Gonna talk about two things today. Weather and weight. Try to deal with these topics and move on. Although as I examine myself truthfully I know that never really happens. I'll spew today, continue to obsess about these things, and spew again at some point in the future. That's part of what makes me so lovable.
I'm also going to try to be positive; stick to the facts, offer level headed opinions. But I am an emotional son of a bitch, so you never know.
Weather. I am talking secretively to you about this so my wife won't hear us, so let's keep the volume down. My theory is that we have only two seasons in New England - winter (September 1-June 30), Summer (July1-August31). This past winter/summer cycle proved my theory beyond a shadow of a doubt. Never-the-less I'll try to approach this from the conventional wisdom angle.
Carol hates summer, I hate winter. She hates heat, I hate cold. We try to outdo each other with our season specific whining every year. She thinks the playing field is even. It isn't.
If we get 10 scorching hot days in the summer that's a lot. Maybe 15. Those are the days she suffers. The ONLY days. If we assume winter begins on 12/21 and ends on 3/21 (approximately) we are talking about three months. A mild winter would give us average daily temperatures of 30 degrees. THIRTY DEGREES IS COLD. And you know we get a hell of a lot of days that are much colder. So during a mild winter I would suffer for ninety days. NINETY DAYS. And the truth is, it gets cold in November and sometimes in October, which is supposedly considered autumn (what a pretty and deceitful name; I prefer fall because we are about to fall into shivering, suffering and despair). I can conservatively estimate that I am uncomfortable for at least 100 days between October and March. That is almost 1/3 of the year. I rest my case. If any of you can make a more eloquent case, please contact Carol at 100 Freeze Road, Ice Cold, NH 00000. Maybe you can help her to see the light. She typically doesn't listen to me because there is often whiskey involved.
Please, someone, buy me a winter home in Arizona. I swear to your god that I will pay you back when I am a rich and successful writer.
Weight. I have busted my ass to lose weight and get healthy (in that order; remember Fernando Lamas/Billy Crystal) in 2011. With very little results. Actually I am probably much healthier than when I began this regimen, I'll give you that. Anyway, with all the effort, sweat and sacrifice I have bounced back and forth between 175 and 173; 173 on June 1, 175 on July 1, 173 on August 1. Mid July I got sick and stopped exercising. Came out of it after about ten days, but I have been exercising sporadically since then. Very little, in fact. And I could feel myself getting fatter. Kind of like David Spade to Chris Farley in Tommy Boy - "I can actually hear you getting fatter." Climbed into my truck the other day and I could feel my gut. Which hasn't happened in quite a while. I was disgusted and decided to get back to exercising.
I also decided to weigh myself, just for the fun of it. 178. I GAINED FIVE POUNDS SINCE AUGUST 1. Just because I took a month off. And it's not like I suddenly started eating 12 cheeseburgers a day and washing them down with five strawberry milkshakes. I didn't change anything else. I just stopped exercising.
Life is relentless, kids. It is evil, calculating and punishing. I have set my sights on 169 on December 31. I think I can do it. For the next two weeks I am going to drink only water and eat no food whatsoever. And I'm going to follow the Bulimic Handbook and dispose of said water in the recommended way. That will be a good start.
December 31 because I refuse to celebrate my 58th birthday weighing more than 169. If I weigh more than 169 on December 31, I will do whatever it takes to get down to that goal by the next day. I'll ride the exercise bike for 7 hours and if that doesn't work I'll attach the vacuum cleaner to my gut and perform home liposuction. I imagine that would be the point where Carol and the cats leave the room.
That's it. Weight and weather. I'm done. Spent. Gotta gear up for another eight hour round at The Booze Emporium. Looking forward to tomorrow. Day off with my lovely wife. We'll watch the race, watch The Sox, and I will prepare a delicious gourmet meal I call Purina Cacciatore. Life does not get any better than this, baby.