Sunday, June 13, 2010
Pictures
Hrm, ok. So today was the first time that I've actually seen a full-body picture of myself and holy shit. I had no idea that I was that huge. Numbers on pants mean nothing to me, they never have ... but pictures say it all. I cannot believe that I am that rotund - I never would have imagined that I actually looked like I do. In all honesty I look like a ball with sausages sticking out while attempting to play the role of my legs. My arms, ha - they don't even fall straight - they actually bend out because of the excess around my mid-section. You can't even tell that I have a neck - everything just seems to blob together. A waist, um, what exactly is a waist supposed to look like because I sure as shit don't have one ... instead of a waist I have bulges and rolls. What did I do to myself?
Thursday, June 3, 2010
You're Fired
Yes, that's right - you're fired. At least my body is fired. After doing the whole, eating right bit, my body has revolted and the scale has jumped five pounds in three days. Talk about bulking up. Ridiculous. Frustrating. Unbelievable, but alas, my weight is a frustrating, heart-stabbing leech that tries to suck the life out of my willpower. I refuse to let it win this time. This time, I shall prevail. This time I will win "King of the Mountain" and shove those damn cravings off the rock pile. Frustrating as all hell, but eventually this will pay off.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Another one bites the dust
In a tribute to my beloved '80s music and Queen ... another one bit the dust. I held a funeral today, and wait for it - my pants will not rest in peace.
Ok, so not really a funeral, but another one really did bite the dust. If I am keeping track, and subconsciously I fear that I actually am, that makes four pairs of pants that I have had to surreptitiously toss on yonder. Why? Well, I wish it was for all the right reasons - they were too big, they were out of style, I caught them on a sharp corner and ripped the ass out of them - but no, these pants have not died such a wishful death. They died because I blew them out - yeah, you got that right - they exploded on my ever expanding ass. Well, at least that's how one of the pairs went - in a blaze of non-glory. So, curious?
I went for a walk yesterday, something of my daily routine to clear my head ... listen to some Kansas and clear the cobwebs. About mid-way to my destination and turning point I noticed that my right pant leg started to ebb its way up and actually twisted a little bit so that the inseam was pointing about 45 degrees further than it should have been. I thought they just got bunched up in all the fatness that surrounds my thighs, but I should've known better. Now, I've had numerous pants go out this way, but it was always blue jeans that died in this manner - wearing the friction center so much that the fabric wore all the way through and a burn-hole emerged only to spread from front to back and all around. Blue jeans, I expect that from blue jeans -- heavy fabrics, tons of friction, its bound to happen. I didn't expect it to happen to my khaki pants, the ones I was wearing yesterday. After I reached mid-point I realized what had happened and I hoped it was just a minor tear in the fabric so that I wouldn't end up with "rug burn" on the friction part of my thigh. Oops, wrong again. By the time I got home, my leg had a nice rub burn on it from the hole in the fabric - and the hole expanded quite profusely. Boy, am I glad I had on a long shirt otherwise all those unsuspecting folks would've had quite the show yesterday.
I am so sick and tired of having my pants die like this - but at least yesterday's wasn't as embarrassing as the blue jean blow-out. Yeah, you got it. A complete and total blow-out. This happened around November and I tried to put it out of my mind, but yesterday's mishap brought it rushing back. I had a great pair of jeans that I fondly remember fitting perfectly and then getting too big for me to wear ... ah the good 'ole days. Well, I was siphoning through my clothes back in November trying to decide what to keep and what to toss, and I thought I would try on those jeans to see what pile they went into. Granted, these jeans were heavily worn in their day, so the fabric had seen a great deal of friction on the inner thighs, but I certainly wasn't expecting what happened next. I got the pants all the way on, victory!!! Damn it, wrong again. As soon as I got the button through its loop and the zipper up I moved just a little bit and it was like a bomb went off. All that built up tension in the fabric just let go at that moment and my pants exploded. The inseam was all that was left - the fabric separated itself on both sides of the inseam on BOTH legs. It was sheer craziness. The pants had a mind of their own. I didn't even bother with trying to get them off, I just had to tug and the damn things ripped off. You think I should've taken that as a sign that I let myself get to frigging fat ... um, yeah. Did I? Hell no.
In the words of Queen, another one bites the dust, and I do sincerely hope that it is the last one for quite some time.
Ok, so not really a funeral, but another one really did bite the dust. If I am keeping track, and subconsciously I fear that I actually am, that makes four pairs of pants that I have had to surreptitiously toss on yonder. Why? Well, I wish it was for all the right reasons - they were too big, they were out of style, I caught them on a sharp corner and ripped the ass out of them - but no, these pants have not died such a wishful death. They died because I blew them out - yeah, you got that right - they exploded on my ever expanding ass. Well, at least that's how one of the pairs went - in a blaze of non-glory. So, curious?
I went for a walk yesterday, something of my daily routine to clear my head ... listen to some Kansas and clear the cobwebs. About mid-way to my destination and turning point I noticed that my right pant leg started to ebb its way up and actually twisted a little bit so that the inseam was pointing about 45 degrees further than it should have been. I thought they just got bunched up in all the fatness that surrounds my thighs, but I should've known better. Now, I've had numerous pants go out this way, but it was always blue jeans that died in this manner - wearing the friction center so much that the fabric wore all the way through and a burn-hole emerged only to spread from front to back and all around. Blue jeans, I expect that from blue jeans -- heavy fabrics, tons of friction, its bound to happen. I didn't expect it to happen to my khaki pants, the ones I was wearing yesterday. After I reached mid-point I realized what had happened and I hoped it was just a minor tear in the fabric so that I wouldn't end up with "rug burn" on the friction part of my thigh. Oops, wrong again. By the time I got home, my leg had a nice rub burn on it from the hole in the fabric - and the hole expanded quite profusely. Boy, am I glad I had on a long shirt otherwise all those unsuspecting folks would've had quite the show yesterday.
I am so sick and tired of having my pants die like this - but at least yesterday's wasn't as embarrassing as the blue jean blow-out. Yeah, you got it. A complete and total blow-out. This happened around November and I tried to put it out of my mind, but yesterday's mishap brought it rushing back. I had a great pair of jeans that I fondly remember fitting perfectly and then getting too big for me to wear ... ah the good 'ole days. Well, I was siphoning through my clothes back in November trying to decide what to keep and what to toss, and I thought I would try on those jeans to see what pile they went into. Granted, these jeans were heavily worn in their day, so the fabric had seen a great deal of friction on the inner thighs, but I certainly wasn't expecting what happened next. I got the pants all the way on, victory!!! Damn it, wrong again. As soon as I got the button through its loop and the zipper up I moved just a little bit and it was like a bomb went off. All that built up tension in the fabric just let go at that moment and my pants exploded. The inseam was all that was left - the fabric separated itself on both sides of the inseam on BOTH legs. It was sheer craziness. The pants had a mind of their own. I didn't even bother with trying to get them off, I just had to tug and the damn things ripped off. You think I should've taken that as a sign that I let myself get to frigging fat ... um, yeah. Did I? Hell no.
In the words of Queen, another one bites the dust, and I do sincerely hope that it is the last one for quite some time.
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