Oh, Deer, Again!

It’s Friday, a mere few days since Ma Fat had her Close Encounter of the Deer Kind. The Lil Fat Car is scheduled to visit the repair shop on Sunday Night. All be well, soon!


At 8 o’clock this morning my phone rang. It was Ma Fat calling from work. She sounded calm, almost cheery.

“Oops! I did it again!”

Yes, on her way to work this morning, Ma Fat had a second Encounter of the Deer Kind. This time, the Lil Fat Car encountered a young deer, named Bammy. Bammy ran off, unscathed, while Ma Fat pulled off the road to inspect the new damages. Same spot as earlier this week — more fur this time.

Oh, Deer! I sure hope the repair shop is able to wrap the Lil Fat Car in rubber bumpers.

Perhaps we should trade the Lil Fat Car in for something more armor plated, such as one of those Armored Cars used to haul bags of Fat Bucks from one Fat Bank to another.

Perhaps I should just resume my chauffeur duties and spend my daze, “Driving Miss Fatty.”

Remember: “Only you can prevent a forest full of Deer.” So, speed up and ram hard.

Peace out!

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Snow, What!

The Fatlings donned their jammies early this evening — backwards to boot! They are currently jumping up and down on their beds, feverishly chanting, “No school. No School!”

I’ve already told them twice that they are both a bit too old for such behavior. They ignored me and resumed their Witch’s Dance (Le Danse Macabre).

My elder daughter, Elsie, is headed for Kollege next fall. Yet, there she is working herself into a frenzy, tonight, just so school won’t open tomorrow. And, Sweetie, my youngest and newest high schooler, is jumping right next to her big sister, flapping her arms like a chicken with a broken wing. Such a sight!

Hey, Fatlings! Don’t look now, but the snow has stopped falling. You need to get back to work on that homework that is due tomorrow. School is on, babies!

And, so, their Danse has ended on a sour note. Snow, what! I’m happy — after all, I won’t be killing myself behind a snow shovel tomorrow while they lounge around in their jammies, eating toast with jelly, and watching reruns of “Fat Days of Our Lives.”

Ciao for now, Snow Bunnies!

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Oh, Deer!

The telephone rang at 6:30am. It was Monday morning. Through the fog of sleep, I reached for the phone and placed the handset to my ear.


All I could hear coming through the earpiece was a stream of hysterical babbling. After a moment, I realized it was Ma Fat and she was terribly upset.

“Where are you? Have you been in an accident? Are you okay?”

Through her tears, Ma Fat told me she had been in an accident and was heading for home. I headed downstairs to await her arrival. The Fatlings were busy readying themselves for school. I asked them to wait until Ma Fat had returned — I was not sure of the nature of her accident and did not want my younguns going out until I knew more.

Time moved slowly. Where was Ma Fat? Why was she not home, yet? The phone rang. A less frenzied Ma Fat was on the line saying she had hit a deer about a mile from home and was finally on her way.

I updated the Fatlings, urged them to drive cautiously, and then sent them off to school. Ma Fat pulled into the garage just after the Fatlings had pulled away. Like a fine martini, she was shaken, not stirred.

Her tears returned when she saw me standing in the garage. I helped her into the house, sat her down, and fixed her a cup of tea. Then she told me her story.

She had been slowly following the school bus out of our neighborhood. The flashing lights on the bus suddenly signaled that the bus was about to stop. Ma Fat was slowing her car when a deer unexpectedly jumped into the road in front of her. Bam! The deer went flying and Ma Fat pulled off the road. Tears immediately came to her eyes.

Ma Fat made her frantic first call to me. She followed this with a call to 911 — she wanted to alert the police to the presence of an injured deer on the road. Ma Fat waited at the accident site and flashed her lights to warn other drivers about the injured deer.

Suddenly, the deer stood up and looked around. It was still in the road obstructing traffic. The next car to arrive began honking its horn to frighten the deer into leaving. The deer did eventually run away. But, the loud honking had another, unexpected effect.

Old Lady PhatButt, Biggie PhatBuck aka Miss Biggie, had been fast asleep when she was awakened by the sound of horns blaring. She donned her flowered housecoat and pink fuzzy slippers, and stormed out her front door to add her 2-cents to the fracas in front of her home.

Instead of asking Ma Fat if she were okay, Miss Biggie began throwing expletives around and ranting about speeding through her neighborhood. She then stormed back into her house, slamming her front door closed as she entered.

Ma Fat was crestfallen by this unexpected barrage of anger. After all, she was the victim, not the perpetrator, in this affair. She had done no wrong and could not understand why this strange woman was berating her.

Ma Fat told me all of this between tears and gasps. As her story ended she slowly regained her composure.

“Would you like me to drive you to work or are you too shaken to go in today?”

Working is Ma Fat’s best stress buster. I knew she would want to get to work as soon as possible. So, I dressed myself and headed out to clear the ice from the Fat Mobile’s windshield.

As we drove out of our neighborhood, Ma Fat pointed to the place where she had collided with the deer. She also indicated which house had spawned the Evil Witch of Wicked Words. I just drove and paid close attention to the shadows paralleling the road — I did not want to experience a Close Encounter of the Deer Kind.

And now the Flat Mobile and I are out looking to get the damages repaired. Maybe the body shop can wrap rubber bumpers all around Ma Fat’s car. Watch out, deer, here we come!

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The Spanish Inquisition Rides Again

When I was a young Fat Boy, I believed I was Indestructible. No matter what I did, I never managed to break any bones. I amassed a collection of scars but broke no bones.

During those tender young years, I learned some very important lessons. First, Fat floats. Fall into water, float down stream. Fat bounces. Fall out of a tree (especially one that is forbidden), bounce three times before going still. Fat does not fly. Fall out of the same tree and go straight down until hitting the ground and bouncing. But bouncing and bruising are better than breaking bones.

Despite being such a smart Fat Boy, I was prone to stupid ideas that led to new scars. The skating pond I created on the kitchen floor was fun until I nearly chopped my foot off on the in-floor heater grate. That stunt landed me in the ER with two new scars and a bout of gangrene.

Heads covered with ugly knit hats look less stupid when they are outdoors than those same heads look when they subsequently have to wear those same ugly hats indoors. The best way to learn that lesson is to listen when your adults tell you to wear your hat unless you want to get frostbite. Silly adults, I didn’t know anybody who had ever gotten frostbite from not wearing an ugly knit hat. Funny how all my friends, that year, were suddenly able to say just the opposite – they all knew this one kid who had gotten frostbite for refusing to wear his ugly hat outdoors. To this day, my ears still remind me to put on a warm hat on cold days or listen to them freeze up again.

One would think that after such a Reckless Youth I would one day wise up and tow the line. Seems I still needed some growing up before that sort of smarts settled into my head. Getting my driver’s license provided me with new opportunities to add scars to my life. I managed to wreck three cars in three years – no personal injuries, no deaths, just destroyed cars. Auto insurance rates rose and my own personal savings and earnings were quickly depleted buying replacement cars. After three, I stopped driving for a long while (at least driving cars that I personally owned).

I don’t recall any scar-generating episodes during my Kollege Daze back at my Alma Mater – Fat U. Though a few Brain Cells did have to take one for the Gipper during those Kollege Parties they attended. Those long lost Brain Cells were always leading the rest of my Innocent Self into places serving alcohol – Frat Parties, Dorm Parties, my own Room. Sheesh! What’s a Fat Guy to do when his own Brain Cells constantly lead him astray?

Finally, I arrived at Adulthood. A job, a wife, a mortgage and more debt than Ma Fat and I could imagine curbed my appetite for reckless living. I slowed down. I thought through my actions in advance. I became a responsible member of Fat Society. I became a good Fat Man.

So, why is it that Adulthood brought a boatload of new scars? These scars were the result of Medical Conditions caused by Adult Living – high blood pressure, pre-diabetes, excess Fat, joint aches and pains, sore muscles, and so much more. Blessedly, no broken bones have joined the party, yet.

This morning, I headed directly to the local Fat Therapist to have my right shoulder, neck, back and left shoulder checked (in that order). My Designated Therapist was Tzarina Pokovich. She was tall and muscular, built like an Iron Curtain. Her speech was heavily accented by the speech patterns of her Mother Fatsia.

“Goot morning, Fat Man. I see you are having ze pains in ze neck und back und shoulders. I vould like to examine you in my Examination and Treatment Room. Follow me.”

We stepped into a small, windowless room. A dirty looking mattress was laying on a table in the middle of the room. Strange looking implements were arrayed along the walls. Tzarina closed the door, firmly, behind us. She pointed to the mattress and gestured for me to sit down on it. For a moment I wondered if I would have been better off awaiting the return of the Spanish Inquisition with all of its Instruments of Mass Interrogation.

“Zo, let us begin mit ze basic range of motion evaluation. I vill try several tings und you vill rate them on a scale of 1 to 10. One is it feels good. Ten is it hurts like… if you know vhat I mean.”

Tzarina probed my neck, back, spine, both shoulders, my sides and my head, with her steely fingers. Some pokes were borderline 10s. Most were in the 2-3 range. Then she had me lie on my back while she manipulated my stiff muscles with a series of new pokes and prods. The whole while, Tzarina spoke barely a word. She was intently focused on Therapeutically Fondling my Flab.

“Und now I must go to next patient. My Associate, All Icy, vill come in and pack you in heating pads and connect you to our Electro Stim Equipment. I vill check back vith you at the end to see how you fared. Zen I vill assign you homework to work on until our next meeting.”

Out went Tzarina. She was soon replaced by a statuesque Eastern EuroFat woman, named All Icy. Like Tzarina, All Icy was very matter of fact and went straight to business. She soon had me lying on my back on a collection of heating pads. One ran down my spine. Another was wrapped around my shoulder. A final pad was wrapped around my neck and face.

I was feeling comfortably cozy, all bundled up in those heating pads. I had completely forgotten the electrodes strategically positioned about my back, neck and shoulders.

“Comfortable? Good. Now, I will activate the Stim Machine. Pulses of electricity will soon begin coursing through your body. I will adjust the Machine until you say the sensation is a nine on the sensitivity chart.”

Zap! The electricity began its rhythmic pulsing. I was able to tolerate a fairly substantial load of volts before crying out, “Nine!” Ms. Icy set the Stim Box on timer mode, dimmed the lights, closed the door and went away to tend to other patients. Zap!

In the dim light, I was able to envision the Spanish Inquisitors working in a similar room extracting data from their “patients.” Zap! Left alone with my thoughts is rarely a good place for me. Oh, the Thoughts I thought and the Images I imagined. Zap!

If you have been following me long enough, you will have noticed that I usually drift off to sleep at times like this. Zap! And today was no different. Zap! Before my mind could wander too far, Tzarina was back, turning on the lights and turning off the Stim Box.

“Zo, how you feeling?”

Actually, I felt relaxed. The tension in my various stressed muscles seemed to be mitigated for the moment. I was able to move my arms in ways that had been painful when I arrived in Tzarina’s care. I was happy with the results.

Tzarina removed the electrodes from my back, had me put on my shirt, and bade me meet her at the front desk to schedule our next session.

Yes, the Spanish Inquisition Rides Again. Today, we call it Physical Therapy! Oh, do be careful of my shoulder, it’s beginning to hurt again. Zap!

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Can’t Be 55!

Yesterday, I celebrated my Annual Aging Anniversary — the 55th in this lifetime. I know I’m getting older, but am I also getting better…wiser? Naw, probably not!

When I awoke, I found two Freeloading Fats had affixed themselves to my Fat Fanny while I was feasting Friday night. Foo on you you two Fats! [Update: the first of those Freeloaders had fled by this morning. The other has been served notice and is already packing.]

I spent the first half of my Aging Anniversary away from the Fat Cave, by myself. Ma Fat and the Fatlings generously gave me the day off. So, I headed over to the local R.E.I. (Ridiculously Expensive Inventory) for a Members-Only Special Sale — radically expensive items that had been returned and were now only moderately expensive. None of these specials enticed my wallet open, but a new pair of Really Keen Hiking Boots did walk out the front door with me (I paid for them, first).

At the next Outdoor Store I visited, my attention turned to searching for a PFFD (Personal Fat Floating Device) to wear when I go kayaking. I know Flab Floats, and I have enough to be very bouyant, but I want to protect myself from the Negative Bouyancy associated with my shrinking size. I did not find one to my liking and will look again elsewhere.

Since I am Chief Chef at the Fat Cave Diner, I headed off in search of food for my Aging Anniversary Dinner. I wasn’t sure of what would be appropiate after having shed all those Puny Pounds earlier this month, but I had an idea of what I wanted eat for Dinner. When I was just a Fat Boy, Fat Mama used to prepare Hamburgers and Homemade Potato Salad for my Big Day. That’s what I wanted.

My favorite Food Distributor is located on the other side of Fat County. As I drove there in the Fat Mobile, a late-model, full-size Chubby Van, I listened to Rock music streaming through my radio’s speakers. That’s when I heard the song that defines the next 12 months for me…

It was the Summer of ’84 when I first heard this life-defining song. I was crawling along the Kapitol FatWay in my dirty-white Toyota Starlet Coupe. My Cozy Coupe and I were stuck in a seemingly endless Rolling Traffic Jam. This little Starlet was not very happy that day — she was getting all hot and bothered and so was I. You see, my Mini Mobile had no A/C, and was prone to running hot. The only way to prevent the engine from overheating was to turn the heater on — Full Blast.

The blue, pin-striped jacket of my Power Suit was lying in a crumpled heap on the passenger seat. My tie was loosened and my starched, white shirt was open at the collar. My Back and Pits were soaked. I looked at my watch — it was clear that I was about to be late for my next appointment.

The stress was building in me. Just as I was about to explode, I reached my right hand through the Sirocco spewing from my heater vents and turned on the radio. Franticly pushing buttons, I scanned the FM dial in search of a Kick-Ass Rock Station to calm my jangled nerves.

And then, there it was. The song that would one day come to define my life. Not the one I was living in 1984, but the one awaiting me in 2012. The tiny, tinny speaker under my dashboard belched forth these lyrics:

One foot on the brake and one on the gas, hey!
Well, there’s too much traffic, I can’t pass, no!
So I tried my best illegal move
A big black and white come and crushed my groove again!

Go on & write me up for 125
Post my face, wanted dead or alive
Take my license n’ all that jive
I can’t drive 55! Oh No! Uh!

I can’t drive 55!
I can’t drive 55!
I can’t drive 55!
I can’t drive 55!

Who was that guy on the radio and how did he know how I was feeling? Oh, wait, that was The Red Rocker himself, Sammy Hagar, belting out his new hit, “I Can’t Drive 55.” Yeah, my situation was different from his. He wanted to cruise as far above 55 MPH as he possibly could. All I wanted was to be able to speed up to 55. Either way, neither one of us could drive 55.

…Life at 55 appears to be a CrossRoads of Contradiction. Hurry up and wait or put the Pedal to the Metal and kick it into Hyperdrive. Do I risk BurnOut by pushing hard and going as fast as I possibly can? Or, do I take the Cautious Approach because that’s the best I can expect from this Fat Old Body? I’m no Spring Chicken anymore. I have an abundance of Health Issues, any of which could be the end of me. Yet, now that I am shrinking my size, one Puny Pound at a time, I want to Live Life to its Fullest. I want to make like a Schlitz Beer Commercial and Grab for the Gusto! I want to drive my Cozy Coupe around the FatWay at 55 or faster. Sammy Hagar is still Rocking Out! And he turns 65 later this year!

So, despite the numbers displayed on my Life Meter, I can’t be 55. I’ve got too much life to live! But in case I manage to overdo it, please be ready to pick me up, brush me off, and thrust me back into Life.

Ciao for Now, PussyCats!

I can't drive... 55!!

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Turning Japanese

Ma Fat and I went out for dinner, last night, with our old College Friends, Bob and Sue. Sue FaceBook-messaged the other day suggesting we all get together and celebrate our Birthdays. We all are Januarians, except Bob, whose Birthday is not until February. Tonight, Bob was an honorary Januarian.

We chose a local Japanese Steakhouse for this evening’s gustatory adventure — Godzilla of Tokyo, Home of the Teriyaki Monster. The reviews all proclaim that this is THE place to go for fine Japanese cuisine, in this corner of Fat City.

Our seats were along two of the sides of a large table with a massive grill in the center. The other four seats at our table were soon occupied by Karl and Kurt and their wives, Magda and Cyd.

Once we had all been comfortably seated, George, our mercurial Asian waiter took our orders for drinks. Ma Fat and I, being teetotalers, ordered water and tea. George brought blue and red martinis, wine and saki to the others. He followed these with bowls of clear miso soup and individual garden salads.

Chatter soon filled the airwaves around our table. Niceties were exchanged across the table between our two disparate groups. But mostly, Ma Fat and I focussed on our friends, Sue and Bob.

We soon found ourselves joined by a young man dressed in red. He introduced himself as Kwa Zi Moto, our table chef. He demonstrated his digital dexterity by twirling his spatula in the air while juggling his razor sharp knives. His hands faltered and his tools fell helter-skelter to the grill, just missing the path to the floor by mere inches. His face turned crimson (tough trick for an Asian guy) as he quickly gathered up his instruments and tried again. We all clapped as if amazed by his agility, all the while hoping none of us would be involved in an injurious accident.

At last, Kwa Zi stopped flashing his forks and knives and took our food orders. Being the Birthday Boy, I ordered a Heaping Helping of Wickedly Garlicky Shrimp. Ma Fat went with the Monstrous Mound of Tuna Teriyaki. Steak and chicken and scallops and more shrimp rounded out our requests. And then we waited and resumed our intercourse (go ahead, look it up!).

Boom, bang, clunk clattered dishes as Kwa Zi returned with the raw ingredients for our dinners. To remind us of his role as table-entertainment, Kwa Zi squirted oil around on the now hot grill top. With a flick of his Bic, he set the oily pool ablaze. The heat from the inferno was hot enough to singe my eyebrows and the hairs on my arms. I tamped the smoldering fringe on my forearms with my dampened napkin — glad I was drinking water rather than alcohol.

The perils of our peculiar predicament increased as Kwa Zi began to spread our food out and about the fiery cooktop. Karl, who had tippled several multi-colored martinis, suddenly demanded of Kwa Zi, “hit me with one of those”, while pointing at the pile of blazing shrimp sitting before him on the grill. Without a moment’s hesitation, our stalwart, young chef flipped the flaming flesh into the air and arced it onto a trajectory for Karl’s widely gaping yap. A direct hit!

To continue this demonstration of his aerial prowess, Kwa Zi turned his back to Karl and flipped a second shrimp over his shoulder and into Karl’s waiting mouth. Not to be outshone by Karl, Kurt opened his mouth and pointed to it. Kwa Zi quickly complied with an amazing triple flip through the air, landing atop the grill and dropping a shrimp into Kurt’s watery maw. Amazing, but enough.

Kwa Zi danced across the grill and finally dismounted to the floor. With a few quick flicks of his knives he sliced the meats into bite-sized pieces and began distributing them to our plates. The meats were joined by grilled veggies and fried rice. The cooking and show were over and the dining was ready to begin.

Despite our chef’s shocking antics, our food was quite good. The Wickedly Garlicky Shrimp was plentiful but not nearly wickedly garlicky enough. I tasted Ma Fat’s Teriyaki Tuna — toothsome! The others around the table expressed their gusto through a variety of belches, burps, slurps, slobbers and yummy-sounds. The meal was good.

Our Japanese dining diversion drew to a close all too quickly. As we said our goodbyes, Ma Fat and I were already thinking of when we could return to this little corner of Japan.

Happy Birthday, all you Januarians!

[Screen fades to black accompanied by a jaunty little ditty]

No sex, no drugs, no wine, no women
No fun, no sin, no you, no wonder it’s dark
Everyone around me is a total stranger
Everyone avoids me like a cyclone Ranger

That’s why I’m turning Japanese
I think I’m turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I’m turning Japanese
I really think so
I’m turning Japanese
I think I’m turning Japanese
I really think so
Turning Japanese
I think I’m turning Japanese
I really think so

~The Vapors, 1980

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State of the Fat Man

My Fellow Fat Folks, I stand before you a somewhat shrunken Fat Man. It feels like we have come a long way, but we are in reality only at the beginning.

Looking back, I see me entering the new Millenium, just over a decade ago, weighing a shocking 0.125 Fat Tons — thats 250 Fat Pounds for those of you whose Fat Fingers are fumbling with your calculators. That was the most I had ever weighed.

Six months prior to the start of the Millenium, I was flat on my Fat Back in the local Emergency Room. My Thin Physician had sent me there with these words, “I don’t want to read about you in the Obituary Pages.” It appeared that at age 42, I may have been having a heart attack. The experience scared me, especially since I was suddenly all wired up with LoJack and had a nitro pill tucked under my tongue. I was so scared, I promised to change my Fat Ways if only I could survive that experience.

It turned out that the new Blood Pressure medication my Thin Physician had just prescribed was having an adverse effect on me — no heart attack. Back to the old meds I went and back to the old ways, too. It took me another six months to realize that that had been just a warning shot and worse things were awaiting me in the future.

Like Ebeneezer Scrooge, I finally understood this was an Epiphany and made the necessay changes to my life. Six months into the new Millenium found me at a svelte 190 pounds — 60 pounds off in six months. I looked like a new Thin Man, and I was. Strict adherence to the Fat Watchers’ Point System Diet plus regular exercise gave me a new look and a new lease on life. But, life has a way of dishing out challenges and the Old Fat Ways slowly began to ingatiate themselves with my New Lean Ways. And they eventually took over, again.

Fat Family 2000

Flash ahead a decade, to the opening days of 2011. My Bathroom Scale regularly groaned from the strain of supporting my Big Fat Body. Two-hundred and ninety (290) Fat Pounds it exclaimed as I stepped on for my New Year’s Weigh-In. That’s 100 Fat Pounds in a decade. And 300 Fat Pounds was staring me in the face, calling me to cross the line.

Fat Family 2011

That extra 100 Fat Pounds was essentially a Mini Fat Me. I had fathered a new Fat Thing on my own Fat Back. Like me, it had Jiggly Thighs and a Big Bouncing Belly. I should have included this Fat Thing on my Annual Fat Tax Returns — taken a deduction for it as one of my Fat Dependents. After all, Mini Fat Me cost the same to maintain as any of my other Fatlings, and weighed way more, too.

But Fat Sam does not see it that way. Fat Sam is only willing to permit deductions for living, breathing seperate entities depedent on a Fat Folk for its existence. Perhaps, I should have tried Liposuctioning Mini Fat Me into a large Fat Jar. At least it would have been separate from me.

Every year that Mini Fat Me hung around on me, I paid higher and higher medical bills. There were all the visits to my Thin Physician. He added many prescriptions to my Daily Dose — “This will help you through, but losing Mini Fat Me would be better.” I began to seek support from other Medicos; that got pricey. Now, I have all those Prescription Meds, Support Supplements, a CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure machine), Mouth Guard, Testosterone Replacement Goop, and a Slightly Stable State of Mind. Ka-ching! The Costs keep mounting.

So, here I am another year older and hopefully a bit wiser. At the end of the first month of the new year, I am 20 Fat Pounds lighter than I was on the last day of the old year. Better still, I am 50 Fat Pounds lighter than I was at the height of my Fat Gain, last year. But, I am still 60 Fat Pounds heavier than I was a decade ago. With nearly as many decades ahead of me as are behind me, I need to take Positive Action to remove all 60 of those remaining Puny Pounds. Go they must!

To get to the Promised Land of Thinness and Sustainable Health, I need your help. Please help me make wise choices when I am in your company. Remind me of the Good Life that awaits me in the Promised Land. Tempt me not with offerings of Abundant Fat Foods. Portion Control not Deprivation. An occasional Treat rather than a Steady Stream of “Goodies”. And be gentle with me and help me back up when I stumble and start to fall back into the Fat Abyss. And, I will do the same for you.

As I look back, I see those 50 Fat Pounds behind me, waving and calling to me to rejoin them. Ahead of me lays a 60 Fat Pound-wide Minefield waiting to break my resolve and send me back to Start. Together, we the Fat Folk of FatLand can beat this Fat Fiend into submission and send it back to the gates of Fat Hell, where it will be fried and served to less well intentioned Fat Folk.

Viva La Thin!

Oh, and one last word — I achieved Kayak (245 Fat Pounds and lower) on January 25, 2012, just 3 days after ending the SP Purification Program Diet. And tomorrow, January 28, 2012, I will celebrate my 55th birthday in a much leaner fashion that in years past.


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Lessons Learned

Monday, January 2, 2012, was the day I started on my Standard Process Purification Program Adventure (aka Diet). My official starting weight was 265 All-American Fat Pounds (no muscle). The Adventure ended at Midnight on Sunday, January 22, 2012. My Official Ending Weight is 246 pounds. That is 19 pounds in 21 days.

My goal for this 3-Week Adventure was 20 pounds, which would have ended me at 245 pounds — the weight required for me to get My Kayak. One Puny Pound remains between Me and My Kayak! I feel a need to keep working to reach 245 pounds by Saturday, January 28, 2012 — my 55th Birthday (beware of the Blazing Birthday Cake!). My goal for 2012 is 225 pounds by December 31.

My BMI (Body Mass Index) indicates that at my current height and weight I am still Obese, but no longer Morbidly Obese. At 225, I will still be Obese. But at 224, I will suddenly be merely Overweight. I can hardly weight to be Overweight!

A year ago, at about this same time, I was knocking on the 300-Pound Door. I crossed 290 and was rolling up towards 300. I did not get there. Phew! This means I lost about 50 pounds in 2011. I have another 50 to go before I reach the weight range where I want to spend my Remaining Years of Life — 190 – 200 pounds. I’ve been there before; I can get there again.

My pants find it difficult to stay up, these days — that may prove interesting! My belt is cinched as tightly as it will go. I may need to buy some smaller pants soon. I’ll just head over to the Thrift Store and buy someone else’s old pants. It’s like with housing — why buy new, when you aren’t planning to stay long — just rent!

What Lessons did I learn from this 21-Day Adventure? What Wisdom did I gain that will help me through the next Phases of this Journey to Shrunken Man status?

The first thing I learned is that cutting back on my food intake will not kill me. Though My Stomach did scream like it was being tortured. Even now, My Tummy whimpers and whines about being empty. I realize that giving into the Little Terrorist’s demands will be the same thing as giving up and returning to the Big Old Daze. Not me; not this time!

I learned that eating more veggies and less meat is a tasty change from my old ways. I am not missing meat as much as I thought I would. No, I did not go Vegetarian. I did reintroduce Lean Protein, in the form of fish and chicken, to my Daily Intake, on Day 11 of this Journey.

I rediscovered the Natural Taste of veggies. It’s back at the raw or lightly blanched stage. We cook the Life out of our veggies and then drown them in butter, cheese or other sauces. They are so much more tasteful when served Au Naturel (naturally naked — the veggies, not the server). Blanching gives the veggies a bit of warmth and a touch of tenderness, without sacrificing nutritional value nor taste.

I learned that I need to pay better attention to the amount of water I consume each day. Water helps to cleanse the body of all the Crap hanging around inside it. By measuring out an entire day’s supply of water, I was able to drink what my body needs. On the days when I did not measure out my water, I did not drink as much as I should.

Exercise is like water — I need to pay better attention to how much I am getting and how often. Walking about the house is not exercise; though vacuuming the same house is. Guess I had better start vacuuming every time I get up and move about the house. But seriously, I still need to force myself to engage in regular and beneficial exercise — treadmill, brisk walking outdoors, mall miling, elliptical, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera …

Staying active, away from home, all day seems to aid in getting more exercise and less food. I just need to make sure I take my water supply with me. Fortunately, Volunteer Season is here again! I will be out more than I am in for the remainder of this School Year (’til June). And then Summer Camps will begin and I will continue to be away from The Temptations.

Sleep is Not for Chumps! I used to proclaim the opposite to be true. I do better on the days following a good nights of sleep — 7+ hours. I’m still violating this principal. I persist in staying up much later than I should (imagine what time it is as I am writing this).

The Next Phase of My Journey To Thin promises to be more difficult than these past 3-Weeks. I have to continue moving forward, without regaining the weight I just worked so hard to lose. I need to use the Lessons I have learned to carry me through the struggles ahead. Gaining weight is so much easier and more fun than losing weight. It’s all a matter of Simple Mathematics: Pick up food, gain weight; put down food, lose weight. I just wish I had been better at Math back in the day.

The Guidelines for the SP Purification Program served as a crutch that helped me navigate the Choppy Seas of Strict Dieting — if it wasn’t in the Guidelines, it wasn’t permitted into my mouth. Now, I have to rely on my own Knowledge to act as Gatekeeper — Halt, What Goes There! Everything I have not eaten recently is already calling to me to spend time enjoying it. And My Stomach is vociferously cheering me on to Failure — Eat It! Eat It!

Shut Up, you Traitorous Tum Tum. Listening to You will be the Death of Me! You’re the One that got Me into this situation in the first place. You and your co-conspirator — My Big Mouth. Now, cut it out and let The Brain guide us to a long and healthy life.

The last and perhaps most important Lesson I learned is that Humor goes a long way towards filling a Whining Stomach. I started this Blog as a means to distract myself from the Agonies of Dieting. Laugh at the Complaints and they go away. Joke about everything and everybody, especially myself, and I can laugh the day away, while forgetting about food — I can laugh My Ass off.

I have continued writing this Blog to amuse myself and anyone else who may read it. Some have said I should be a writer — write a book. I’m writing every time I create a new Post. Some days I find myself needing to write as soon as I wake; other days require me to write until I get it all out of My System before going to sleep. As for writing a Book… Who knows! Maybe, One Day!

For now, I need to keep My Eyes on the Puny Pound on My Backside. It must go so that I can have My Kayak. I feel the need to paddle down the Lazy River and Relax!

Keep the Faith. I will!


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Chúc mừng năm mới 2012!

Happy Lunar New Year, Vietnamese style!

The Fat Cave is all decked out for Lunar New Year — you may know it as Chinese New Year. Around here, we call it Lunar New Year because one of the Fatlings is from China, the other is from Vietnam. Rather than create an international incident between our two Fatlings, we just go with Lunar New Year.

However, you may have noticed that today’s Post is emblazoned with a Vietnamese greeting. It was a simple coin-toss, best 6 out of 11, that decided Vietnamese over Chinese.

Tonight’s celebratory dinner was replete with Long Life Singapore Noodles, Vegetarian Spring Rolls, Wonton and Egg Drop Soups, General Tso-Tso’s Crispy Chicken Bits, Country-style Bean Curd and Asparagus, and a number 13 Combo Platter — super-sized. Wan Fat Gye, owner of the local Asian Carry-out-Laundromat, threw in a couple extra fortune cookies and a few extra soy sauce packets for Good Luck. We wanted to order Mandarin Duck, but Wan did not have any by the time we ordered.

There are piles of oranges stacked on several tables throughout the Fat Cave for Good Fortune. Ma Fat swatted my hand away when I tried to eat one — turns out we are using wax fruit this year.

Lunar New Year is the only other time of the year when I can wear my Sumo Wrestler Costume in public without raising too many eyebrows. Halloween is the other other time of the year. This year, I wore my new Chinese Beijing Silk Gold Brocade Jacket over my Sumo Outfit — it was cold out there, today.

Given the choice between Hot Tea and Saki for refreshment, I have decided I should stick with tea in the Future. My head is still spinning from the Saki. Though I must admit that drinking Saki with my Ceramic White Japanese Saki Set, with Word Dragon, is a very pleasant experience. That is it was until Ma Fat discovered the Saki Set came with a Geisha, too.

Well, I’ve got to go put out a few small fires. Seems the Fatlings have discovered the matches, but not the fireworks. You know what they say — idle hands are the Devil’s Workshop. And my Fatlings are always finding new ways to get themselves into trouble.

So, in Parting, I wish you: Gong Xi Fa Cai (Mandarin) and Gong Hey Fat Choy (Cantonese)!

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Out of Order

Sorry! But this is how I am feeling, today. Perhaps things will go better tomorrow.
Nuff said on this. 😦



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