Day 6

This one’s quick. Won’t even proof read. I have a date w my wife. Much needed. No kids. Gonna go off my food plan and eat movie food.

But won’t go off my frugal plan. Will not pay their prices for candy. So, will have a bigger Lovemaster bulge than usual when I enter the theatre. Is that a kit kat in your pocket? Well, yes it is.

I’ll hopefully work it off later a natural way with my wife! Yeah, baby…

Day 5

I have already blogged about my difficulties working out in a traditional sense. I am not a fan of exercise equipment. Similar to the future in “The Terminator,” machines and me don’t mix. I just hope a Stairmaster with an Austrian accent does not attack me one day.

This past weekend I did it my way with working out– I laughed my ass off.

We’ve all heard that term before, along with “kick your ass,” “tap that ass” and “what an ass.”

Strangely, I have yet to see a tush fall off from giggling, a fight where an opponent focuses on striking the derriere, love making with tapping sounds or a person resembling two cheeks divided by a crack.

The thing is, my ass is fine. It is not trophy worthy, but my rear end does the job. It’s a moderate, and I am okay with that and don’t look to change much.

I don’t need or want to laugh my ass off, or I’d have little left to sit on. What I need when burning calories is for only specific areas to be peeling off the poundage. In my case, it is the belly region, where it appears to have a mind of its own. If the rest of my body is a family, my stomach seems to be the rebellious and independent one. This gut has busted loose!

I took my shirt off in public to hang at a lake in Dallas with one of my oldest and bestest friends, Steve Lawrence. He’s got his own little monster of the mid section to deal with, so (with him being shorter than me) it looks like the team of Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble have returned.

We tried to stand together, with his dog too, on a blowup paddle board with boat wakes shaking us off balance. Our attempts were what made us howl with laughter, knowing how past our prime we are, but stubbornly trying again and again.

Then…we did it! We got 7/8ths to a full stand, his terrier in the middle and the two of us about upright on the paddle board. Being taller in this case had a disadvantage, because my fall was a lot more severe (and looks worse to an observer). It would have been fine, but I landed on rocks that I didn’t see, three inches below the surface.

Ouch. Made a gash in my side about that looks like I was stabbed by a bayonet.

Good news is the wounded area is exactly in the desired space I want to lose – the love handles. So I’m looking at it as a good excuse to absolve myself of all this hard work. This scar is the perfect start to my next weight loss program – liposuction!

Day 4

On the road now in Dallas (Addison), Texas.  I am concerned about my food plan when I’m in another city, but my fears are somewhat cancelled out by the fact that I can lose pounds through alternative methods – stepping outside.

I enjoy the outdoors, but in this case, my experience with nature is the run from an air-conditioned building to the next. I guess I owe God a fee for the steam bath use. Today, I saw a building sweat.

I did my usual press run this morning, and hung out with my old buddies on radio, Lex & Terry. I go way back to the late 80s with Terry, who lived in Southern California and started his radio career there. I knew him with a mullet and he knew me with a cut that resembled “Wham.”

When Terry teamed up with Lex several years ago, their syndicated show took off, primarily appealing to the young male demographic, meaning their show usually contains humor based on hot chicks and alcohol.

The reason I bring them up in a blog about weight loss might be a stretch, but most times I take off my shirt I have a memory jog. I am reminded of an appearance I made a coupla years ago, during another media stop while in Dallas.

I was sitting at the far end of the console in the Lex & Terry studio and trying to pull some focus my way. When I wake up at 5am, the purpose is to move tickets for the shows, and to do so I look for opportunities to get some funny in and turn on some new fans.

Well, this day I had a rough go of getting some mike time, since the studio was filled with other guests, including an ongoing L&T bit called…”Drunk Bitch Friday.”

So here I am talking about my kid’s birth and it gets constantly interrupted with the hosts screaming, “Ohhhh! There she goes. She’s blowing chunks!” This is followed by another tradition of Terry spraying Lysol in the room, as that week’s young drunk girl vomits into a bucket.

Not so easy competing for voice time with a trollop in a tank top bent over with her hair in a trash can…

To top it all off, in our world of short attentions, they had a guy come in to have a tattoo mural put on his back of the host’s logo. Now I’m really alone on the other side of the room, thinking of how to fit a tattoo routine into the mix just to get some attention.

Finally, I blurt out; “I’ll get a tattoo.”

Boom! All heads came my way. I could have said I was kidding or bowed out, but no. I went all in, like a poker player down to his last chips. They asked me if I had any tats. Not only do I not, but I always refrained from having ink, no matter how drunk I ever got or how many strippers told me it’s hot, I had a self proclamation that I would never go through with it. Let them love me for my bare arms and bony shins. If they want artwork, I will take them to a museum.

I had a dot put on by the visiting studio artist. One dot. I figured it would not be seen, and it was worth it if I drew more of a crowd to the show. They “encouraged” me to add two more dots, and then tell me after the last one, “You know, that’s a gang symbol. It means jail-hospital-death.”

Yeah, that’s me all right. A guy who looks like John Boy Walton and John Ritter’s love child is a regular bad ass from the hood. Call me “Busta Gut.”

My kids make fun of me, and that includes the young ones, who scratch it to see if this asinine sign comes off. It resembles a notification for radioactivity or smurf moles.

Today on the show I brought up this story, which at the time had a disappointing ending. I asked the crowd that night how many had heard me on the radio show that morning. Ever hear the sound of one hand clapping?

When I told the tale today, I asked that listeners go to my facebook fan page and give the code word, “Tat.” Much to my pleasant surprise, I found a bunch of new friends visit the page, all of who gave me a tat comment. Too funny!

So, finally my idiotic move paid off. A little, but I need to find some worth, like selling a bad stock when it makes a tiny upswing on the way to bankruptcy.

I’m just hoping now the Texas summer will melt the tat away. I think I got all I could out of this one…

Day 3

Today, I worked out.

I have told a joke in my act, “I work out once a year…January 2^nd, when I join a new club.” There is much truth in this, as is the case with most humor. I have signed up for countless fitness clubs, usually as part of a New Year’s Resolution vow, and I swear every time it will be a regular commitment, only to fade away and never be seen on their Stairmaster again.

One thing that happens is my first day I do too much, and I can’t go back because I need to recover from going too far the first day. After my orientation, I am so sore; I can hardly reach for my ID to get back in to the club.

I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, but I go full out and over-do it, trying to impress the club trainer who’s assigned to me five minutes before. If it’s a good-looking woman, I go even further, knowing how she will stroke me with a “you are amazing for not having worked out in so long” comment. I wait for it with quiet confidence. I know she says it to everybody, but let me be in denial.

I will bust blood vessels in my brain before I put those keys on the lifting machines to the upper third of the weight stack. Yes, I make a lot of noise that I’m sure makes my guide uncomfortable, especially when I let go and cause that loud crashing sound, but I’ll be damned if I will be labeled a beginner.

Note. Pause. Something just happened that might take me off course.

My wife just sat next to me on the couch with two ice cream cones. She says, “Does it make you nervous when I read over your shoulder?” I said, “No, I’m anxious because you are licking Häagen Daz an inch from my nose, and I am writing a blog about losing pounds!”

Back to the workout…

Ok, I will admit I did not go to a gym or anything close to it today, but I did work up a sweat. Someone please tell me what I did will suffice as a P90x session.

I hit golf balls. Nonstop for two hours. One violent swing after another I hit, until my left palm started to blister. I must have hit 400 balls. I was drenched and I could hardly see with the salty drops pouring into my eyes. One reason I don’t like working out is the goal of looking better doesn’t do it for me. I also hate those big mirrors surrounding me, lowlighting all my flaws. It’s like seeing yourself have sex, and that ain’t pretty. And sex with myself is even uglier. (Not that I’ve ever seen myself!)

But in this case my desire to lower my golf handicap was inspiration for the perspiration. I’m on my way to Dallas, and I want my friend Steve to notice how much better I am, as well as kick his ass.

I ate very healthy from start to finish today, the longest day of the year. I may have a contact high from the sugar my wife just waved around me, but I am pretty clean overall.

I haven’t hit the scale, but I think I may have dropped a few…and hopefully a few strokes off my golf score too.

Day 2

My wife was just showing me some pictures from our family day at the beach. Most of the pics were of our 1 year old; Jackson, and I commented that I didn’t see me in any photos.

She says, “Well, I have some of you, but you’re not going to like them.”

Damn, she was right! I had been smiling as I paged through, seeing the 3 boys playing in the Malibu sand, but moments to treasure turned into profound displeasure. This clown had a big ole frown.

I wouldn’t be surprised if a kid put a harpoon in me. It was that bad. Sitting in a beach chair, there I was with man boobs (moobs) so pronounced it shaded an area between belly and breasts, causing a large white area resembling an alabaster bra, to contrast the rest of my freshly sunburned body. Apparently my chest can be used as a protective roof.

I put on some pounds. You can now spot me on Google Earth. I am out of denial now. Even my wife, who is the kindest and most gentle person I have ever met said, “Wow Craig, you sure can put on pounds fast.”

I think part of this sudden protrusion has to do with my recent sugar cravings. I’ve had them in the past, but this is to a whole new level. I went to a local candy/soda store called Rocket Fizz and went through it as if someone told me I had won a shopping spree.

I don’t want to examine this too deep, but something is clicking in me that wants to be nostalgic, to go back to fond memories of childhood, and sweet treats are some of the greatest memories I have.

Rocket Fizz takes me back to Gever’s Pharmacy or Buckley’s General Store, where me and my neighborhood buddies would spend all the money we made shoveling snow or helping ladies with their groceries on penny candy, which eventually went to 6 cents, traumatizing a kid on a fixed income. I wanted to organize a protest of Mr. Gever for raising his prices, and I actually believed my friends and me could sting his wallet enough to bring down the cost of Good N Plenty to a reasonable sum. Our boycott probably cost him around a buck fifty a week. No idea how he made it through the winter.

So, now that I don’t have the same financial concerns as a child, I filled bags with taffies, gummies and cherry flavored chewables. Then, I capped it all off with downing a Birch Beer soda, acting as if I was a crack addict and had found my long lost dealer. With every bite or gulp, I thought of certain times hanging with guys who are still my friends today, and how we didn’t have a care or cavity in the world.

I think I’d better find some alternative methods of strolling down memory lane.

Anyone know where I can get a Pogo Stick?

Day 1

I’ve written blogs before. Well, I write short stories, anecdotes and prose and post it somewhere in cyber space and call it a “blog,” just so it appeals more to “you kids today.” Hell, “blog” is not even in my spell check in a word doc, so how hip can it be?

It used to be a letter to the editor, a Reader’s Digest entry or a pen pal letter, but now the reach is far more expansive by posting my musings on the internet. Now thousands of my closest friends can have full access to my bathroom habits.

Oh, what a world!

This is the first entry in a new style of blogging for me, which in the old days would be called a “journal.” I am going to attempt to put daily entries into this particular blog, because my progress report is essential to my process.

This time, I have chosen to meet a personal challenge concerning my health, and by writing about my journey, it helps me stay committed to my goals.

I am not a “health nut” so to speak, but am very much on a path of good living. My lifestyle has been an evolution of sorts, and I am very pleased with many of the results.

One thing I do is to not put stock or focus on building up my health, either in a positive or negative way. To me, if I keep too much of an eye on negative sources like germs or seasonal illnesses or dangerous viruses, it seems the universe will respond to my fear based messages and hand me what I think about. It seems to me that my friends who are germ-a-phobes get sick far more than I do.

I just realized I should save this stuff for future blogs, so I will cut it off there.

Bottom line is I gained weight again, and I now want to lose pounds. Many factors go into this decision, not the least of which is seeing candid photos where I’m not sucking in my gut while posing, resulting in shame and disgust. Call it an accidental intervention, but I’d now like to see myself in a picture without the need for photo shop.

I weighed in yesterday and had my son video my initial confessions. His giggling and zoom into my protruding belly are also signs I need to develop a program that tightens, shrinks and rejuvenates certain body areas, as well as gives me a revitalized energy. Hell, I gotta keep up with 3 sons under the age of 13!

Today, I am 213.6 pounds. At 6 foot 2, this is not making me a candidate for “The Biggest Loser,” but I’m not ready for my “after” photo to be seen either.

I will keep a daily log, in hopes it might inspire, amuse or entertain, as well as keep me on the path to wellness!

Thanks for peaking in, and all feedback is welcomed.

Ps. I used the word “blog” six times, and in every case it was highlighted in red. Time to tell my computer to “learn spelling.”