The Way Things Are



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Gut Rut
2004-04-06, 10:06 a.m.

What to do?

Iím obviously shrinking in size, as these pants are quite drapey across the front crotchal and beer-gut area, but my weight has jetted back up to 115. OK, letís say 114, since I managed to trick the scales into that assessment after stepping on them and shooting threatening looks in their general dye-rection about 15 times in a row. I win! Take that, scale.

But as much as I am SURE that I have lost some mass, in spite of what the evil scale says, I really hate the thought of posting my weight on the WW site and getting a frowny face. For all my efforts Ė my jogging and working out with weights, and house-cleaning and bowling activity points Ė I still managed to gain back all the weight I lost so suddenly and dangerously 2 weeks ago. Could this be hormonally-related? Surely it is so.

In other news, did I tell you how much fun I had at the Strawberry Fest? There were girlfriends, a woman who didnít seem to appreciate or relish my presence, as she might be the kind who wants to have the central fun girl all to herself. There were lots of wonderful children, from a 1 year old baby boy named Nathan, to a 15 year old boy named Nathan. Hey! Full-circle with the Nathans. And lots of kids in between. A total of 7, and they were all a joy to be around. There was strawberry shortcake, shrimp-on-a-schtiiiiiick, beer, trinkets, tie-dye panties, salt scrub in a big jar, silver jewelry, sun, rides, cool breezes, paved walkways, beef sticks and lots of people.

Ya know, I really look forward to the day that our goddamn dog Penny is old enough to just be mellow and still. She drives me fuckin nuts. Thatís all Iím going to say about that.

We ordered windows for the new house. Yes, we did. So the new house will have lots of very tall windows. Hoo boy, I know we need to sit quietly and calm down after that bit of news.

Easter will be spent at my parentsí house. Mom seemed so genuinely thrilled that I called her and asked if we could come up, rather than us having to be dragged by our hair, kicking and screaming, to come visit them. No sports, no boy scouts, nothing going on all weekend. Lil Guy wants an Easter basket, and he wants to hunt eggs. I told him I would email the E-bunny at floppy@easterbunny.com. I told him the Easter bunnyís real name is Floppy, you know, because of the ears, but most people just know him by his Official Title, Easter Bunny. True story, I insisted. ďOh yeah, who told you that story?Ē ďI made it up myself Ė thatís how I know itís true.Ē Luckily, Lil Guy appreciates and understands the irony of circular reasoning.

In other news, I am really hoping this burdock root extract from BBW will actually help sop some of the middle-age crazy hormone oil flooding my face lately. I could lube a gay orgy. But that might involve the actual application of oil to naughty parts directly from my t-zone, and Iím not so comfortable with that. So nix that, donít email me, the deal is off. I have the burdock root lotion and I have used it Ė nothing to see here. Move aLONG, I said.

To make up for the fact that I did not, same as yesterday, work out this morning, I need to get some Actual Work accomplished today or crumple into a moist pile of nonproductivity and unaccomplishment, both of which are real words because I just made them up myself. So I know they are real. See? Accomplished something already and gave back to the greater good of word origins and ironical craziness.

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