Nothing says Welcome 2011 like a snotty nose and a hacking cough. Maybe it’s 2010’s way of saying goodbye. Either way, I’m going back to bed.
My family calls me Fatty. Well, my siblings call each other fatty. My brother is Fatty, my sister is Fatty, my other brother is simply known as Fats, and I am Fatty.
I am the oldest. I am also the fattest. In fact, none of my 3 siblings are fat. They are what you would call “skinny”. But I call them fat. I am fat. I am so fat, that they no longer say, “Matt is a fatty.” They say, “Matt, you’re really fat. Seriously.” And I respond with a, “Shut up, Fatty. You’re fat.” And they say, “No. Really. You’re fat. This is the fattest you’ve ever been. You’re a fatty fat fat fat.”
Then my soon-to-be-brother-in-law, who is not fat, nor is he called Fatty, challenges me to a weight loss competition. As I said, he is not fat, but he does have a huge head (and, yes, I do point that out to him on the regular). The challenge is to lose as much weight as possible by June 18th, which is the date of their wedding shower or something. I advise him that it would be unwise to challenge me in such a sport, because I would clearly win. After all, I have the most fat to lose, where he basically has none. Nevertheless, Big Head drops the gauntlet and proclaims he will lose, pound-for-pound, more weight than me by June 18th. This is simply a challenge I cannot refuse.
We weigh ourselves as the whole family watches, in order to record the starting weight. Yikes. I wasn’t expecting that number. I mean, I don’t even own a scale, so I had no idea what to expect. I mean, I had a ballpark figure I was looking for, but I was a good 20 lbs beyond that. The family let out a collective “whoa” when they saw the number. It was written on a post-it note and slapped to the wall next to the fridge in my parents house, which also has pictures of cousins and family, as well as my youngest brother’s dean’s list certificate and a coupon for a free order of wings with the purchase of a large pizza. Big Head did his weigh-in, too. His number, about 15 lbs lower, was written below mine.
I’m pretty sure he’s not even going to try to lose weight and his only intention was to use the caveman instinct of competition to inspire me to not be fat. But I have to win, so apparently, it worked.
6 months. My goal? 60 pounds. Can I drop 60 lbs in 6 months? There is no way he can drop 60 pounds without loosing muscle mass. If I lose 60, I’ll win. How am I going to do this?
Stay tuned over the next six months and find out.
Spent a few days up north, and all I got was this lousy cold. Look for me to resume normal tumbling tomorrow. Or Friday. Or quite possible Monday.
Hope you all had a great holiday. See you soon.
The wife made a batch of cookies last night. She was gone all day today. Now, the cookies are gone. Did I eat them? Pay no attention to the crumbs on my shirt. Just answer the question, because I’d really like some
Here they are, in no particular order. I’m also not providing links, because if you don’t know how to do an iTunes or Amazon search, you are a moron. Keep in mind, these are MY picks. My opinion. And taken from MY music collection. I’m sure there is awesome music out there that I haven’t heard in genres I don’t particularly care for. Bite me. My music. My list. Here goes, starting off with 2 that are probably on everyone’s list:
Arcade Fire - The Suburbs
The Black Keys - Brothers
Jenny and Johnny - I’m Having Fun Now
Kanye West - My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
She & Him - Volume II
Titus Andronicus - The Monitor
Spoon - Transference
Broken Bells - Broken Bells
There are other standouts, but I have already lost interest in writing this. Why don’t you post your favorites instead. I’d rather read your posts, anyway.
Looking at some of the gifts under the tree, I don’t think I spent as much on my wife as she did on me. I feel like a cheap bastard.
Then I remember our first couple of Christmases together when we were dating. I’m still paying off some of the gifts I bought her then.
So take your sweater and be happy, dammit. It’s my turn to be spoiled. ROBOT NINJA LEGO STAR WARS FIGHTER JET WITH AUTOMATIC LASER WEAPON AND REALISTIC BLAST SHIELD!
“Why would you do that?” I asked.
“Why not? I’m done,” he said.
“Yeah, but… why?”
“I don’t like wearing rubbers.”
“Who are you having sex with?” (He is 32 and very recently divorced)
“I was seeing… somebody. One of [redacted]’s friends.”
“And you’re not now?”
“Naw… I ended that.”
“Okay. You only have one kid. What if you meet someone and she wants to have kids with you?”
“Naw… I’m done.”
“Um… okay, dude. Whatever. Hey, you wanna get together for a beer next week?”
Because I’m drinking Sierra Nevada Celebration.
Happy effing holidays.