I couldn’t have been more excited the day of the operation.
Only once had I been cut up before, and it was for this laser eye surgery vision thing. It’s not exactly the biggest deal. The doctor doesn’t make you wear a gown with the open fanny area. You’re not doped up with medical grade opiates. You can wear your business suit during the procedure. You open your eye lids, hold still for 20 seconds, and congrats, you now have eagle vision. You’re back in your cubicle by lunch.
I spend every day with you – your daily life is boring!
This is what my co-worker said tonight as I was driving him home. He’s not a jerk, I promise. We were talking about my blog and he asked how it was going. I told him that this month I’m committed to writing a post every day. He was curious how I find content since I have such a normal, not-hilarious job.
I weighed in this afternoon at a meaty 223.8 lbs.
This is quite an accomplishment for a man that could eat whatever he wanted up until two years ago. Hell, five years ago I was at 175. I’m just shy of 6’3″ and should clock in between 190-200lbs. That’s ideal for me.
I’m not a gun person.
We didn’t grow up hunting and no-one in the family owns a firearm. I’ve shot a gun exactly once, and that was in the Scottsdale, Arizona desert. I hit 3/5 targets and the instructor said that I had a pretty good shot.
Originally posted at GeishaSchoolDropout
Our part of Long Beach was one of the worst-flooded areas during last week’s storm. We live down the street from a major storm drain and pumping station, and when the pump shorted out during our lunch hour (and coincidentally the time of hardest downpour), Tim and I came home to this… (click below to play)
I’ve got four weeks to lose ten pounds.
My father on Easter Sunday, during brunch, asked me how much I weighed. I clock in at just a hair under 6’3″. I get away with a little extra weight as it evenly proportions on my body as it gains. Well, my metabolism has finally caught up with the rest of the bozos my age. I can get fat just like you.
Well, I’ve hardly moved in the past six months. Now it’s re-started.
I’m back on the bike-to-work routine. I put my suit and lunch in a pannier bag that is attached to my bicycle, and then strap my dog to my back. We jump on the lakefront trail and pedal ten miles to work. It’s not an easy commute. Beautiful, but not easy.
Yesterday I wrote about not going out for New Year’s Eve because I chickened out in visiting a bar by myself. While I’m no longer judging myself as a loser for this I am committed to not let another major event pass without some form of a plan, even if it is just to stay home by myself.
This happens every year.
I ride the subway to and from work during the winter months. Lately I’ve noticed that I’m one of the older people. It’s mostly kids in their twenties. At thirty-six I don’t feel too old to take the train. In NYC you have people in walkers dropping dead on the D line. But here in Chicago the “L” (short for “elevated train”) is a young man’s game. Even the pretty women look too young. They’re twenty-five but look like children. I’m getting older.
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!
