A Day on My Own

My wife and Child went to Calgary for the week. I was working nights and sleeping for half the week, but now I'm done, and they're still gone.
One word to describe being alone: Lonely.
One word to describe my house with no one it: Depressing.
One word to describe life without Chelsee and Derby: The Worst!

Yesterday was my first day completely alone without the need for sleep or the obligation of work. At first, I was excited. I sometimes daydream about having no responsibilities or expectations; I could just be me doing whatever I want. Well, today was that day.

So what should I do?

I decided to go to Starbuck's to do some writing. On the way there, I imagine myself getting lost in my story. I picture all three of my notebooks, full to brim with pretty blue ink forming beautiful, perfectly constructed sentences that ooze with emotion. The barista mopping the floor beside my table sneeks a peek at my writing and starts weeping as she sits down to tell me how perfect my writing is. She calls everyone around and they all ask me for my autograph, except for one man who is smoking a pipe and wearing a bow-tie. "I'm going to publish this book," he tells me, and I start dancing in circles and buying 26 dollar notebooks from Chapter's.
When I got there, I ordered a Grande Caramel Steamer, sat down, put on Kelly Clarkson's new song on my ipod and started to write. An hour and half later, I had 2 and a half pages finished and felt like every creative drop in me had been dried up, a wrinkly old raisin on the floor.
I went to go look at books. I couldn't even smell the potential today, so I left.

The next part of my day...is nerdy. But for me it was fun. Did you ever watch "Stranger than Fiction" with Will Ferrel? He gave me the idea.
I drove home, went inside to grab the biggest book I had, "The Children's Book," a huge hardcover that Chelsee gave me for my birthday, and I walked to the nearest bus stop. I sat on the bench reading my book and when the bus came, I sat on the bus reading my book. For three hours, I rode the bus all across town. It stopped for a break downtown and then all the way to the northwest, before going all the way to the southe east.
I heard one old lady tell the same story to the girl beside her three times. "I looked for my bank card this morning," she said, "I used it yesterday, so I know I have it, but I couldn't find it today. I don't know what happened, I had it yesterday....and so on and so on." Litteraly three times. Later, a young punk sat in one of the elderly spots, and an old man got mad at him, even though there were five other elderly spots.
I watched the bus driver staring at me in the rear view mirror. "Who is this freak?" his eyes were saying. "Why don't you just get lost? Are you going to try to hijack the bus? Are you going to try to stab me? What is your problem?" He was very good at asking questions with his eyes. At one point it was just me and him in the bus, and I almost got off at the other end of the city; I couldn't handle the holes he was burning. I just stuck my nose in my book to ignore him, and eventually he relaxed. These are the adventures anyone could have if they only rode the bus more often.
I got off at the University and went to write some more in the big cafeteria. I ended up getting in quite a groove and got almost 2 hours of straight writing in.

I went to visit my mom and dad at their house.
I went to visit my sister and her daughters at her house.
I went to visit Maxx, my brother-in-law, at his house.
I did everything I could think of to stay away from my dark and lifeless house. If home is where your heart is, my home has been in Calgary for the past week, and it sucks when your home is so far away from where you are.

In the evening, I went with Maxx to go play Basketball at the church. I was excited. I played in highschool. The reason I was 145 lbs in highschool was because we ran up and down that basketball court like a billion times every practise. We could fly across the court. We were always the shortest team in our league with maybe one guy reaching the 6 foot mark, but we worked hard and ran around like crazy people, and we could compete.
I may have been running like a crazy person yesterday, but it wasn't fast and sure wasn't for long. Before the first mini game was over, I was weezing like a whoopie cushion. Ya know when you run outside when it's cold and when you breath in after a while your chest starts burning? That's how I felt after 15 minutes of running. I just wanted to find a small hole to crawl into and cry myself to sleep. The problem was, whenever I took a break and sat on the side, I could feel every muscle in me tightening and locking, holding me down on the bench like a lock and chain. We played for more than 2 hours and by the end, I was practically walking up and down the court. I couldn't even laugh without starting to cough all over the place.
I had fun. I made a few shots here and there. I missed a lotta shots here, there and Everywhere. I got to see a few old friends, and I got some excercise. Afterward, Maxx and Nolan, my other brother-in-law, and I went to Boston Pizza and ended up talking until after Midnight.

All I can say is I'm glad Chelsee and Derby are coming home tonight. While I made the best of the time I had to myself, nothing is the same without them. They are the love of my life.

Thanks for reading.

Faturday

Today's Weight: 207
Goal Weight: 175

For those of you who know me, you know I have a beautiful wife. My wife is the type of woman that you just have to look at; when she's walking through the mall or waiting in line for coffee, there is no end to the amount of men who check her out. She's beautiful. I had one girlfriend before I went out with her. That girlfriend dumped me because she thought I was in love with Chelsee. These are the types of things her beauty is capable of.
I, on the other hand, am not quite as desirable. Where she is a near perfect specimen, I am simply a specimen. I won't go too hard on myself; I'd say I'm somewhere in the middle...maybe the 52nd percentile. Throughout my married life, I have been a complete yo-yo dieter. While I've never hit the obese mark, I have come quite close to rounding that corner once or twice. I have been very round, indeed.
The year before we got married, I lived in the states where I couldn't work, couldn't get paid, couldn't eat much more than eggs and cheese. I walked Everywhere, miles a day, so when I arrived back home, I was a neat little 165. I bought a shirt from LeChateau for my wedding, Size small. However, by the time the wedding came, those size small buttons were awfully close to popping, and, after the wedding, I only increased in circumference.
Before I knew what was happening, I woke up one morning to some blinking blue lights screaming in my face, 218, 218. Ick. Round. From there I went hardcore on this working out, eating healthy kick, and I got down to 186. It's easy to get lazy at 186, so I sat down on the couch until I was once again over two hundy at 209. I went back to the gym, drank some water and made it to 189. Today, I am 207. One pound heavier than when I started the blog...
The problem with going on a diet, for me, is that now I am on a diet. The world is not the same when I am on a diet. Before the diet, Pizza is just something you eat every now and then when you're hanging with the boys and watching football. The moment I start a diet, pizza becomes an incredibly beautiful thing. I dream all day of the cheese oozing down, of the pepperoni sitting so perfect, of the bacon...oh, the bacon. Each slice of Diet pizza is like a little slice of heaven. With every bite, I feel a little closer to the Savior, like each one causes my wings to grow a little bigger. Until I'm done, then I look at my tummy and think there is no amount of wing power or pixie dust, or faery flowers that could even pick me up off the couch.
On a diet, the drive down Albert is torture. The Golden Arches start blinking in high velocity neon. If I can make it past one of them, the next one only laughs at me. "Come and get it," it says with it's hysterical little smile, and I can hardly help it. If it's possible to drive away from the second, the third one stops laughing, he only smiles. His stupid little sign comes to life, saying not "over a billion served." No, that takes away the grandeur. The third one tells me I'm the first, "Come, try something new. Try the Big Mac, it's delicious. Be the first to try a McChicken, Quarter Pounder, McNugget. The options are Endless!" it says to me, and I quickly pull into the drive-through.
The moment I start a diet, donuts are no longer just yummy little circles of cake and icing; they are now a life saving tool, a life preserver thrown out to me in a sea of rice cakes and fruit-to-gos. I bite down with my bicuspids and incisors, and for a second, I can breath easy.
A bottle of coke, becomes the Holy Grail; If I can just get away from this Coke Zero and it's aspartame and Zero calorie boringness. If I can just have one sip of the Real Deal, my life will be complete.
I say all of that to say, I screwed up on my diet already. I'm sure you guessed it.
I'm in the middle of a set of nights at the group home I work at. Sunday morning, one of the kids woke up with the McDonald's theme song in their head. The moment that stupid little jingle, "BaDa Ba Ba Ba" came out of his mouth, that was it; the tempter of my soul, Ronald McDonald, came dancing into my brain, and he was juggling an egg McMuffin, a bacon and egg McMuffin and a medium Coke. Every time the kid hummed the tune, it only solidified my decision: I was eating McDonald's after work.
By the time i got there, breakfast was over, but I was determined.
"Uh...can I get a McChicken meal, supersized, with a coke, no ice...uh...and ten McNuggets." I know, I'm disgusting, but at least we know something in my life is changing: I didn't immediately order a Big Mac Meal.
I took it all home. Chelsee just laughed at me, but I assured her it was just this once.
By lunch time I desperately wanted pizza. I convinced Chels to have it with me. And then for the grand finale, I got some Timbits to wash it all down.
Sunday was no longer Sunday, it was Faturday. One day, full of whatever fatty foods I wanted. I went to work that night with a bellyache of the worst kind. The next day I had only an orange, but today, I'm 207.
It's ok. I'm not discouraged. I'm having fun. Faturday was fun, but I know, I've gotta do better. Nobody wants to read a diet blog about how the blogger gets fatter each day.
I just hope tomorrow I'll be at least back at the starting line.
Thanks for reading.

The New Book

I love Chapter's. Or any bookstore, for that matter. Even driving past it on the way out of town brings a smile to my face. Something about walking through those doors makes me feel like I'm walking into a whole new world. A world where anything can happen; Turtles can talk, people can fly, kids can save the world. It's a world where truth is told, truth about emotions, feelings, hopes, dreams, failures. It's a world where whispers are never just whispers, and secrets are never kept from everyone. A world where a thousand words can paint a better picture than any brush could, a world where actions speak only as loud as the words that describe them. Loves are lost, found, made, forgotten. It's magic.

I may have gotten carried away, but all that I mean is I'm definitely a regular at Chapter's. I go as often as I can; if ever I have a spare moment, I waste it at Chapter's. I love looking at books, reading the covers (but never the back. It ruins the story; always judge a book by it's cover). I even smell the pages. There's nothing like the smell of the potential for adventure.

I don't know the staff by name, but I do know what they look like:

1. The Children's Section Old Lady: She looks like the every day grandmother, and when I take Derby to the section she gushes all over him in the typical grandmother style. She knows exactly where to find a book if it's in her section, hardly even needs the computer to know if it's in stock.
2. The Fiction and Literature Old Man: He loves his job, at least he looks like he does as he stacks and re-stacks the books on the tables, lost in their titles and author names. When that is done, he wanders through the book shelves, picking up books and staring at the front, then flipping them open to read something on the first page. He's probably working, but I like to think he's smelling the potential.
3. The Clerks: There's the tall guy that looks slightly nerdy, like he's probably read every book in the store. The girl with the huge smile who always seems so excited to be selling me a book; she knows Chels and is always up to date with my life, sometimes before I am. (Facebook creeper) The one girl knows I never get a bag for my books.
4. There's more, but I won't bore you.

So it was weird when I bought the New Book. Chelsee and I went to read magazines on the window ledge at the front of the store. She picked out her regular: the latest edition of Nylon Magazine, a magazine that doesn't offer subscriptions to Canada. (lame) and I told her,

"I'll be right back." She read my first post, so she must have known where I was going, but, truthfully, I was a little embarrassed to say it out loud. I snuck to the computer at the back of the store, the one I felt was least likely to be seen by little kids in the middle of their wild rumpuses. I looked around nervously, and then I typed, as fast as possible, "Sexual Positions." All these pictures of books came up that were not quite 18A but definitely 14A. I could feel this old man with a sweater vest judging me as he walked past the computer, but I made my self stop caring; I was doing this for the good of my marriage, for the fun of my marriage.

I looked at the first book where it said, "Find it in: Self-help." Good grief. Of all the sections in Chapter's this is the one I enjoy the least. I always wonder what would bring people to read a self-help book. Just watch Dr. Phil; there's no way his books could relate to normal people. Sexual positions books should be in their own section. Something like the Super-Cool-Studly-Man section or something.

Anyway, I sauntered over to the self-help section and found the books. I picked one with stick people instead of the read deal; it's way less awkward. But it's still awkward, especially when the clerk is a new girl who looked way to excited to be working on a Saturday night.

"Hey, how are you?" she sang out to me as I walked to the counter.

"I'm fine," I said, just wanting things wrap up swiftly and stay as far away from small talk as possible. I passed her the book and her face went from that excited new Chapter's clerk to a bright red, frowning tomato.

"Did you find everything you were looking for?" she asked her computer screen as she flipped the book over the little de-magnetizer like five times.

"Uh, yup," I grumbled. If ever there was time I wished there was a self check-out...

"Do you need a bag?" she asked, and this time I said yes. I never use bags there, saving the world and everything, but I definitely didn't want to be toting that little butte around under my arm for all to see.

I showed Chelsee, and she got embarrassed even though she knew I was buying it, but she laughed and looked excited. Upon looking at the book, it's obvious that half of the positions, more than half, way more than half are not for fat old bags, but we are definitely in for some fun in the coming days. : D

Thanks for reading...sorry if it's uncomfortable today. But hey, we're being real. Thanks again.

Something New

Today's Weight: 206

Goal Weight: 175

After yesterday's blog, I was inspired. So I didn't hesitate for a second:

"Do you wanna go out to eat?" my wife said, "Mom says she wants to babysit."

"Yes, definitely!" This was my chance; I was going to try something new. I'm a man who knows exactly what he wants, and he's not afraid to go get it. By that, I mean I get the same thing wherever I go:

1. McDonald's = Big Mac Meal, no pickles, no onions. Supersize Coke, no ice. Medium Fry.
2. Wendy's = Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger Meal, no tomatoes. Medium Coke, no ice. Medium Fry. One extra Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger, no tomatoes.
3. Chili's = Skillet Queso to start. Bacon Burger, no pickles, no onions, no tomatoes. Coke, no ice
4. Boston Pizza = Tropical Chicken Pizza, no pineapple. Pepsi, no ice. (they don't sell coke)
5. Starbucks = Large Iced Coffee with Vanilla flavor. Grande - 6 squirts, Venti - 7 squirts. Room for cream
6. Anywhere expensive = 6-10 oz Sirloin steak, Medium rare. Coke or Pepsi, no ice.

As you can see, I'm not very creative. Until yesterday, "switching things up" was getting Ginger Ale instead of Coke, or if I was on a health kick, I'd get some water. I'm also as picky as they come. I cannot stand tomatoes; they are the forbidden fruit in my opinion. I don't mind pickles on their own, and onions taste ok, but I don't want to be tasting my Big Mac on Wednesday when I ate it on Monday.

Anyway, we went out to eat somewhere a little bit more classy than usual. Not too expensive, but not any of that glorified fast food stuff. We walked through the door and were immediately confronted with olde man decision making time. Do we go the restaurant side where there are like six people and they all look like they might fall asleep in their soup? Or do we go to the bar side where there's some kinda birthday party going on the middle, the music is blasting, and it's almost full with 2o something year olds to mid-30 something year olds?

November 05, we definitely go to the restaurant side. We sit in our comfy little booth, and I don't even need a menu. I order a Steak, medium rare. When it gets there, I complain that it is over cooked, I explain to Chelsee that I wish they would just give me fries instead of mashed potatoes, and I never even bother to look at the seasonal vegetables.

Today, however, was November 06. "Let's go over here," I said, and Chelsee was all for it. We sat in a booth next to some people who were way louder than they needed to be, but I didn't say a word about them.

"I'm gonna order something new," I said.

"Why don't you climb on the table and start dancing? That'd be new." Chels was joking, but for a split second I thought about it. I imagined myself dancing in circles, kicking our drinks off the table and swinging my sweater over my head. I pictured getting kicked out of the restaurant, and I thought about what a great blog that would make.

I didn't dance on the table. I didn't even swing my sweater. I did, however, open the menu to search for something that wasn't a steak. I eventually decided on Cedar Planked Salmon. It's healthy, non-fattening, and full of omega 3's or whatever. Chelsee was impressed, though I'm sure not as impressed as I was, and when it got there, it was nice. It definitely wasn't a steak, but it was good, none the less. It had this brown sugar sauce on it that was delectable. It came with rice, and a mixture of sweet potatoes and beets.

Like I said, I wouldn't have noticed the vegetables before; I would have let the waiter sweep them away with my dirty napkins. Today, though, I was determined to try them. The sweet potatoes looked yummier than the beets, so I cut one in half, imagined it tasting like a normal, baked potato. (they look similar, give me a break) I put one half in mouth, bit down on it, and then I must have made some kind of face, because Chelsee started laughing, and she looked at me and said, "You look exactly like Derby when I'm trying to feed him squash."

"These are disgusting," I said, and I put my fork down. Enough was enough for tonight.

The night was fun. Afterward, we picked up Derby and went to our friends' for their housewarming party. It was also a lot of fun. So, Day 1 I ate in the noisy bar instead of the old folks home of a restaurant, I ordered something I've never had before, and I liked it, and I went to a party. I feel like the first day has been more than successful (even though I never lost any weight yet.)

Hopefully, I'll see you tomorrow!

The Epiphany

Today's Weight: 206 lbs

Goal Weight: 175 lbs

October 11th, I turned 25. The problem with you're 25th birthday is that you're turning 25. I know you're not 'old', but there's no excuses after 25. The frontal lobe of your brain is fully developed, so you should be able to reason just fine. There are no more excuses. You should have things figured out.

To the outsider looking in on my life, I may look to have it all together. I have:

1. A beautiful wife, Name: Chelsee
2. A perfect little boy, Name: Derby Blue
3. A house
4. Two cars
5. A job that pays enough to live comfortably enough

However, since high school I have gained almost seventy pounds. I remember Christmas day during my Senior year of high school, somebody got a new scale, one of my sisters probably. Who knows why anyone would want one, but I took it up to the bathroom, and I weighed myself: 145 lbs, the beautiful little blue numbers blinked brightly. I was the man. I hopped off the little scale, stood in front of the mirror, and flexed my teenaged muscles all over the place.

Today, though, if I were to do the same, the blue numbers would blink 206 lbs, and the mirror would not see any muscles flexed; it would see a beer belly desperately trying to pull itself back in line with its long lost friends, my ribs.

Since high school I have become an angry old man. Not the angry old man that hobbles down the road with his cane, spitting at on-coming pedestrians and smoking the butts of cigarettes scattered around the bus stops, but the angry old man that grumbles under his breath when his Big Mac takes more than 3.5 minutes to appear at the window. The angry old man that sticks up his middle finger when someone honks at him for cutting them off. The angry old man that checks his watch every 2.3 minutes from the time he places his order at Pizza Hut to the time the waiter sets his Pepperoni and Bacon in front of him. The angry old man that yells at those young punks who yell and scream in a drunken stupor at a football game. The angry old man who gets pissed off when someone puts ice in his Coca-Cola or if they don't put enough sugar in his coffee at Starbucks. The angry old man who has rules for when people borrow his books: Don't dog-ear the pages. Don't set it face down to keep your page. Don't mark it in anyway. Have it back in three weeks. I snore, I talk to myself, and I think I'm getting arthritis in my thumbs. Needless to say, I'm an old Bag... at 25.

Of course, every now and then, I can have a good time. I watch football with the boys or have a game of golf a few times a summer. My wife and I get a sitter and go to the movies semi-frequently.

What I'm trying to say is, I'm 25, and I'm starting to feel like my life is on the decline. If the hill is my life then I've arrived at the top, spent nearly no time there at all, and I've decided to take a running start on the way down. In the past week, my wife has asked me, "Why is our life so boring? What do other people do to make sex more fun? Are we going to anything fun today? I wish we had more friends that we could go out with." The last one isn't a question, but she's telling me, over and over again that our life is boring, almost every aspect of it.

So, I've decided to do something about it. I am going on a diet. I am going to buy a book of sex positions. I am going to try something new this weekend; I don't know what that is yet, but I'm going to think of something. By my 26th birthday, I am going to be hot, skinny, young and adventurous; people won't recognize me. I'm gonna jaywalk and I'm gonna do donuts in my car. I'm going to drink more and go to more parties. I'm going to introduce myself to new people and talk to strangers on the bus. My kid is going to think I'm the greatest Dad in the world. "My dad is cooler than your dad" is all he's going to say. My wife will not be bored, she'll be begging me to relax. When I have reached my goal weight, I am going to buy a new suit, a young suit with pin stripes and a form-fitting vest, and I am going to take my wife out somewhere we've never gone, some place expensive.

AND I'm going to blog about all of it, Every day.

I only hope someone out there, will enjoy my adventure as much as I know I'm going to. Thanks for following!