Just Call Me Fatty McButterpants

I've known this day was coming for a good six months. Tomorrow I start the three-week HCG diet. Most of my marriage I've been around 225 pounds, but I gained a bit whilst in New York last summer, and a couple of weeks ago, I weighed in at 240. Then I drank soda almost every day last week and ate a ton of sugar, and got all the way up to 243, and 27 percent body fat. For my height and age, that is starting to get into some bad territory. Not orca territory, but I've seen the writing on the wall. The HCG diet has you on 500 calories a day for three weeks, and 500 very specific calories at that, and taking HCG and a couple of other supplements every day to help control appetite and maximize results. I was able to get a nutritionist on trade, and she swears that you don't feel hunger if you are consistent in taking the supplements and that it is much easier to keep the weight off by using her services instead of trying to do it by yourself. But I'm kind of eager to test my mental toughness. I might not feel that way in 24 hours, but I have every intention of succeeding, and plan to keep the world in the loop via the blog. Before long, I may be the runt of the family. Vance is pretty hooked on Mountain Dew and is all domestic, while Gina has gotten hooked on fried lutefisk. Anyway, tomorrow is Armageddon, hence the choice of music. I am sticking with this thing no matter what.

I did, however, abort the moustache. I let it grow for five days and it was getting fairly noticeable. The thought of being seen by clients and prospects was too much for me to take. If I were a computer programmer, I would do this, and get away with it. Computer programmers and web designers are supposed to look like slobs. I don't know how to trim facial hair that is that long, so it hurt like a bitch to take off. I guess that's what I get.

Lastly, some of you have mentioned that I failed to crown a winner for the Embarrassment Olympics. The consensus, between Amy and I, at least, was that Julia's moment was the most spectacular. I was totally in that moment and have played it over and over in my mind to cheer myself up, partly because I have a brother-sister relationship to Julia and take joy in her humiliation, and partly because she is kinda special, so she deserves a prize. About that, though, after ordering a box full of the Scarface keychains, I found out that virtually every line has one or more F-bombs. I traded for them using the Trading Floor my company's software provides, and figured there would be a "Say hello to my little friend," and a "Say goodnight to the bad guy," among others. Nope, it's basically eight very vulgar phrases. So we may need to come up with a replacement prize. If I don't find a good trinket, perhaps we can host your family for dinner at my house (after my three weeks are up). Anyway, I've gotta figure it out. Congratulations, Julia, on being super-clumsy to the point that people openly wonder if you are retarded. Anyway, until next time, I bid you toodles...