Today’s weigh-in put me at 266. This is actually pretty okay, given that this was my first weekend to really try out “Operation: I can’t keep me down,” which was both a glorious failure and moderate success. Speaking on the diet portion, this weekend was pretty stupid. I went to bed hungry on Friday, and instead of eating something Saturday morning I went boxing. That’s kind of cool, from a “I woke up and worked out” perspective; however, it's vastly irresponsible in a “Oh fuck, put food in me right goddamn now” kind of way.
Long story short, my friend of similar jovial build and I door-rushed a Hawaiian restaurant. I ordered, because I’m smart, a “One of everything” with eggs on top, and also gravy. Of course, since it was two fat white men ordering an entire ark's worth of meat, the nice lady brought us extra gravy, just because.
As I stared at the empty cup of extra gravy, I found myself surprisingly sad. As far as emotions go, gravy-based sorrow has gotta be near the top of the "Things you’re not allowed to be sad about” pile. I hope that my life decisions from this point forward never lead me back to the dark altar of whatever anti-god is in charge of syrups, pork or otherwise.
On the positive side, the other goal of this experiment was to be more sociable, and thanks in part to a certain bar that knows how to pour a goddamn whiskey this was a complete success. I made friends with everybody on Saturday. The door guy. The hot female bartender. The handsome male bartender. I even ended up spending an hour yelling about how David Guetta probably ruined Germany with this rad Austrian chick. This much social interaction would already be impressive for me, but I delivered the entire night with my brand new, totally awesome drawers just falling off my ass. I dunno if it was just the brand or something, but someone thinks I need to start buying smaller underwear. This would normally be an awesome problem to have, but these were really great -- you can ask your sister.
Ass cracks, they’re the worst. I grew up living in fear of my ass crack because when you’re 12, there’s nothing worse, socially, than a fat guy flashing crack. I would rather get busted mainlining H in an elementary school library. This is why I’m so confused by skinny dudes running around showing ass crack all the time -- don’t they know the price they pay?