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Time, time, time...see what's become of me...

So, I’ve been thinking about Time a lot lately. How there never seems to be enough of it, how we’re only issued a finite amount of it when we’re brought into this crazy world, and when you check out, it for the rest of time. Yeah, some really heady shit, right?

Due to the circumstances of my life (i.e. the hand I was dealt in this Cosmic Card Game we’re all playing) I spend a remarkably small amount of time not working. Someday, I would like to put a big-time reverse on that trend, or at least be occupied with work I find super-fulfilling and beneficial for other people (not that I don’t love getting you all your lattes and whatnot, but I’m thinking on a larger scale).

I suppose it’s cliché mid-life crisis bullshit to think “Well, I’m 41 now. This could, essentially, be the midway point of my life.” I try not to think that way, because that way leads to madness, and mopery. Perhaps it’s because I see how difficult things can be (financially, socially and in many other ways) for parents and families of a special needs child (our boy having Autism) that I can’t help but wonder “What can be done?” and “Can’t there be some way I can be a part of fixing it?” Heavy, right? I’m just saying there has to be a better way, yeah? I mean that in a lot of ways, I suppose.

This type of thing weighs on me very, very heavily sometimes, and it’s as though I could have the answer if I thought about it hard enough, or differently or…something. I just don’t know.

There’s other things I’d still like to do for me, too. I mean, I have only one day a week (most weeks) where I don’t work at all, and two nights “free.” Those free nights usually involve laundry or some other stuff, and maybe some TV time with the missus if I get lucky.* I have a huge laundry list (which, oddly enough does not have laundry on it!) of things I want to do along with things I need to do.

Shoot, I started recording a new single in JUNE for crying out loud. Sometimes I think that second album is NEVER coming out.

I either need a clone or a TARDIS. Who am I kidding, I have to go with TARDIS, let’s face it. Otherwise it’d be me and me sitting at a table going “My, we are handsome, aren’t we?” and trying to convince my wife which one of us is the “real one.**”

Not that a clone isn’t without trouble. If he eats like me, he’ll need 2 jobs of his own. Also I am betting my clone would play the “I’m not married!” card, stop going to work for me and head out trying to take advantage of gullible young ladies. He’d then get himself, and essentially me, in “trouble” is you catch my drift. I mean, the DNA test would point to me, right? Even if your old lady knows you have a clone, she’d still be suspicious, right? Don’t get me wrong, it’d make a hell of an episode of Maury Povich, but I don’t need that kind of hassle in an already busy life.

Alternately, a nice win in the lottery would be sweet. I could help a lot of people, and I keep telling God I won’t spend all of it on tattoos and girls. After all, I only want a couple more tattoos, and I have wonderful gal at home.

I also do not have a clone to blame a damn thing on.

* Seriously, how good has Walking Dead been this year? Wow!

** I know what you’re thinking, but it would probably devolve into a Doctor Who Trivia contest


Monday, October 24, 2011

You know it's been a while...

when you forget your password to the blog.

yeah.

signed,

Chubby McBigbones.

How I knew...

…I had hit my rock bottom…

I honestly don’t 100% know what I weigh right now. Not because I have ballooned to the point where I need a slaughterhouse scale to weigh me, but because the battery has gone flat in the scale. That’s not the point of this post, although I’m hoping it reminds me to get a battery later after work.

Here’s my Rock Bottom Moment, posted for all the world to see.

I took my son to McDonald’s on Sunday. We were out and this is a good place to get gluten free food for him (grilled chicken and fries) so, while I don’t really want to eat there he likes it, it was convenient, and it was getting late. So we got our grilled chicken and drinks and an order of fries and I set up our table. I went to st in the booth and, goddammit, America, I could not fit in the booth.

Let me state that once more, I was too fat to fit in the booth.

At McDonald’s.

Yes, I was too fat to fit in the booth at McDonald’s yesterday. Man, when you’re too big to fin in the seat at a place where they make fat people (or make people fat. Whichever, I think I’m gonna go with hyperbole) it’s time to seriously make a change.

I’m angry enough that I need to buy 2 pairs of big boy pants for the coffee shop* (it’s getting too darned cold to work the drive through in shorts and a short sleeve polo any more) but holy shit, I had to go to a table, It was embarrassing to say the least. My kid doesn't care, but I'm pretty tired of being the fat dad.

I have an enormously full plate in my life but I obviously need to carve out gym time. I can’t *not* do it. I have to sacrifice something, and it’s probably going to be time I’d like for something else, but that’s why it’s called sacrifice, right?

Here we go. This time I mean it :)


*Loyal readers may remember that I gave away all my fat clothes back in November of 2009. Yes, two years ago I had lost enough weight that I got rid of my 38s and 40s. And the 36s as well. Grrrr….

And here's when I knew...

…I had hit my rock bottom!

I honestly don’t 100% know what I weigh right now. Not because I have ballooned to the point where I need a slaughterhouse scale to weigh me, but because the battery has gone flat in the scale. That’s not the point of this post, although I’m hoping it reminds me to get a battery later after work.

Here’s my Rock Bottom Moment (TM), posted for all the world to see.

I took my son to McDonald’s on Sunday. We were out and this is a good place to get gluten free food for him (grilled chicken and fries) so, while I don’t really want to eat there he likes it, it was convenient, and it was getting late. So we got our grilled chicken and drinks and an order of fries and I set up our table. I went to sit in the booth and, goddammit, America, I could not fit in the booth.

Let me state that once more, I was too fat to fit in the booth.

At McDonald’s.

Yes, that is correct, I was too fat to fit in the booth at McDonald’s yesterday. Man, when you’re too big to fit in the seat at a place where they make fat people (or make people fat. Whichever, I think I’m gonna go with hyperbole because it’s what I do!) it’s it a slap across the face with the cold fish of reality.

I’m already angry enough I need to buy 2 pairs of "big boy pants" for the coffee shop* (it’s getting too darned cold to work the drive through in shorts and a short sleeve polo any more) but holy sh*t, I had to go to a table.

I have an enormously full plate but I need to carve out gym time. I can’t *not* do it. I have to sacrifice something, and it’s probably going to be time I’d like for something else, but that’s why it’s called sacrifice, right?


*Loyal readers may remember that I gave away all my fat clothes back in November of 2009. Yes, two years ago I had lost enough weight that I got rid of my 38s and 40s. And the 36s as well. Grrrr….

http://sportybyforty.blogspot.com/2009/11/living-without-net.html