God hath given you one face and you make yourselves another.
-Hamlet (3.1)
Our church wants to put together a directory with pictures of all the people who attend services. They’ve been asking all attendees to schedule a photography session at the church. I wouldn’t have bothered, but the Boss wants me to play nice with others, something that I just don’t do so well. We scheduled an appointment. The Mom & Pop business taking the pictures prints one free directory for each family that gets a picture taken (additional directories are $10 each), and then tries to sell portrait packages. Those packages are incredibly expensive. The woman selling the packages assumed that we were buyers. She never bothered to ask us if we wanted to purchase pictures. We sat down to pick the pose for the directory, but she started writing and processing an order that we were not going to place. It was odd. Of course, she started the entire process by explaining how they printed the directories for free, as if we had an obligation to purchase their product, and then acted completely surprised when I told her that we weren’t buying. She almost looked offended. Guilt is simply not an effective sales technique. At least, not with me. I’m a fairly unsympathetic bastard where salesmen are concerned, which is why the Boss looked at me and asked, “What do you think?” She knew I’d say “no, thank you,” and she wouldn’t have to. We have good teamwork on stuff like that. One of the selling points of this business was their touch-up services. They are quite adept at removing all character from a person’s face, making their customers look plastic. Wrinkles give people character. Ladies, crow’s feet and laugh lines are sexy. Stop trying to cover them. In one of their sample photos, they removed a drooping eye lid from a grandmotherly woman and created a face that simply was not in the original photograph. I don’t know how the subject of the photograph felt about the finished product, but if their prices didn’t guarantee that I didn’t buy anything, their touch-up services did.
"Do not lie in a ditch, and say God help me; use the lawful tools He hath lent thee."
- English Proverb
The Subway in our Wal*mart is 30 feet from the store’s produce section, so you can imagine my surprise when I went into the shop for a sandwich and was told by a young kid behind the counter that they were completely out of lettuce. How difficult would it have been for him to run over, buy a head of lettuce, wash it, chop it, and put it on a sandwich? There’s probably some law somewhere preventing him from taking that initiative, if he thought of it at all. It would have taken a dollar from the till, but brought in much more in sales. I briefly thought about buying a head of lettuce, handing it to the kid, and saying, “Here’s some lettuce. Now, making my f---ing sandwich.” Instead, I played nice, bit my tongue, and simply left. Honestly, playing well with others is boring.
"You are drunk Sir Winston, you are disgustingly drunk."
"Yes, Mrs. Braddock, I am drunk. But you, Mrs. Braddock, are ugly and disgustingly fat. But, tomorrow morning I, Winston Churchill, will be sober.”
– Winston Churchill
I’m in mourning. I’ve had a loss in my life. Mayonnaise. My foot-long turkey breast on Italian bread was boring without mayonnaise. It made the long drive from Wal*mart to a different Subway quite disappointing. Last week, I returned to Weight Watchers after a year-long absence and a return of all the weight I previously lost. When my pants stopped fitting I knew I had to either lose the weight or buy more clothes. I opted for the former. I told my new meeting leader that I didn’t want to hear any insults directed towards men in general, towards me, or towards my weight loss. I wanted genuine assistance during those weeks where weight loss doesn’t go so well, not mocking ridicule. If she could play by those rules, we’d get along fine. This woman was a bit taken back both by the story I told her about my previous meeting leader and my blunt, direct manner; but, she agreed. I lost 5.5 pounds this past week, and put back on my favorite pair of cargo shorts without playing origami with my belly fat . Apparently, the difference between a size 38 and a size 40 (in pants) is the difference between weighing 243 and 238, but I have an overwhelming desire dive naked into a vat of mayonnaise and swim around for awhile. I’ll play nice, and keep the pictures private.
Showing posts with label weight loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weight loss. Show all posts
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Saturday, August 1, 2009
The Saturday Morning Fat Boy Weigh-in, Part 11
“But, I liked being a chubby tub of goo!” my body whined. “Where’d that third chin go? You don’t look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy anymore. You look more like the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man after being zapped by Venkman’s proton gun. I want to go back to being really fat! Go get some Krispy Creams!”
That’s what my body is telling me.
It’s frustrating, and this is the first week that frustration became a part of dieting.
Last week I broke even on my weight. I remained at exactly 214.2 pounds. As I wrote earlier in the week, after analyzing my eating I realized that I badly miscalculated my WW points. This week, I carefully measured all of my portions. I checked and rechecked my points. And, I reintroduced the “E” word into my life. Yes, the dreaded “Exercise.” Using a combination of biking and jogging, I put four hours of cardio into my diet program. I ran six miles this week. I biked countless more. I feel good. (Except for my thighs, which still wobble when I walk up and down a flight of stairs. I walk like a squib on his maiden voyage to Davey Jones' locker.)
So, why is it that I climbed onto the scale this morning and watched the numbers roll up to 213.8?
213.8!
That’s a loss of a measly .4 pounds. Not even a half a pound! It almost makes you want to get naked and dive head-first into a super-sized order of French fries with a Coke chaser. Just try to get that image out of your head the next time you tuck into a Big Mac.
I’d like to say that .4 pounds was not worth the effort, but I need to keep focused here. Any weight loss is weight LOSS. That’s the goal, so the week was a success. I didn’t break even. I certainly didn’t gain. I’m just disappointed. After all that exercise, I thought I’d lose a couple of pounds.
I didn’t get fat over night. I won’t get thin over night, either. Over eleven weeks I have lost 29 pounds, which is an average of a little over 2.6 pounds per week. That’s actually a fairly good pace for weight loss, and if I steadily lost only 2.6 pounds each week for 11 weeks, I would be perfectly happy. So, for the record, I begrudgingly admit that I am happy.
If I say that enough times I might even believe it.
I did not see my meeting leader this week. She may have been there, but I did not go into the back room and weigh-in. I paid my fee, stepped on the scale at the front desk, had my weight recorded, and left. I might have remained for the meeting if I thought I was going to get some real assistance in breaking through this recent barrier. That alone makes me seriously consider some advice I received this week to demand my money back from WW. At the same time, using the program that I pay for I have lost 29 pounds, for which my heart is probably quite relieved. I will start looking for a new meeting for next week, a place where I can find real advice about weight loss that isn’t hormonally based.
And that is the Saturday Morning Fat Boy Weigh-in.
That’s what my body is telling me.
It’s frustrating, and this is the first week that frustration became a part of dieting.
Last week I broke even on my weight. I remained at exactly 214.2 pounds. As I wrote earlier in the week, after analyzing my eating I realized that I badly miscalculated my WW points. This week, I carefully measured all of my portions. I checked and rechecked my points. And, I reintroduced the “E” word into my life. Yes, the dreaded “Exercise.” Using a combination of biking and jogging, I put four hours of cardio into my diet program. I ran six miles this week. I biked countless more. I feel good. (Except for my thighs, which still wobble when I walk up and down a flight of stairs. I walk like a squib on his maiden voyage to Davey Jones' locker.)
So, why is it that I climbed onto the scale this morning and watched the numbers roll up to 213.8?
213.8!
That’s a loss of a measly .4 pounds. Not even a half a pound! It almost makes you want to get naked and dive head-first into a super-sized order of French fries with a Coke chaser. Just try to get that image out of your head the next time you tuck into a Big Mac.
I’d like to say that .4 pounds was not worth the effort, but I need to keep focused here. Any weight loss is weight LOSS. That’s the goal, so the week was a success. I didn’t break even. I certainly didn’t gain. I’m just disappointed. After all that exercise, I thought I’d lose a couple of pounds.
I didn’t get fat over night. I won’t get thin over night, either. Over eleven weeks I have lost 29 pounds, which is an average of a little over 2.6 pounds per week. That’s actually a fairly good pace for weight loss, and if I steadily lost only 2.6 pounds each week for 11 weeks, I would be perfectly happy. So, for the record, I begrudgingly admit that I am happy.
If I say that enough times I might even believe it.
I did not see my meeting leader this week. She may have been there, but I did not go into the back room and weigh-in. I paid my fee, stepped on the scale at the front desk, had my weight recorded, and left. I might have remained for the meeting if I thought I was going to get some real assistance in breaking through this recent barrier. That alone makes me seriously consider some advice I received this week to demand my money back from WW. At the same time, using the program that I pay for I have lost 29 pounds, for which my heart is probably quite relieved. I will start looking for a new meeting for next week, a place where I can find real advice about weight loss that isn’t hormonally based.
And that is the Saturday Morning Fat Boy Weigh-in.
Monday, July 27, 2009
With God On Our Side
So, ladies…
You walk into a weight loss center and meet a friendly, helpful man who assists you as you start a weight loss plan. He teaches you everything that you need to know to understand the weight loss program and begin the process of losing weight. One week later you return to the weight loss center 8 pounds lighter. The friendly, helpful man congratulates you. “Congratulations on your weight loss. Of course, you women have it easier than we men do. The program works better for you than for us. But, good work.”
Tell me, would you feel like you found success during the first week of the program because you faithfully followed the new diet plan or because you have breasts?
The next week you return to the weight loss center five pounds lighter than the previous week. You’ve lost 13 pounds in two weeks and you’re feeling good. You’re hopeful and optimistic. The friendly, helpful man records your new weight, shakes his head, and says, “You women…well, good work.” During the meeting that follows weighing-in, he congratulates you on your weight loss by saying, “It’s disgusting how well this program works for women.”
Did you find success during the second week of weight loss because you diligently learned to change your eating habits, or did your ovaries work some estrogenic magic and melt the fat off of your body?
As you return week after week, steadily losing weight, you notice that when men lose weight they are congratulated, but when you lose weight the congratulations are back handed shots at the ease at which the program works for women. No mention is made of the other women attending the meetings, those who are not steadily losing weight. The meeting leader talks openly about his wife, the “saboteur,” who brings sweets and high fat treats into the house that tempt him into falling off of his diet plan. He endures.
So do you.
Tell me, how welcome would you feel attending this program? Would you feel like you are receiving the help and support that is promised in the brochures? Would you feel like you are getting a good value for your dollar? Or, would it feel like a hostile environment? Law suits have been filed over less. And if it were a man treating a woman in the manner I described above, he would be open to mandatory “harassment counseling,” possibly losing his job, and the threat of legal action. In this case, it hasn’t been a man treating a woman in this manner. It has been a woman treating a man in this manner. It has been happening at my Weight Watchers meeting, and I have been on the receiving end this treatment. Just reverse genders in the description above and you’ll see what I mean. If you believed the meeting leader of my Weight Watchers meeting, my weight loss is less the result of my working the Weight Watchers program and more the product of some over-blown testosterone production melting away my excess weight that makes my testicles more responsible for my weight loss than anything that I’ve done.
On Saturday I called Weight Watchers and lodged a complaint. This morning I received a phone call from a very apologetic regional manager who fumbled for words as she tried to comprehend the story that I shared with her. Saturday morning I weighed-in and discovered that I neither gained nor lost weight last week. That wasn’t necessarily bad. I knew that it would happen sooner or later. And I suspected, as I found out later in the day, that I had not only badly miscalculated the points value of one food item that I indulged in during the week, but I ate too much of it, too. It was ice cream. Edy’s Slow Churn Carmel Delight. That’s good eatin’. Anyway, my meeting leader’s response to my weigh-in was, “Now you know what it is like for us women.” As I walked out the door to the meeting room, I heard her exclaim, “Na,na, na-na, na. I don’t have to talk about Arby today!” I couldn’t believe it. At a meeting designed to help people lose weight, my meeting leader was not only celebrating the fact that I failed to lose weight last week, but she was publicly mocking me. Everyone in the meeting room heard what she said. And she made no move to help me figure out how or why I failed to lose weight.
There are a million and one things racing through my mind about this incident. I was raised in the feminist 70’s by a working mom and an on-again-off-again working dad. I was raised listening to the demands for equal treatment of women by men in all areas of life. It is one of the reasons why I rile so easily when faced with the anti-stay-at-home-dad, anti-homeschooling father attitudes that I encounter in the right-wing of the Christian community. I learned my lessons from the 70’s very well. I learned those lessons so well that I didn’t have to think very hard when the Boss and I determined that her earning potential was greater than mine, resulting in her working and my raising our children. It wasn’t necessarily a no-brainer decision, but my ego wasn’t tied up in my being the “bread winner.”
Of all the things that I have thought about in relation to the conduct of my Weight Watchers meeting leader and the treatment I have received from her, one lesson that I learned on my own earlier this year stands out as the most important concept. It is a lesson that Teachermommy recently wrote about so poignantly in her post Naught But Moving Shadows . I have learned that my value, my worth, does not come from my position in life, from my spouse, or from my children. It does not come from any praise that I might get from a friend who comments on my blog. My value and worth come from God. I was valuable in God’s eyes 28 pounds ago (28.6, to be exact). I will be valuable in God’s eyes 34 pounds from now when I reach my goal. Value and worth come from God, and looking to have my value or worth fulfilled by anything or anyone else is an exercise doomed for failure. That is why I am happy no matter how much I lose or do not lose. That is why I cheerfully and confidently sit in my meeting each week. I look at the expressions of misery and defeat on the faces of the other people in the meeting and wonder, “Do you know God? Do you know what Jesus did for you? Do you know how wonderfully freeing it is to know that no matter what happens here on earth, that there is One who knows you and loves you in spite of your failings?”
I long for the opportunity to gently tell them. I will look for the opportunity to do so. And regardless of my meeting leader’s attitude, I will continue on my goal of living a healthier life style. 214 pounds feels good. 180 will feel even better. But I will not forget that downsizing to a size 36 waist or hearing the Boss complain that my ass is disappearing is nowhere near as important as knowing that I have a Father in Heaven who loves me. That makes it a whole lot easier to ignore the chocolate frosted cake on the kitchen counter, or the fact that the freckle face left it there. With God on my side, who can defeat me?
You walk into a weight loss center and meet a friendly, helpful man who assists you as you start a weight loss plan. He teaches you everything that you need to know to understand the weight loss program and begin the process of losing weight. One week later you return to the weight loss center 8 pounds lighter. The friendly, helpful man congratulates you. “Congratulations on your weight loss. Of course, you women have it easier than we men do. The program works better for you than for us. But, good work.”
Tell me, would you feel like you found success during the first week of the program because you faithfully followed the new diet plan or because you have breasts?
The next week you return to the weight loss center five pounds lighter than the previous week. You’ve lost 13 pounds in two weeks and you’re feeling good. You’re hopeful and optimistic. The friendly, helpful man records your new weight, shakes his head, and says, “You women…well, good work.” During the meeting that follows weighing-in, he congratulates you on your weight loss by saying, “It’s disgusting how well this program works for women.”
Did you find success during the second week of weight loss because you diligently learned to change your eating habits, or did your ovaries work some estrogenic magic and melt the fat off of your body?
As you return week after week, steadily losing weight, you notice that when men lose weight they are congratulated, but when you lose weight the congratulations are back handed shots at the ease at which the program works for women. No mention is made of the other women attending the meetings, those who are not steadily losing weight. The meeting leader talks openly about his wife, the “saboteur,” who brings sweets and high fat treats into the house that tempt him into falling off of his diet plan. He endures.
So do you.
Tell me, how welcome would you feel attending this program? Would you feel like you are receiving the help and support that is promised in the brochures? Would you feel like you are getting a good value for your dollar? Or, would it feel like a hostile environment? Law suits have been filed over less. And if it were a man treating a woman in the manner I described above, he would be open to mandatory “harassment counseling,” possibly losing his job, and the threat of legal action. In this case, it hasn’t been a man treating a woman in this manner. It has been a woman treating a man in this manner. It has been happening at my Weight Watchers meeting, and I have been on the receiving end this treatment. Just reverse genders in the description above and you’ll see what I mean. If you believed the meeting leader of my Weight Watchers meeting, my weight loss is less the result of my working the Weight Watchers program and more the product of some over-blown testosterone production melting away my excess weight that makes my testicles more responsible for my weight loss than anything that I’ve done.
On Saturday I called Weight Watchers and lodged a complaint. This morning I received a phone call from a very apologetic regional manager who fumbled for words as she tried to comprehend the story that I shared with her. Saturday morning I weighed-in and discovered that I neither gained nor lost weight last week. That wasn’t necessarily bad. I knew that it would happen sooner or later. And I suspected, as I found out later in the day, that I had not only badly miscalculated the points value of one food item that I indulged in during the week, but I ate too much of it, too. It was ice cream. Edy’s Slow Churn Carmel Delight. That’s good eatin’. Anyway, my meeting leader’s response to my weigh-in was, “Now you know what it is like for us women.” As I walked out the door to the meeting room, I heard her exclaim, “Na,na, na-na, na. I don’t have to talk about Arby today!” I couldn’t believe it. At a meeting designed to help people lose weight, my meeting leader was not only celebrating the fact that I failed to lose weight last week, but she was publicly mocking me. Everyone in the meeting room heard what she said. And she made no move to help me figure out how or why I failed to lose weight.
There are a million and one things racing through my mind about this incident. I was raised in the feminist 70’s by a working mom and an on-again-off-again working dad. I was raised listening to the demands for equal treatment of women by men in all areas of life. It is one of the reasons why I rile so easily when faced with the anti-stay-at-home-dad, anti-homeschooling father attitudes that I encounter in the right-wing of the Christian community. I learned my lessons from the 70’s very well. I learned those lessons so well that I didn’t have to think very hard when the Boss and I determined that her earning potential was greater than mine, resulting in her working and my raising our children. It wasn’t necessarily a no-brainer decision, but my ego wasn’t tied up in my being the “bread winner.”
Of all the things that I have thought about in relation to the conduct of my Weight Watchers meeting leader and the treatment I have received from her, one lesson that I learned on my own earlier this year stands out as the most important concept. It is a lesson that Teachermommy recently wrote about so poignantly in her post Naught But Moving Shadows . I have learned that my value, my worth, does not come from my position in life, from my spouse, or from my children. It does not come from any praise that I might get from a friend who comments on my blog. My value and worth come from God. I was valuable in God’s eyes 28 pounds ago (28.6, to be exact). I will be valuable in God’s eyes 34 pounds from now when I reach my goal. Value and worth come from God, and looking to have my value or worth fulfilled by anything or anyone else is an exercise doomed for failure. That is why I am happy no matter how much I lose or do not lose. That is why I cheerfully and confidently sit in my meeting each week. I look at the expressions of misery and defeat on the faces of the other people in the meeting and wonder, “Do you know God? Do you know what Jesus did for you? Do you know how wonderfully freeing it is to know that no matter what happens here on earth, that there is One who knows you and loves you in spite of your failings?”
I long for the opportunity to gently tell them. I will look for the opportunity to do so. And regardless of my meeting leader’s attitude, I will continue on my goal of living a healthier life style. 214 pounds feels good. 180 will feel even better. But I will not forget that downsizing to a size 36 waist or hearing the Boss complain that my ass is disappearing is nowhere near as important as knowing that I have a Father in Heaven who loves me. That makes it a whole lot easier to ignore the chocolate frosted cake on the kitchen counter, or the fact that the freckle face left it there. With God on my side, who can defeat me?
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The I'm-Too-Lazy-To-Run-A-Contest Contest
Close your eyes for a moment and picture this (not literally, you goof, or you won’t be able to continue reading)…a world filled with people wearing brightly colored t-shirts advertising Boarding in Bedlam. Pretty exciting, huh? I thought you’d agree. Since borrowing Glenn Beck’s “sick twisted freaks” line and applying it to the regular group of readers who visit this blog, I’ve received several comments that lead me to believe that being a “sick twisted freak” is a badge of honor. Five, to be exact. And there’s been a couple of t-shirt requests. I can’t use Mr. Beck’s line on a t-shirt, but I can come up with one of my own. Or you can. Then we can print it on t-shirts, you can buy them, and we’ll all help the economy while Arby pays off his mortgage early.
It’s time for a contest. It’s time for a Design Arby’s Blog T-shirt contest. Well, not a contest, really. If it were a contest I would have to have prizes, rules, judges, etc. I’d be asking you to spread the word about this blog by blogging about the contest and encouraging others to come by and participate, all for the purpose of generating new readers. Of course, you should be blogging about this blog, encouraging others to become helplessly addicted to the riveting stories shared on this site. Running an actual contest sounds too much like work. So, let’s just say that I am soliciting suggestions, and we’ll all hope that I do not get arrested for solicitation.
Leave your suggestions for the best one-liner advertising Boarding in Bedlam in the comments section below. It needs to fit on a t-shirt, be semi-appropriate for wearing in public, and have my url underneath it. You may make as many suggestions as you wish. I was thinking, “I read Boarding in Bedlam, and I have the therapy bills to prove it!” Underneath that in smaller letters, http://boardinginbedlam.blogspot.com. My readers are usually far more creative than I am. All six of you. I’m looking forward to your suggestions.
On a completely different note, I have not provided a fat-boy weigh-in announcement in two weeks. I went to my Weight Watchers meeting last Saturday morning and weighed-in. The fat boy is officially 217.8 pounds, down 25 (don’t hold the applause!) pounds from when I started this program in May. I hit my 10% goal by losing 24 pounds. I also earned my 25 pound charm and my fifth gold star. My food intake is not much less than when I started, so I do not feel like I am starving. Well, on some days I do, but not often. I haven’t eaten the cat. Yet. My next goal is to actually get below 217 pounds, a task that I have found difficult over the years. I’m six pounds away from the half-weigh point. And the Boss told me that I’m losing my butt.
It’s time for a contest. It’s time for a Design Arby’s Blog T-shirt contest. Well, not a contest, really. If it were a contest I would have to have prizes, rules, judges, etc. I’d be asking you to spread the word about this blog by blogging about the contest and encouraging others to come by and participate, all for the purpose of generating new readers. Of course, you should be blogging about this blog, encouraging others to become helplessly addicted to the riveting stories shared on this site. Running an actual contest sounds too much like work. So, let’s just say that I am soliciting suggestions, and we’ll all hope that I do not get arrested for solicitation.
Leave your suggestions for the best one-liner advertising Boarding in Bedlam in the comments section below. It needs to fit on a t-shirt, be semi-appropriate for wearing in public, and have my url underneath it. You may make as many suggestions as you wish. I was thinking, “I read Boarding in Bedlam, and I have the therapy bills to prove it!” Underneath that in smaller letters, http://boardinginbedlam.blogspot.com. My readers are usually far more creative than I am. All six of you. I’m looking forward to your suggestions.
On a completely different note, I have not provided a fat-boy weigh-in announcement in two weeks. I went to my Weight Watchers meeting last Saturday morning and weighed-in. The fat boy is officially 217.8 pounds, down 25 (don’t hold the applause!) pounds from when I started this program in May. I hit my 10% goal by losing 24 pounds. I also earned my 25 pound charm and my fifth gold star. My food intake is not much less than when I started, so I do not feel like I am starving. Well, on some days I do, but not often. I haven’t eaten the cat. Yet. My next goal is to actually get below 217 pounds, a task that I have found difficult over the years. I’m six pounds away from the half-weigh point. And the Boss told me that I’m losing my butt.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Odds-N-Ends 1.1
It's always fun to receive a new comment from a new reader. It's equally humbling to look at their blogsite and discover that your blog is already listed on their sidebar. Allow me to give a shout-out to Autumn Beck over at "Do I Need a Bigger Plate?" Thanks for reading! Everyone should pop over (after you've read this entry) and make Autumn's site meter spike.
The fat didn't roll off quite as quickly last week as in previous weeks. I dropped 1.6 pounds. I will admit to being disappointed, but it is still weight loss. I am tipping the scales at 223, down from 242. Any loss is good. I was faced with a couple of challenges last week, including a delicious cake on the kitchen counter compliments of Major Havoc and his desire to welcome home his older brother from a week at Camp Sweaty Scout, and the incredible Al Cribari's Barbeque Pot Roast with ribs substituted for pot roast from The Frugal Gourmet Cooks with Wine, compliments of yours truly. The first feel-good reward for weeks of dieting came when I tried on an old suit that did not fit and discovered that it now not only fits, but fits comfortably with a little room to spare. It was like being reacquainted with an old friend. I weigh in a few days early this week because I will be out of town for the weekend. Since there is no Weight Watchers meeting on the Fourth of July I won't have a new weight for a couple of weeks. I'm hoping to at least top 20 pounds lost this Thursday. I'll only need to drop .6 pounds to do so.
I spent Saturday afternoon at a wedding. I didn't know the bride and barely knew the groom. They were people who work with the Boss. There were several people at the reception asking one another how they knew the newly wedded couple. If asked, I was planning on telling them that I knew neither, but had seen an announcement in the paper and thought I'd stop by for a free meal. No one asked. The afternoon was pleasurable for several reasons. It was an afternoon without the kids, accompanied by the very pretty Boss. We sat at a table with some friends and enjoyed good company. The Boss was a bit puzzled by the entire event until she realized that it was the first wedding reception she had ever attended that was dry. Apparently a wedding reception is quite different when the room is not spinning. That's what growing up in Wisconsin will do for you!
Father's Day was one long work session as I had to perform goldfish CPR on Methuselah, who suffered the ill effects of Captain Chaos deciding to feed the fish by pouring an entire container of fish food into the tank. No amount of work cleared the water on Saturday night, so on Sunday I transferred the fish into a large bowl, dismantled the tank, thoroughly cleaned it, and then put it back together. Today, the old fish is back in her aquatic digs with new gravel, fresh water, and a new location in the house.
That's the update. Riveting stuff. Thanks for making it to the bottom of this entry. You may now run screaming for the door.
Addendum (added later)
I did forget to mention the cutest event of the weekend. In a rare occurrence in the Arby household, I spent two hours Friday morning without wearing a shirt. I can count on one hand the number of times I've been in front of my children without wearing a shirt. Captain Chaos looked at my bare abdomen and said, "Daddy, you don't have a belly button."
"You are correct," I replied.
"We need to go to the store to buy you one," she told me.
I found this so amusing that after the Boss came home from work Friday night I asked the Captain to tell mommy her plan.
"Daddy doesn't have a belly button," the Captain explained.
"I know," mommy replied.
"We need to go to the store and buy daddy a belly button," she continued.
The Boss laughed. "And what store would you like to go to?" she asked.
"A thrift store!" stated Ms. Chaos.
"A thrift store?!" exclaimed the Boss. "You want to buy daddy a used belly button?!"
"Yep!" my daughter proudly confirmed.
So, I am worth a new belly button, but only a used new belly button. Maybe I'll just get a belly button tattoo.
On my forearm.
The fat didn't roll off quite as quickly last week as in previous weeks. I dropped 1.6 pounds. I will admit to being disappointed, but it is still weight loss. I am tipping the scales at 223, down from 242. Any loss is good. I was faced with a couple of challenges last week, including a delicious cake on the kitchen counter compliments of Major Havoc and his desire to welcome home his older brother from a week at Camp Sweaty Scout, and the incredible Al Cribari's Barbeque Pot Roast with ribs substituted for pot roast from The Frugal Gourmet Cooks with Wine, compliments of yours truly. The first feel-good reward for weeks of dieting came when I tried on an old suit that did not fit and discovered that it now not only fits, but fits comfortably with a little room to spare. It was like being reacquainted with an old friend. I weigh in a few days early this week because I will be out of town for the weekend. Since there is no Weight Watchers meeting on the Fourth of July I won't have a new weight for a couple of weeks. I'm hoping to at least top 20 pounds lost this Thursday. I'll only need to drop .6 pounds to do so.
I spent Saturday afternoon at a wedding. I didn't know the bride and barely knew the groom. They were people who work with the Boss. There were several people at the reception asking one another how they knew the newly wedded couple. If asked, I was planning on telling them that I knew neither, but had seen an announcement in the paper and thought I'd stop by for a free meal. No one asked. The afternoon was pleasurable for several reasons. It was an afternoon without the kids, accompanied by the very pretty Boss. We sat at a table with some friends and enjoyed good company. The Boss was a bit puzzled by the entire event until she realized that it was the first wedding reception she had ever attended that was dry. Apparently a wedding reception is quite different when the room is not spinning. That's what growing up in Wisconsin will do for you!
Father's Day was one long work session as I had to perform goldfish CPR on Methuselah, who suffered the ill effects of Captain Chaos deciding to feed the fish by pouring an entire container of fish food into the tank. No amount of work cleared the water on Saturday night, so on Sunday I transferred the fish into a large bowl, dismantled the tank, thoroughly cleaned it, and then put it back together. Today, the old fish is back in her aquatic digs with new gravel, fresh water, and a new location in the house.
That's the update. Riveting stuff. Thanks for making it to the bottom of this entry. You may now run screaming for the door.
Addendum (added later)
I did forget to mention the cutest event of the weekend. In a rare occurrence in the Arby household, I spent two hours Friday morning without wearing a shirt. I can count on one hand the number of times I've been in front of my children without wearing a shirt. Captain Chaos looked at my bare abdomen and said, "Daddy, you don't have a belly button."
"You are correct," I replied.
"We need to go to the store to buy you one," she told me.
I found this so amusing that after the Boss came home from work Friday night I asked the Captain to tell mommy her plan.
"Daddy doesn't have a belly button," the Captain explained.
"I know," mommy replied.
"We need to go to the store and buy daddy a belly button," she continued.
The Boss laughed. "And what store would you like to go to?" she asked.
"A thrift store!" stated Ms. Chaos.
"A thrift store?!" exclaimed the Boss. "You want to buy daddy a used belly button?!"
"Yep!" my daughter proudly confirmed.
So, I am worth a new belly button, but only a used new belly button. Maybe I'll just get a belly button tattoo.
On my forearm.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Saturday's Fat-boy Weigh-in
I dropped another 2.8 pounds this week. Yahooooooo! My total weight loss so far is 17.8 pounds in four weeks. Arby is a thinner Arby. Have a good weekend!
Monday, June 1, 2009
The Michelin Midriff
A little over a year ago I wrote a blog about being fat. I incorporated a bit of Weird Al's parody of Michael Jackson's "Bad" (appropriately re-titled "Fat"), along with a little discussion of being an over-weight middle aged man living in Chubby, America. As far as writing went, it was at best a mediocre effort. After one day I removed it. I think only one person read it.
I've had the opportunity to revisit the Michelin Midriff topic since I joined Weight Watchers two weeks ago. After mulling over the idea of joining for a couple of months I took the opportunity of free registration to sign-up. No, I didn't hit rock bottom. I didn't get a dire warning from my doctor. There was no diagnosis of some life-threatening-if-you-don't-slim-down disease. Nope, I decided on my own that the bloated feeling I had was a signal that physically I was about the pass out of the Bartlet Pear on Steroids category and into the Anorexic Watermelon Department. I was just tired of looking like Tim Allen in The Santa Claus when he sat on his doctor's exam table and complained about the large, latex, strap-on belly that jiggled when he slapped it like a bowl full of jelly. It's tough when you get winded from bending over to tie your shoes.
I didn't have a problem walking into the meeting. After all, I was among friends. Everyone there was there for the same reason. I felt...happy. I was pleased to be doing something productive. I paid my weekly membership dues and walked down the hall to meet my meeting leader. I met Jan, handed her my paperwork, stepped on the scale to the left, watched the numbers roll, and then clearly and calmly stated, "This one's broken." I pointed the scale on the right. "I'd like to try that one, please." I was actually 7 pounds heavier than that lying hunk of metal sitting on my bathroom floor upstairs told me I was. I stood there realizing that I had to lose 62 pounds. 62 pounds! That's like carrying around an extra six-year-old. This isn't Jared from Subway weight, but the last time my beeper went off the General thought I was backing up.
My meeting leader was a bit annoyed after I asked her to double-check my points-per-day total. She's limited to eating three stick pretzels and the rind from a ring bologna while I get loads to eat. I just didn't trust my own math. As far as points go, I get to eat 35 points worth of food each day, 36 per day the first week. That's a lot of eating on this diet.
One week later, I returned to my meeting 8 pounds lighter. The next week I walked in to the meeting four pounds lighter than that. Yes, that's 12 pounds in two weeks, and I only had to sacrifice 1 point from my daily allowance.
Now, I'm not new to this. I watched my wife practice the program a couple of times. I even did it with her. I dropped from 230 pounds to 217 and stalled out. Twice. 217 is my threshold. I'll have to work to get past that number. I also know that dropping 12 pounds in two weeks is not only not the norm, it isn't the healthiest way to lose weight. I'll get down to the 2-3 pounds per week rate that is healthier. It was nice way to kick start my weight loss.
So, when I walk out to get my mail it won't measure on the Richter scale. The ground won't crack when I fall down. I won't have more chins than China Town. I'm not eating pie ala mode, so I won't need my own zip code. But, I will go public with my little weight loss venture and track the weight loss as I go. I'd like to break the family history of diabetes and heart problems. There are three children who look up to me, who want me around for awhile longer, even though my oldest is quite vocal about how well I embarrass him in public. And there is this cute little girl who looks up to me with a smile. I'd like to dance with her at her wedding.
Note: Due to technical difficulties I had to re-post this blog, and I lost two comments in the process.
Kellie wrote: "Best wishes on your venture! I've tried WW a couple of times too. Actually I'm supposed to be trying it again right now, but I think I forgot.... "
TeacherMommy wrote: "I'm going to be very strong and not be snarky. But 8 lbs in your first week?!?! It's very hard not to see the male metabolism as profoundly unfair.Just sayin'.But I'll be rootin' for you!"
I'll take all the rootin' I can get!
I've had the opportunity to revisit the Michelin Midriff topic since I joined Weight Watchers two weeks ago. After mulling over the idea of joining for a couple of months I took the opportunity of free registration to sign-up. No, I didn't hit rock bottom. I didn't get a dire warning from my doctor. There was no diagnosis of some life-threatening-if-you-don't-slim-down disease. Nope, I decided on my own that the bloated feeling I had was a signal that physically I was about the pass out of the Bartlet Pear on Steroids category and into the Anorexic Watermelon Department. I was just tired of looking like Tim Allen in The Santa Claus when he sat on his doctor's exam table and complained about the large, latex, strap-on belly that jiggled when he slapped it like a bowl full of jelly. It's tough when you get winded from bending over to tie your shoes.
I didn't have a problem walking into the meeting. After all, I was among friends. Everyone there was there for the same reason. I felt...happy. I was pleased to be doing something productive. I paid my weekly membership dues and walked down the hall to meet my meeting leader. I met Jan, handed her my paperwork, stepped on the scale to the left, watched the numbers roll, and then clearly and calmly stated, "This one's broken." I pointed the scale on the right. "I'd like to try that one, please." I was actually 7 pounds heavier than that lying hunk of metal sitting on my bathroom floor upstairs told me I was. I stood there realizing that I had to lose 62 pounds. 62 pounds! That's like carrying around an extra six-year-old. This isn't Jared from Subway weight, but the last time my beeper went off the General thought I was backing up.
My meeting leader was a bit annoyed after I asked her to double-check my points-per-day total. She's limited to eating three stick pretzels and the rind from a ring bologna while I get loads to eat. I just didn't trust my own math. As far as points go, I get to eat 35 points worth of food each day, 36 per day the first week. That's a lot of eating on this diet.
One week later, I returned to my meeting 8 pounds lighter. The next week I walked in to the meeting four pounds lighter than that. Yes, that's 12 pounds in two weeks, and I only had to sacrifice 1 point from my daily allowance.
Now, I'm not new to this. I watched my wife practice the program a couple of times. I even did it with her. I dropped from 230 pounds to 217 and stalled out. Twice. 217 is my threshold. I'll have to work to get past that number. I also know that dropping 12 pounds in two weeks is not only not the norm, it isn't the healthiest way to lose weight. I'll get down to the 2-3 pounds per week rate that is healthier. It was nice way to kick start my weight loss.
So, when I walk out to get my mail it won't measure on the Richter scale. The ground won't crack when I fall down. I won't have more chins than China Town. I'm not eating pie ala mode, so I won't need my own zip code. But, I will go public with my little weight loss venture and track the weight loss as I go. I'd like to break the family history of diabetes and heart problems. There are three children who look up to me, who want me around for awhile longer, even though my oldest is quite vocal about how well I embarrass him in public. And there is this cute little girl who looks up to me with a smile. I'd like to dance with her at her wedding.
Note: Due to technical difficulties I had to re-post this blog, and I lost two comments in the process.
Kellie wrote: "Best wishes on your venture! I've tried WW a couple of times too. Actually I'm supposed to be trying it again right now, but I think I forgot.... "
TeacherMommy wrote: "I'm going to be very strong and not be snarky. But 8 lbs in your first week?!?! It's very hard not to see the male metabolism as profoundly unfair.Just sayin'.But I'll be rootin' for you!"
I'll take all the rootin' I can get!
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