So I found HALF of the hospital post...

so I'll get it finished this weekend I hope..  Still at it. Still at it.

The story as it stands now.

So, I’ve experienced a few “rock-bottoms” in my life.  A few of them have been referenced in this blog.  The Hospital Incident, the Denny’s Imbroglio and last but not least the Great Dog Escape.

Well we had another one this weekend. 

I know what you’re thinking “Well, Chunky, howsabout you get off your pasty posterior and get moving again?”  Well, duh, America, I’m trying.  No, really, but it’s hard.

“Well, no kidding, but you’ve done it before.” Yep. So I can do it again, I know I can.  I know as I wedge my ample frame squarely into the dreaded period of “Middle Age” I come to grips with visions of mortality (and not just via the Celtic Frost song of the same name!) and I realize the road ahead is going to be a good deal shorter than the road behind unless, to continue this fairly clunky automotive analogy, I take a different route.  I think there’s probably a “scheduled maintenance” joke I can make as well, but I’m having a little trouble getting there.

My schedule, as you are probably aware, is packed fairly tight.  On at least 2 days a week I drive directly from one job to another, leaving the house at 8:15, not returning until 10:40 or so with a half hour for lunch and an hour drive between the two gigs. 

I have made a fair go of getting up at 6:50 to get the dog up and out, and at least walk around the block twice.  He’s a meanderer, so that’s annoying, hard to get a good pace going.  Sleep, however, is a harsh mistress.  She lures me into her warm and welcoming embrace assuring me I can “always start tomorrow.”

Of course having Fergus AKA Fergusy-Ferg, The Fuffus, Furgatroid, Der Fuffenagle, Dr. Licky Pupperman DDS* cuddle up to you as you try and get out of bed doesn’t help in the least.  As World’s Snuggliest Yorkie-Poo he’s duty-bound to attempt to sleep as long as possible, and lord knows the 14+ hours a day he gets simply can’t be enough.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah my annoying bottom!** 

My son has Autism and our family belongs to an organization called parents of Special People.  Well, this past Sunday was our Pancake Breakfast where we had families come together and meet and network and eat some pancakes and ungodly amounts of bacon.***  We also had some characters scheduled.

These were suits to be worn by intrepid parents, and I volunteered to be Cookie Monster. So I retreated to the back hall to change wouldn’t you know I couldn’t fit in the damned suit.

Let me reiterate my situation, in case it wasn’t obvious enough: I was too fat to play a Muppet who’s primary diet consists of baked goods.

My wife reassured me that the costumes are small, and yeah, they are, but not THAT tight.  So, someone else put on the suit and my son RAN to him and hugged him. 

Thank you, Gods of Irony, for that colossal crack in the nuts.

And so, please tune in here because I’m going to try a Monday/Wed/Friday update.  We’re gonna make the Fat Man accountable again, and see if we can’t get back towards fitness.

* that’s for Doctor of Dog Stuff just so you know.

** Shut up, you!

*** and by families I mean me, primarily.

That's twice now...

I have tried to post the hospital story and it's gone pear shaped on me.  What in the green hell is going on?