After a three-ish year hiatus, shit is about to get real again. PsychoDad is gearing up for another season of mayhem.
You remember the guy...the Man...the Myth...the Legend? Yes him. The dad every guy wants to be and every lady wants to be with (unless you're in a certain grade school's administration) has come out of seclusion.
Stay tuned to see read about what kind of trouble he finds himself in this year.
Thursday, February 23, 2017
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Daddy needs a new pair of shoes
Not really, but it's time for a real job. I had an interview last week with a CPA firm trying to screen candidates for a local retailer who desperately needs a financial person. The retailer has been around for a million years, but the top dog died a few years ago and now the son-in-law is trying to run things. 2012 wasn't a good year and they're stuck in a rut of not knowing exactly how they want to proceed.
Over the past few years, they've gone from having a financial person to getting rid of him/her to save costs to deciding they need one to not knowing if they need one. As of last week, they've decided they need someone. So, I interviewed with the accounting firm trying to help them out.
In a perfect world, it's a match made in heaven. They have no one to manage their cash and expenses and need someone to question the way they do things and I am good at managing cash and expenses and giving my opinion of how shitty things are done. The accounting firm guy admitted my background was a perfect fit and I admitted the company really needed what I could offer.
My job is to wait to hear from them about actually interviewing with the CEO. As it stands, we're a bit off on money, though I think we could agree to something that makes both of us happy, and there is the question of them deciding next month if they still want a controller, and/or if they'll even be around in 6 months.
I'm in a win-win situation because a job that pays more than a dollar is more than I'm making now, so whatever it pays is an increase. However, I've been saving for a few years to buy a condo or for when I'm unemployed, so I don't have to take a shitty job just because it's offered. So, I wait to hear back from them.
Today though, I had an interview with another place. It's a mining company located in Evansville that's owned by an Australian company. I met with the CEO and the Company Secretary. Both guys are Aussies. The CEO is stationed here in the States, while the Company Secretary (that's what his card said, I'm not sure how that job position translates here) is from Perth. I shook hands with both to introduce myself and received a "G'day" from the guy who lives in Perth.
They thanked me for coming in on such a cold day. I said it was no problem and mentioned it's starting to warm up. The CEO looked at me and said, "Do you ever really get used to the cold?" I assured him we did and then we started talking about the job and what I might be able to bring to the table.
This company has been buying up mineral rights in the Illinois basin, which extends into Kentucky and Indiana. They're in the process of getting the appropriate permits and hope to break ground on the mining operation within the next 18-24 months.
They really don't need a financial guy for 40 hours a week since there's not that much stuff going on right now. The opportunity for part-time was offered, but I mentioned I desired full-time. They then asked if I was interested in doing some things outside the accounting field like helping organize their complete financial system, as well as maintain their database of mineral and land leases. Basically, help the CEO with reading reports on the land, making sure shit gets paid on time, and making sure there is enough money in the cash accounts.
I initially hesitated because I didn't know what I was getting myself into, but once I realized they didn't balk at my salary requirements, I tried to ease back into the "I'll help do anything" mode. They admitted they aren't 'anal' like a lot of companies, so I can get away without a tie and maybe eventually I could get them used to sweats and t-shirts...a total plus for me. Also, I made the mistake of mentioning my golf trip in May, then immediately backtracked to cover that remark when the CEO said, "Let me stop you right there. We don't care if you go on vacation in May. We don't care if you leave early because you have something to do. Obviously there will be times when we have deadlines and things, but as long as you get the job done, we don't care."
He had me at, "...don't care." I wanted to reach my hand and say, "I accept," but I played it cooler and let him continue talking.
Eventually I stopped entertaining them and the interview ended. They still wanted to talk with a couple more candidates and they should know more in the next couple weeks. As we exchanged our thank yous for the meeting, the guy from Perth said, "Cheers" as I walked out the door. Very cool.
During the 10 minute drive home, I decided I wanted to give this place a shot. I really don't mind doing shit other than accounting, which can be boring at times. There's no staff to supervise so I don't have to deal with employee problems, just the occasional sexual harassment case from the lady in the office who likely hasn't heard f-bombs at the rate I can spit them out.
Once home, I ripped off that damned jacket and tie and got into something more comfortable and went right to our computer room to write a thank you letter. I reiterated how I was the bomb and explained how much they needed me. Instead of saying 'sincerely' at the end of the letter before my signature, I wanted to say 'cheers,' but decided against it, not sure they'd find it as funny as I did.
Hopefully I've found my new place of employment, though by looking at the picture I posted earlier today they may have already ripped my resume to pieces. Wish me luck.
Over the past few years, they've gone from having a financial person to getting rid of him/her to save costs to deciding they need one to not knowing if they need one. As of last week, they've decided they need someone. So, I interviewed with the accounting firm trying to help them out.
In a perfect world, it's a match made in heaven. They have no one to manage their cash and expenses and need someone to question the way they do things and I am good at managing cash and expenses and giving my opinion of how shitty things are done. The accounting firm guy admitted my background was a perfect fit and I admitted the company really needed what I could offer.
My job is to wait to hear from them about actually interviewing with the CEO. As it stands, we're a bit off on money, though I think we could agree to something that makes both of us happy, and there is the question of them deciding next month if they still want a controller, and/or if they'll even be around in 6 months.
I'm in a win-win situation because a job that pays more than a dollar is more than I'm making now, so whatever it pays is an increase. However, I've been saving for a few years to buy a condo or for when I'm unemployed, so I don't have to take a shitty job just because it's offered. So, I wait to hear back from them.
Today though, I had an interview with another place. It's a mining company located in Evansville that's owned by an Australian company. I met with the CEO and the Company Secretary. Both guys are Aussies. The CEO is stationed here in the States, while the Company Secretary (that's what his card said, I'm not sure how that job position translates here) is from Perth. I shook hands with both to introduce myself and received a "G'day" from the guy who lives in Perth.
They thanked me for coming in on such a cold day. I said it was no problem and mentioned it's starting to warm up. The CEO looked at me and said, "Do you ever really get used to the cold?" I assured him we did and then we started talking about the job and what I might be able to bring to the table.
This company has been buying up mineral rights in the Illinois basin, which extends into Kentucky and Indiana. They're in the process of getting the appropriate permits and hope to break ground on the mining operation within the next 18-24 months.
They really don't need a financial guy for 40 hours a week since there's not that much stuff going on right now. The opportunity for part-time was offered, but I mentioned I desired full-time. They then asked if I was interested in doing some things outside the accounting field like helping organize their complete financial system, as well as maintain their database of mineral and land leases. Basically, help the CEO with reading reports on the land, making sure shit gets paid on time, and making sure there is enough money in the cash accounts.
I initially hesitated because I didn't know what I was getting myself into, but once I realized they didn't balk at my salary requirements, I tried to ease back into the "I'll help do anything" mode. They admitted they aren't 'anal' like a lot of companies, so I can get away without a tie and maybe eventually I could get them used to sweats and t-shirts...a total plus for me. Also, I made the mistake of mentioning my golf trip in May, then immediately backtracked to cover that remark when the CEO said, "Let me stop you right there. We don't care if you go on vacation in May. We don't care if you leave early because you have something to do. Obviously there will be times when we have deadlines and things, but as long as you get the job done, we don't care."
He had me at, "...don't care." I wanted to reach my hand and say, "I accept," but I played it cooler and let him continue talking.
Eventually I stopped entertaining them and the interview ended. They still wanted to talk with a couple more candidates and they should know more in the next couple weeks. As we exchanged our thank yous for the meeting, the guy from Perth said, "Cheers" as I walked out the door. Very cool.
During the 10 minute drive home, I decided I wanted to give this place a shot. I really don't mind doing shit other than accounting, which can be boring at times. There's no staff to supervise so I don't have to deal with employee problems, just the occasional sexual harassment case from the lady in the office who likely hasn't heard f-bombs at the rate I can spit them out.
Once home, I ripped off that damned jacket and tie and got into something more comfortable and went right to our computer room to write a thank you letter. I reiterated how I was the bomb and explained how much they needed me. Instead of saying 'sincerely' at the end of the letter before my signature, I wanted to say 'cheers,' but decided against it, not sure they'd find it as funny as I did.
Hopefully I've found my new place of employment, though by looking at the picture I posted earlier today they may have already ripped my resume to pieces. Wish me luck.
Monday, February 10, 2014
The first step is admitting you have a problem
I have a problem. Well, I have many, many problems, so I guess I have a new problem. I haven't been to a doctor so it hasn't been diagnosed, but I have an eating disorder. I don't know what it's called, but it's the opposite of anorexia...I eat shit all night long.
Part of the blame goes to my work. For the past couple years I've only been working part-time, so I sleep later than normal and I go to bed later than normal. I've always been a bit of a night owl, put simply, I enjoy staying up late. I rarely go overboard and stay up til 3 or 4, but during the week I'm lucky to get to bed by 1 AM and on the weekends by 2 AM. So, during the evening prime time hours when the best TV is on, I'm sitting in the recliner in the mancave watching shit I've TiVoed. Even when watching something I'm interested in, I get bored and want to snack. So I do.
During the week it's not too bad. A handful of chips or a couple pieces of candy and I'm good for a while. The weekends are when all hell breaks loose.
On the weekends, I crack open a rich, yummy beer at about 9:30. Not just any beer, but usually something that's highly alcoholic in a 22- or 25.4-ounce bottle. The first half of the beer, I savor and cherish while I'm reviewing it online at BeerAdvocate.com. The more reviews I do, the higher my "beer karma" goes. I'm not sure what exactly that gets me, but I'm sure it makes me cool somehow. Or should I say, cooler.
Anyway, I nurse and revere the first half of the beer, then I grab a bag of Honey Wheat pretzels. There's no fat, but it still got calories and salt. As I empty the bottle of yumminess, I grow bored with the pretzels and start on a bag of chips or a box of White Cheddar Cheez Its.
By now, I'm typically get very full, but the new switch in flavors from pretzels to Cheez Its gives my palate and stomach their collective second winds and I grab a 12-ounce bottle of beer, whatever I happen to have upstairs at the time. By now it doesn't much matter, I'm just looking for something to wash down the snacks.
It could be 11 or 12 at night when that bottle is gone and I close the snack package. I make my way downstairs to take my medley of drugs for all my illnesses and disorders. As I'm walking down the stairs, I realize my mouth and throat are a bit warm from all the beer. I fix this by dragging out the tub of ice cream in the freezer. With spoon in hand, I don't bother with a bowl as I eat directly from the tub while reading up on the latest from any of the three car magazines sitting on the kitchen table.
Before I even begin with the ice cream, I'm miserable because I'm so full. But...it's ice cream. Chocolate even. I've never had to be hungry to eat ice cream, so for 10 or 15 minutes I sit at the table and do teaspoon curls. I don't stop til I've embarrassed even myself, or I feel I'm about to blow chunks.
Back when I was a bit healthier and more active and arthritis hadn't taken one of my hobbies, I maintained an even weight each week by losing 5-7 pounds during the week and putting them back on during the weekend. It was a beautiful cycle. But no more. Now, I gain 7 pounds during the weekend, but only lose 3 during the week.
Yesterday was when I realized I had a problem and I had an intervention with myself while shopping at Wally World. I was in the frozen fruit section buying more fruit for my daily protein shake. Those Wal-Mart bastards intentionally put the frozen pies right next to the frozen fruit, so weak people like me stand at the door to the freezer and think, "Hmm, frozen fruit or pie? Frozen fruit or pie? Fuck it, I'm getting pie."
I can't tell you how close I was to throwing a Key Lime pie into the cart. That's when I had the intervention with myself. After a few minutes of staring blindly into the freezer, I put the pie back and went with the fruit. It was then I decided no pie until I get below 190 pounds. It was a small step, but it was a step nonetheless.
Further, when I got home, I decided since I didn't do anything on the dreadmill on Saturday, I couldn't miss Sunday. I changed into my running britches and shoes and then stretched. And I stretched and I stretched. And then I stretched a little more. And then I played with the dogs. And then I talked with Hayden. And then I stretched some more. I told Jennifer that I was hoping I could keep stretching and completely avoid the dreadmill, but it never worked.
So I got on the dreadmill, and again, I had an intervention with myself. For the past couple weeks, I've done lots of walking and a little bit of jogging on the dreadmill. Mostly, I'm going through the motions, just killing time in hopes that I can lose two pounds in 5 or 6 minutes. But that hasn't happened.
I decided I was going to stop walking on the damned thing and start jogging. I weighed 195 pounds and it was time to stop being a pussy and actually burn some calories. I didn't care how long it took, I was going to jog for a whole mile without walking.
As the seconds slid by, I noticed my shin stopped splinting and the only pain was from my good knee. I said, "suck it up" and continued. As I approached the end of the mile, I thought I'd walk a bit after that first mile and then continue jogging for a second mile. I managed a ridiculously slow 12 minute mile, then walked for a quarter mile, then jogged the remaining 3/4 of a mile to finish 2 miles in 24 minutes and some change. It's sad, but it's a start.
My legs never hurt, but were a bit tired most of the night. It's hard carrying around an extra 15 pounds (or 20) every day. I considered giving them a rest today, but nixed that idea. So, another mile before heading into the office, with no walking allowed, stopping the clock at a staggering 11:36. Still glacier-slow, but an improvement.
My goal is to hop on for another mile tonight when Hayden and I get done with homework. Another small step, but at least it's a step forward.
Part of the blame goes to my work. For the past couple years I've only been working part-time, so I sleep later than normal and I go to bed later than normal. I've always been a bit of a night owl, put simply, I enjoy staying up late. I rarely go overboard and stay up til 3 or 4, but during the week I'm lucky to get to bed by 1 AM and on the weekends by 2 AM. So, during the evening prime time hours when the best TV is on, I'm sitting in the recliner in the mancave watching shit I've TiVoed. Even when watching something I'm interested in, I get bored and want to snack. So I do.
During the week it's not too bad. A handful of chips or a couple pieces of candy and I'm good for a while. The weekends are when all hell breaks loose.
On the weekends, I crack open a rich, yummy beer at about 9:30. Not just any beer, but usually something that's highly alcoholic in a 22- or 25.4-ounce bottle. The first half of the beer, I savor and cherish while I'm reviewing it online at BeerAdvocate.com. The more reviews I do, the higher my "beer karma" goes. I'm not sure what exactly that gets me, but I'm sure it makes me cool somehow. Or should I say, cooler.
Anyway, I nurse and revere the first half of the beer, then I grab a bag of Honey Wheat pretzels. There's no fat, but it still got calories and salt. As I empty the bottle of yumminess, I grow bored with the pretzels and start on a bag of chips or a box of White Cheddar Cheez Its.
By now, I'm typically get very full, but the new switch in flavors from pretzels to Cheez Its gives my palate and stomach their collective second winds and I grab a 12-ounce bottle of beer, whatever I happen to have upstairs at the time. By now it doesn't much matter, I'm just looking for something to wash down the snacks.
It could be 11 or 12 at night when that bottle is gone and I close the snack package. I make my way downstairs to take my medley of drugs for all my illnesses and disorders. As I'm walking down the stairs, I realize my mouth and throat are a bit warm from all the beer. I fix this by dragging out the tub of ice cream in the freezer. With spoon in hand, I don't bother with a bowl as I eat directly from the tub while reading up on the latest from any of the three car magazines sitting on the kitchen table.
Before I even begin with the ice cream, I'm miserable because I'm so full. But...it's ice cream. Chocolate even. I've never had to be hungry to eat ice cream, so for 10 or 15 minutes I sit at the table and do teaspoon curls. I don't stop til I've embarrassed even myself, or I feel I'm about to blow chunks.
Back when I was a bit healthier and more active and arthritis hadn't taken one of my hobbies, I maintained an even weight each week by losing 5-7 pounds during the week and putting them back on during the weekend. It was a beautiful cycle. But no more. Now, I gain 7 pounds during the weekend, but only lose 3 during the week.
Yesterday was when I realized I had a problem and I had an intervention with myself while shopping at Wally World. I was in the frozen fruit section buying more fruit for my daily protein shake. Those Wal-Mart bastards intentionally put the frozen pies right next to the frozen fruit, so weak people like me stand at the door to the freezer and think, "Hmm, frozen fruit or pie? Frozen fruit or pie? Fuck it, I'm getting pie."
I can't tell you how close I was to throwing a Key Lime pie into the cart. That's when I had the intervention with myself. After a few minutes of staring blindly into the freezer, I put the pie back and went with the fruit. It was then I decided no pie until I get below 190 pounds. It was a small step, but it was a step nonetheless.
Further, when I got home, I decided since I didn't do anything on the dreadmill on Saturday, I couldn't miss Sunday. I changed into my running britches and shoes and then stretched. And I stretched and I stretched. And then I stretched a little more. And then I played with the dogs. And then I talked with Hayden. And then I stretched some more. I told Jennifer that I was hoping I could keep stretching and completely avoid the dreadmill, but it never worked.
So I got on the dreadmill, and again, I had an intervention with myself. For the past couple weeks, I've done lots of walking and a little bit of jogging on the dreadmill. Mostly, I'm going through the motions, just killing time in hopes that I can lose two pounds in 5 or 6 minutes. But that hasn't happened.
I decided I was going to stop walking on the damned thing and start jogging. I weighed 195 pounds and it was time to stop being a pussy and actually burn some calories. I didn't care how long it took, I was going to jog for a whole mile without walking.
As the seconds slid by, I noticed my shin stopped splinting and the only pain was from my good knee. I said, "suck it up" and continued. As I approached the end of the mile, I thought I'd walk a bit after that first mile and then continue jogging for a second mile. I managed a ridiculously slow 12 minute mile, then walked for a quarter mile, then jogged the remaining 3/4 of a mile to finish 2 miles in 24 minutes and some change. It's sad, but it's a start.
My legs never hurt, but were a bit tired most of the night. It's hard carrying around an extra 15 pounds (or 20) every day. I considered giving them a rest today, but nixed that idea. So, another mile before heading into the office, with no walking allowed, stopping the clock at a staggering 11:36. Still glacier-slow, but an improvement.
My goal is to hop on for another mile tonight when Hayden and I get done with homework. Another small step, but at least it's a step forward.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
No more Bad Grandpa
My attack on unwanted poundage isn't going quite as swimmingly as I'd hoped. Last week, Pyscho Mom was out of town so I was pulling double duty on the parenting front. I weathered that storm, but my forward march was slightly stalled.
This week, I'm back, but only slightly with a vengeance. Because I'm really fat and even more out of shape, I've been walking to get my body used to the beating its in for. Walking is so lame though, that I feel like I'm not doing anything. Even after a couple miles, my feet are hot and my legs tired, but I'm barely sweating.
Today was the day to sew up the vag and start getting air born. I was ready to break out of Bad Grandpa mode and start pushing the treadmill to spin a little faster. A look on the scale was all the motivation I needed. Somehow, I'm up 1.4 pounds this week.
I walked for a couple minutes to get my parts warm. Then, I went air born. Cranked that dreamill up to a sizzling 5.2 MPH and started to jog. Yeah, 5.2 is pretty puss but it's a start. I knew my lungs would be the first casualty of the day so I figured a combination of walking and jogging would make for a good routine where I could spend a decent amount of time in motion and burn some calories.
Amazingly, my lungs were hanging in there. Instead, it was my knees that waved the white flag. Initially, some sort of shin splinty kind of thing started acting up on the left leg, but that pain was soon overpowered by the fire in my right knee. Sadly, my right knee is the good knee, a virgin of scalpels and big needles. The left knee is a bit of a mess. It's got three little marks where the scope went in some years ago and it's been drained more times than I can remember. According to the doctor, 'it's fine,' but I know better. It's still my bum knee, but now it seems it's the better of the two.
While the left knee was making a noble effort at accepting this new chore of running, the right knee grimaced and whined and cried the whole time. After a combination of walking and jogging produced an embarrassing 13:44 mile, I called it a day and headed to the debriefing room to discuss the issue with the knees.
Me: Knees, what's the problem?
Knees: The problem? Have you looked in the mirror? That's the problem.
Me: Sure, I'm carrying a couple extra pounds, but that's no excuse.
Knees: A couple extra? Try a dozen.
Me: Ok, a dozen. But we've done this before, why suddenly is there a problem?
Knees: Dude, we're old. We're older than we've ever been. We're just about as fat as we've ever been. And that shit you feed us isn't exactly Jenny Jones approved.
Me: Come on, grow a pair. I have a beer a night on the weekend.
Knees: Yes, one beer in a 22-ounce bottle.
Me: So! It's not that unusual.
Knees: The one beer in the 22-ounce bottle isn't the problem. The problem, Einstein, is the one beer in the 22-ounce bottle is enjoyed with a half a bag of pretzels, a few handfuls of Cheez Its, another bottle of beer and then some ice cream, eaten right out of the container that you think no one knows about. And then a couple pieces of candy just so you don't have to walk back up the stairs all alone. And just for a nightcap, you get into the fridge-type thing that's upstairs and grab another bottle, just because you're tipsy by then and think that calories consumed when you're tipsy don't count.
Me: Point taken.
We seem to be near a mutiny. I'm getting little cooperation from the troops. This is a problem because in addition to wanting to be cougar-bait on my golf trip in May, I was hoping to participate in some 5K thing my wife's company is throwing. I call it the Ten Toes for Kiddoes because the thing benefits kiddoes in some way, but the higher ups had already named it something far less cool. Anyway, I think that's in April so I have to start making some headway.
The past two weeks have not been a good start as I'm already up a pound and a half.
This week, I'm back, but only slightly with a vengeance. Because I'm really fat and even more out of shape, I've been walking to get my body used to the beating its in for. Walking is so lame though, that I feel like I'm not doing anything. Even after a couple miles, my feet are hot and my legs tired, but I'm barely sweating.
Today was the day to sew up the vag and start getting air born. I was ready to break out of Bad Grandpa mode and start pushing the treadmill to spin a little faster. A look on the scale was all the motivation I needed. Somehow, I'm up 1.4 pounds this week.
I walked for a couple minutes to get my parts warm. Then, I went air born. Cranked that dreamill up to a sizzling 5.2 MPH and started to jog. Yeah, 5.2 is pretty puss but it's a start. I knew my lungs would be the first casualty of the day so I figured a combination of walking and jogging would make for a good routine where I could spend a decent amount of time in motion and burn some calories.
Amazingly, my lungs were hanging in there. Instead, it was my knees that waved the white flag. Initially, some sort of shin splinty kind of thing started acting up on the left leg, but that pain was soon overpowered by the fire in my right knee. Sadly, my right knee is the good knee, a virgin of scalpels and big needles. The left knee is a bit of a mess. It's got three little marks where the scope went in some years ago and it's been drained more times than I can remember. According to the doctor, 'it's fine,' but I know better. It's still my bum knee, but now it seems it's the better of the two.
While the left knee was making a noble effort at accepting this new chore of running, the right knee grimaced and whined and cried the whole time. After a combination of walking and jogging produced an embarrassing 13:44 mile, I called it a day and headed to the debriefing room to discuss the issue with the knees.
Me: Knees, what's the problem?
Knees: The problem? Have you looked in the mirror? That's the problem.
Me: Sure, I'm carrying a couple extra pounds, but that's no excuse.
Knees: A couple extra? Try a dozen.
Me: Ok, a dozen. But we've done this before, why suddenly is there a problem?
Knees: Dude, we're old. We're older than we've ever been. We're just about as fat as we've ever been. And that shit you feed us isn't exactly Jenny Jones approved.
Me: Come on, grow a pair. I have a beer a night on the weekend.
Knees: Yes, one beer in a 22-ounce bottle.
Me: So! It's not that unusual.
Knees: The one beer in the 22-ounce bottle isn't the problem. The problem, Einstein, is the one beer in the 22-ounce bottle is enjoyed with a half a bag of pretzels, a few handfuls of Cheez Its, another bottle of beer and then some ice cream, eaten right out of the container that you think no one knows about. And then a couple pieces of candy just so you don't have to walk back up the stairs all alone. And just for a nightcap, you get into the fridge-type thing that's upstairs and grab another bottle, just because you're tipsy by then and think that calories consumed when you're tipsy don't count.
Me: Point taken.
We seem to be near a mutiny. I'm getting little cooperation from the troops. This is a problem because in addition to wanting to be cougar-bait on my golf trip in May, I was hoping to participate in some 5K thing my wife's company is throwing. I call it the Ten Toes for Kiddoes because the thing benefits kiddoes in some way, but the higher ups had already named it something far less cool. Anyway, I think that's in April so I have to start making some headway.
The past two weeks have not been a good start as I'm already up a pound and a half.
Monday, January 20, 2014
What a great day to be alive
Due to my football team's lack of skills, football season for me is now over. No more entire weekends of watching TV the whole day. No more Monday nights of doing nothing. It's time to bring the troops back in and start progressing on our march.
Currently, I sit at a staggering 192.6 (I was surprised it was that low). I'm now wearing a B-cup and I keep getting phone calls from the local OB/GYNs trying to drum up my business. I'll have no more of it. I'm lazy and I look like shit. Well, I look as bad as a hot guy can look.
So, the troops have been brought in to discuss the latest iteration of Operation: Fat Bastard, which we're considering calling Operation: Fatter Bastard. I always like to give the guys not only a goal, but a deadline in which to accomplish the goal.
Despite being off any and all payrolls, I'm still going on my golf trip this year. Jennifer and I are leaving just past midnight on the morning of May 9. That gives me just shy of four months to drop some pounds. As is normally the case, the goal is for the scale to start with a 1 proceeded by a 7. After that, I don't care what it says.
I gave the troops their orders today and away I went on the dreadmill. It's been over two months since I'd turned the thing on and I was happy I remember which buttons to push to make it do things. Sadly, just programming the time, my weight, and the speed and incline, I worked up a bit of a sweat. But because I'm a warrior, I continued.
My intent was not to jog today, but simply make sure my shoes still fit and to get my body accustomed to the beating it was going to take. I thought a couple miles of walking would be a good start.
Slowly (3.9 MPH), and with a gentle incline (3.0) I began with left foot in front of right foot, then right foot in front of left foot. Nothing to it, I thought. I was listening to The Promise by When In Rome and kind of lost track of what was going on. The song ended and the aching in my knees suggested I'd been on the dreadmill for quite some time. Yep, one minute and 20 seconds to be precise. Two minutes later the little shin splinty things started to act up.
Fortunately, about that time, Monty walked into the mancave. This was odd because I clearly remembered letting both dogs outside before I went upstairs. I paused the forward march and ran downstairs. Yep, the back door was standing wide open. I'd yell at Hayden for this, but since it was me, I'm going to let it slide.
Back up to the dreadmill, Monty followed and was dying to get on. She'd put one paw on and then watch in horror as that paw slid towards the back. It took her about four attempts before she decided to lay on the floor next to me and keep and eye out for insurgents.
I stopped at 2 miles for a variety of reasons. First, it's a nice round number. But mostly it was because my feet were burning hot. I'd lost feeling in both knees around 1.3 miles so I was able to continue, but my feet were on fire and judging by the smokey scent in the air, they might have been.
Two miles and about 355 calories burned in the books.
Currently, I sit at a staggering 192.6 (I was surprised it was that low). I'm now wearing a B-cup and I keep getting phone calls from the local OB/GYNs trying to drum up my business. I'll have no more of it. I'm lazy and I look like shit. Well, I look as bad as a hot guy can look.
So, the troops have been brought in to discuss the latest iteration of Operation: Fat Bastard, which we're considering calling Operation: Fatter Bastard. I always like to give the guys not only a goal, but a deadline in which to accomplish the goal.
Despite being off any and all payrolls, I'm still going on my golf trip this year. Jennifer and I are leaving just past midnight on the morning of May 9. That gives me just shy of four months to drop some pounds. As is normally the case, the goal is for the scale to start with a 1 proceeded by a 7. After that, I don't care what it says.
I gave the troops their orders today and away I went on the dreadmill. It's been over two months since I'd turned the thing on and I was happy I remember which buttons to push to make it do things. Sadly, just programming the time, my weight, and the speed and incline, I worked up a bit of a sweat. But because I'm a warrior, I continued.
My intent was not to jog today, but simply make sure my shoes still fit and to get my body accustomed to the beating it was going to take. I thought a couple miles of walking would be a good start.
Slowly (3.9 MPH), and with a gentle incline (3.0) I began with left foot in front of right foot, then right foot in front of left foot. Nothing to it, I thought. I was listening to The Promise by When In Rome and kind of lost track of what was going on. The song ended and the aching in my knees suggested I'd been on the dreadmill for quite some time. Yep, one minute and 20 seconds to be precise. Two minutes later the little shin splinty things started to act up.
Fortunately, about that time, Monty walked into the mancave. This was odd because I clearly remembered letting both dogs outside before I went upstairs. I paused the forward march and ran downstairs. Yep, the back door was standing wide open. I'd yell at Hayden for this, but since it was me, I'm going to let it slide.
Back up to the dreadmill, Monty followed and was dying to get on. She'd put one paw on and then watch in horror as that paw slid towards the back. It took her about four attempts before she decided to lay on the floor next to me and keep and eye out for insurgents.
I stopped at 2 miles for a variety of reasons. First, it's a nice round number. But mostly it was because my feet were burning hot. I'd lost feeling in both knees around 1.3 miles so I was able to continue, but my feet were on fire and judging by the smokey scent in the air, they might have been.
Two miles and about 355 calories burned in the books.
Friday, January 17, 2014
I'm the parent of 'that child' and 'that dog'
Last night was the first night of puppy school for Monty. I'd been waiting for this for 5 or 6 weeks now and had purposely not worked with her in the interim because I didn't want to start teaching her one way of doing things and then confuse her with a different method.
Despite being a German Shepherd, Monty is a fraidy-cat at home. When she hears the neighbor's dogs bark, she immediately runs and hides behind me. While I really wanted an attack dog, I was somewhat happy with her submissiveness, thinking that she'd be quiet at school.
EPIC fail. Epic is in caps for a reason, it was the mother of all fails.
We arrived a few minutes late which really set the tone. Before we left, I checked my little duffel bag to make sure we had everything we needed. Sadly, I forgot to put everything back in, so as we were driving to school, I realized the mistake and headed back home.
So, as mentioned, we arrived a couple minutes late. We walked into a group of people, all holding the leases of their little pups. Monty immediately started barking at them. And barking. And barking. And barking.
Despite what some may think, I don't normally like to draw attention to myself. Sure, once in a while I do, but most of the time I'm quiet and try to keep to myself. That didn't happen last night. Everyone was making sure to see who the deadbeat dad was who couldn't control their dog.
After a few minutes, the assistant to the instructor, and old bag of a lady, walked over to me and said, "I wouldn't let him get away with that." (By the way, Monty is a girl) My first reaction was complete shock. It totally caught me off guard. My second reaction was to tell the old bag of a lady to get out of my business. However, I'm now on happy pills and far more mature than I used to be so I went with my third reaction..."Well, I'm hoping you guys will teach me how."
Another minute or two of barking ensued before the bag lady came by with a spray bottle. She gave Monty a quick spray and it shut her up. The bag lady smiled a horribly, ugly smile and turned around. Monty realized she was ok and proceeded to continue barking. The bag lady came at Monty one more time and zapped her. This time Monty snapped at the water bottle. While it probably wasn't the proper thing for Monty to do, I was very proud of her for letting the bag lady know what's what.
A couple more minutes went by before the lead instructor mentioned, "Maybe you should take her outside and walk her around the yard." Seven or eight minutes in and we'd already been relegated to time out. This wasn't the start I'd hope for.
Hayden and I walked the puppy outside for a few minutes, then went back inside. At this point, Monty was settling down and getting tired of barking. She only barked when another puppy made eye contact or got too close. The class went into introductions and when it came to me, I mentioned who Hayden and I were and said, "You've already met Monty." There were smiles, except from the bag lady, and the introductions continued.
The whole time, the bag lady was staring at Monty. And then at me. And then at Monty. And then at me again. Bitch.
For the rest of the night, Monty did fairly well. She only tried to eat a couple of the dogs and for the most part only barked when she felt another dog was staring at her or tried to invade her space.
I'm already not looking forward to next week because I'm afraid they're going to give me my money back and ask that I leave Monty at home. However, I'm very proud of Monty for both snapping at the water bottle and for trying to fend off the bad puppies, even though the other puppies weren't bad (the little Great Dane puppy might have been as cute as Monty).
I don't know if she'll ever learn to sit, stay, and not jump on people, but at least the house will be protected.
Despite being a German Shepherd, Monty is a fraidy-cat at home. When she hears the neighbor's dogs bark, she immediately runs and hides behind me. While I really wanted an attack dog, I was somewhat happy with her submissiveness, thinking that she'd be quiet at school.
EPIC fail. Epic is in caps for a reason, it was the mother of all fails.
We arrived a few minutes late which really set the tone. Before we left, I checked my little duffel bag to make sure we had everything we needed. Sadly, I forgot to put everything back in, so as we were driving to school, I realized the mistake and headed back home.
So, as mentioned, we arrived a couple minutes late. We walked into a group of people, all holding the leases of their little pups. Monty immediately started barking at them. And barking. And barking. And barking.
Despite what some may think, I don't normally like to draw attention to myself. Sure, once in a while I do, but most of the time I'm quiet and try to keep to myself. That didn't happen last night. Everyone was making sure to see who the deadbeat dad was who couldn't control their dog.
After a few minutes, the assistant to the instructor, and old bag of a lady, walked over to me and said, "I wouldn't let him get away with that." (By the way, Monty is a girl) My first reaction was complete shock. It totally caught me off guard. My second reaction was to tell the old bag of a lady to get out of my business. However, I'm now on happy pills and far more mature than I used to be so I went with my third reaction..."Well, I'm hoping you guys will teach me how."
Another minute or two of barking ensued before the bag lady came by with a spray bottle. She gave Monty a quick spray and it shut her up. The bag lady smiled a horribly, ugly smile and turned around. Monty realized she was ok and proceeded to continue barking. The bag lady came at Monty one more time and zapped her. This time Monty snapped at the water bottle. While it probably wasn't the proper thing for Monty to do, I was very proud of her for letting the bag lady know what's what.
A couple more minutes went by before the lead instructor mentioned, "Maybe you should take her outside and walk her around the yard." Seven or eight minutes in and we'd already been relegated to time out. This wasn't the start I'd hope for.
Hayden and I walked the puppy outside for a few minutes, then went back inside. At this point, Monty was settling down and getting tired of barking. She only barked when another puppy made eye contact or got too close. The class went into introductions and when it came to me, I mentioned who Hayden and I were and said, "You've already met Monty." There were smiles, except from the bag lady, and the introductions continued.
The whole time, the bag lady was staring at Monty. And then at me. And then at Monty. And then at me again. Bitch.
For the rest of the night, Monty did fairly well. She only tried to eat a couple of the dogs and for the most part only barked when she felt another dog was staring at her or tried to invade her space.
I'm already not looking forward to next week because I'm afraid they're going to give me my money back and ask that I leave Monty at home. However, I'm very proud of Monty for both snapping at the water bottle and for trying to fend off the bad puppies, even though the other puppies weren't bad (the little Great Dane puppy might have been as cute as Monty).
I don't know if she'll ever learn to sit, stay, and not jump on people, but at least the house will be protected.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Oh yeah, it's still on.
I don't have a lot of time because I'm stuck in the trenches and the internet reception isn't great in times of war. That said, I wanted everyone to know that Operation: Fat Bastard is still a go. Lately, we've gone dark, avoiding communications of all sorts, but in the background, the guys have been working some covert operations. Like Axel Foley in Beverly Hills Cop II, we've gone deep undercover...like Double Secret Probation-type deep undercover.
The recent Fall Festival was but a flesh wound of a set back in our desire to shed some lbs. Dr. Thickfinger doubling my happy pill intake hasn't exactly helped the lbs drop either. With these two recent set backs, I hit a rotund 195 pounds on October 21. Yes, it was impressive, borderline spectacular. But that was the final straw.
As a unit, our guys regrouped and planned a different method of attack. We decided the best course of action was to continue moving forward with baby steps on the dreadmill, but we also decided on some counter measures reserved for just this sort of battle.
Since the previous Monday (10/21), with the exception of the weekends, I've been on a diet. Yes, a diet. During the weekdays, I've eaten nothing but milk shakes, candy bars, pumpkin bagels with cream cheese, potato chips and mini bell peppers...with the occasional meal of spaghetti or a burger thrown in for good measure.
It's not as bad as it sounds. The milk shakes are my homemade protein drinks. The candy bars are my protein bars. The bagels are just what you'd expect, as are the chips and the peppers. Really, they're my favorite things to eat, so I look forward to it.
I start each day with a protein smoothie and a bagel. I snack on a protein bar if I get hungry. After I pick up Hayden from school, before we start on homework, he and I both wolf down some potato chips. For dinner I have another protein smoothie and another bagel. Later in the evening, I'll put a hurtin' on the mini bells peppers (those things are like candy to me) if I get hungry. Editor's note: since I picked up some Halloween candy at the store this past weekend, I've noticed I might have a few pieces to kill a sweet tooth before brushing my toofers.
This 'diet' keeps me full, and has like 1 calorie. I've been trying to jog a mile in the mornings and again in the evenings, but I've found I'm only doing it in the mornings because I'm about to fall asleep after working on homework with Hayden...fourth grade is SOOOOO boring.
Anyway, the previous Monday I almost broke the scale at 195.0 pounds. This morning, the damned thing would only go up to 189.2. Operation: Fat Bastard is in the Shock and Awe stage right now, I can't wait to see what happens next.
The recent Fall Festival was but a flesh wound of a set back in our desire to shed some lbs. Dr. Thickfinger doubling my happy pill intake hasn't exactly helped the lbs drop either. With these two recent set backs, I hit a rotund 195 pounds on October 21. Yes, it was impressive, borderline spectacular. But that was the final straw.
As a unit, our guys regrouped and planned a different method of attack. We decided the best course of action was to continue moving forward with baby steps on the dreadmill, but we also decided on some counter measures reserved for just this sort of battle.
Since the previous Monday (10/21), with the exception of the weekends, I've been on a diet. Yes, a diet. During the weekdays, I've eaten nothing but milk shakes, candy bars, pumpkin bagels with cream cheese, potato chips and mini bell peppers...with the occasional meal of spaghetti or a burger thrown in for good measure.
It's not as bad as it sounds. The milk shakes are my homemade protein drinks. The candy bars are my protein bars. The bagels are just what you'd expect, as are the chips and the peppers. Really, they're my favorite things to eat, so I look forward to it.
I start each day with a protein smoothie and a bagel. I snack on a protein bar if I get hungry. After I pick up Hayden from school, before we start on homework, he and I both wolf down some potato chips. For dinner I have another protein smoothie and another bagel. Later in the evening, I'll put a hurtin' on the mini bells peppers (those things are like candy to me) if I get hungry. Editor's note: since I picked up some Halloween candy at the store this past weekend, I've noticed I might have a few pieces to kill a sweet tooth before brushing my toofers.
This 'diet' keeps me full, and has like 1 calorie. I've been trying to jog a mile in the mornings and again in the evenings, but I've found I'm only doing it in the mornings because I'm about to fall asleep after working on homework with Hayden...fourth grade is SOOOOO boring.
Anyway, the previous Monday I almost broke the scale at 195.0 pounds. This morning, the damned thing would only go up to 189.2. Operation: Fat Bastard is in the Shock and Awe stage right now, I can't wait to see what happens next.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
War tactics update
Operation: Fat Bastard is still in effect. The soldiers took liberty for a four-day holiday weekend, but aside from that, operations are still in motion.
A couple Tuesdays ago, O:FB commenced with Plyometrics, part of the P90X routine. That day ended with serious casualties as my legs didn't work very well the rest of the day and into the evening. In addition, my lungs and heart wanted no further part of it. I ended the week by flanking Plyometrics with Cardio X (from the same P90X program) and some hours on my road bike, propped up on a stand in the middle of the kitchen. Yes, all kitchens should have a nice mounted bike in the middle of them.
As the troops were just starting to make progress, they were granted leave for the holiday. Bike riding was still part of the equation, but little else was, unless you consider snifter and fishbowl curls part of the plan. Needless to say, there was a lot of that activity taking place. If there was any progress made by the time leave ended, it was negligible and likely, we did some retreating.
On Tuesday of this week, another round of Plyometrics took place, and my legs handled it very well. My lungs and heart are still on strike, however. I was gassed early on, and I think it was mostly because this happened after a 4-day holiday weekend. So, while I finished and my lower body feels better about it, the MPs are keeping an eye on my upper body for war crimes.
Yesterday and this morning I did more Cardio X. It's been a struggle, mostly due to the strike of my lungs and heart. It's probably good that my heart rate monitor needs a new battery, because it would be beeping the whole time (it beeps when your heart rates closes in on death). Fortunately, with the bad battery, there is no beeping so I carry on. The way I see it, I'm either going to die because my heart explodes or my heart is going to get with the program and O:FB will grow easier. It's a win-win as far as I'm concerned.
I'm trying to work on a second round of strikes each day because working out twice a day has always worked well for me in the past, but have currently been unable to do so. As of yet, I don't see much progress on the scale or in that my clothes fit better, but it's early and my body is still getting used to the trauma, plus I seem to weigh myself at different times each day, which doesn't allow for a good apples to apples comparison.
The troops really need to start progressing because football season starts tonight, the days are getting shorter, and the Fall Festival is in like 5 weeks. If enemy forces continue to withstand O:FB, I may see the scale reading 2-large before long.
A couple Tuesdays ago, O:FB commenced with Plyometrics, part of the P90X routine. That day ended with serious casualties as my legs didn't work very well the rest of the day and into the evening. In addition, my lungs and heart wanted no further part of it. I ended the week by flanking Plyometrics with Cardio X (from the same P90X program) and some hours on my road bike, propped up on a stand in the middle of the kitchen. Yes, all kitchens should have a nice mounted bike in the middle of them.
As the troops were just starting to make progress, they were granted leave for the holiday. Bike riding was still part of the equation, but little else was, unless you consider snifter and fishbowl curls part of the plan. Needless to say, there was a lot of that activity taking place. If there was any progress made by the time leave ended, it was negligible and likely, we did some retreating.
On Tuesday of this week, another round of Plyometrics took place, and my legs handled it very well. My lungs and heart are still on strike, however. I was gassed early on, and I think it was mostly because this happened after a 4-day holiday weekend. So, while I finished and my lower body feels better about it, the MPs are keeping an eye on my upper body for war crimes.
Yesterday and this morning I did more Cardio X. It's been a struggle, mostly due to the strike of my lungs and heart. It's probably good that my heart rate monitor needs a new battery, because it would be beeping the whole time (it beeps when your heart rates closes in on death). Fortunately, with the bad battery, there is no beeping so I carry on. The way I see it, I'm either going to die because my heart explodes or my heart is going to get with the program and O:FB will grow easier. It's a win-win as far as I'm concerned.
I'm trying to work on a second round of strikes each day because working out twice a day has always worked well for me in the past, but have currently been unable to do so. As of yet, I don't see much progress on the scale or in that my clothes fit better, but it's early and my body is still getting used to the trauma, plus I seem to weigh myself at different times each day, which doesn't allow for a good apples to apples comparison.
The troops really need to start progressing because football season starts tonight, the days are getting shorter, and the Fall Festival is in like 5 weeks. If enemy forces continue to withstand O:FB, I may see the scale reading 2-large before long.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
A glutton
As the day wore on yesterday, my body grew tighter and tighter. Not so much sore, though I could feel aches in a few spots, just 'tight.' After I picked up Hayden from school and worked with him on his homework, I decided on a great way to loosen up. I put in the Cardio X disc and had another round.
In addition to the cat and the dog helping (stretching to downward dog with a cat's fluffy tail in your sweaty face is a real treat), I had the assistance of an almost 10-year old helping me along the way by informing me how easy each move was by demonstrating the exact worst posture for each position. However, after I showed Hayden the proper form (or at least better form) and he realized how much Yoga sucks, he soon found respite on the couch with the dog.
All the stretching moves were a bit easier than hours before, though the aches grew worse. I was sweating just as much as previously and acknowledged that was just weakness leaving the body. Along with the weakness leaving the body were roughly 550 calories, according to the P90X Calories Burned Calculator. Being that I did that twice yesterday, that's 1100 calories that had their asses handed to them. But I was spent. I yawned most of the night before heading off to bed a bit earlier than normal.
My intent was to do something this morning before heading into the office as working out once in the morning and again later in the day has historically provided me with the best results. Instead, my body was dead and getting out of bed sucked ass. My legs were shot. My left foot hurt. Even my arms were sore from throwing punches during the Kenpo portion of the Cardio X workout.
I'm sitting in my office right now, and my legs and arms are still slightly sore, but only when I move. Being a warrior has its drawbacks and not listening to your body is one of them. While a sore body isn't any fun, it's nice to know I'm making progress, even if it is early and I have no tangible results to show for it (I still look like shit).
Hayden is off school tomorrow and I'm staying home to watch him, so my four day weekend starts in a couple hours. I'm eager to see what kind of pain I can cause myself when I get home.
In addition to the cat and the dog helping (stretching to downward dog with a cat's fluffy tail in your sweaty face is a real treat), I had the assistance of an almost 10-year old helping me along the way by informing me how easy each move was by demonstrating the exact worst posture for each position. However, after I showed Hayden the proper form (or at least better form) and he realized how much Yoga sucks, he soon found respite on the couch with the dog.
All the stretching moves were a bit easier than hours before, though the aches grew worse. I was sweating just as much as previously and acknowledged that was just weakness leaving the body. Along with the weakness leaving the body were roughly 550 calories, according to the P90X Calories Burned Calculator. Being that I did that twice yesterday, that's 1100 calories that had their asses handed to them. But I was spent. I yawned most of the night before heading off to bed a bit earlier than normal.
My intent was to do something this morning before heading into the office as working out once in the morning and again later in the day has historically provided me with the best results. Instead, my body was dead and getting out of bed sucked ass. My legs were shot. My left foot hurt. Even my arms were sore from throwing punches during the Kenpo portion of the Cardio X workout.
I'm sitting in my office right now, and my legs and arms are still slightly sore, but only when I move. Being a warrior has its drawbacks and not listening to your body is one of them. While a sore body isn't any fun, it's nice to know I'm making progress, even if it is early and I have no tangible results to show for it (I still look like shit).
Hayden is off school tomorrow and I'm staying home to watch him, so my four day weekend starts in a couple hours. I'm eager to see what kind of pain I can cause myself when I get home.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Not sure where to start
I can sum up yesterday in two words...it sucked. My back, shoulders and neck hurt until late evening. I popped pills all day long so I could still move. And the anxiety of what the next day brought didn't inspire me much.
This morning started with tired quads, sore hammies, and tight calves. Fortunately, the upper body aches were only barely noticeable. Getting out of bed proved easier than I expected, but the trip down the stairs showed things weren't as peachy as I thought. With each step down, I felt fire in my hamstrings and fatigue in my quads. I realized there was no way I could do another round of Plyometrics without a day or two of rest in between. Instead, I opted for the Cardio X workout.
Cardio X is just what it sounds like. You warm up with some Yoga exercises to stretch, move on to Kenpo (a basic form of Karate with mild kicks and punches) to get the body warmed up, then really start to burn calories with a combination of Plyometrics and other cardio and core exercises.
It's been a while since I'd done this disc and I forgot some of the exercises, and one other thing. At the start of the disc it tells you to have a heart rate monitor, water and towel, yoga mat, etc. Seeing 'water and towel' I expected there to be short water breaks in between some of the exercises. Not so much.
Starting off with the yoga showed just how tired my quads were. My body shook during runners pose and the 2-3 warrior poses. I continually lost my balance, but had both a cat and a dog right at my feet to catch any falls. The yoga in P90X is different than any of the yoga I've seen on TV. The poses I've seen on TV usually require you to hold the position for 10-15 seconds. In Yoga X, you're looking at holding poses for 45-90 seconds. It's brutal, and that's just the stretching part of the Cardio X routine.
By the time the yoga portion was done, I was covered in sweat and dying for that first break. Don't hold your breath because it's not there.
The Kenpo is kind of cheesy, but does warm your body and during this series of exercises, the sweat was flowing freely. Like I said, kind of cheesy, but sort of neat at the same time.
I could have done without the Plyometrics moves today, but they were fairly low impact, so I went with it. Actually, after yesterday, it was a blessing to only perform a handful of these moves. I breezed through them, sweating profusely the whole way til we got to the more cardio-based moves, at which point I really expected a water break. Still didn't happen.
So, I paused the damned disc and made my own water break. The Citrus Cooler Gatorade never tasted so good. I toweled off and headed into the home stretch of exercises aimed at seeing if I could induce a heart attack with some cardio/core exercises.
There are two in particular that are kind of fun, but simply shred your body, especially if you're in shitty shape like me. The first is called Steam Engines. If I remember right, you do this for something like a minute and twenty seconds. It starts off fun, then it just hurts.
Watch below in this video:
The brother in this video is holding his head a little low, the P90X guy would want it a little higher, but try this for 80 or 90 seconds and see what it feels like.
Another exercise that starts off wacky and cute is called Wacky Jacks. They take a while to get a feel for and you usually do them wrong the first couple times you do the disc, but you eventually get it...and holy crap does it burn. Watch this chick below:
It was somewhere during the Wacky Jacks where my lungs caught fire and I had not only sweat, but tears rolling down my face. And after this crazy series of moves, did we get a water break??? Hell no, it was time for a 5-minute cool down to end the program.
When I stretched my legs, I heard things pop in three different places. Fortunately, I didn't feel anything pop because I was number by then. Not sure what it was, but I can't imagine it's good. I limped into the kitchen for some more Gatorade, then crawled up the stairs to the shower. In the shower I couldn't distinguish the water from the sweat from the tears.
Now a couple hours later I'm at work and I can't feel anything below my waist. Well, I can feel one thing, but nothing below that. Everything is tight and sore, but nothing hurts...unless I move.
I didn't get on the scale today because I expected it to be higher than yesterday. Anytime you start some sort of cardio program, your body overreacts into thinking you're going to die so it stores up excess water so you don't dehydrate and you end up weighing more than the day you started, so I'll wait til the end of the weekend and see what I weigh.
There's so much sore in my lower body right now, that it won't all fit and it's radiating up into my butt muscles. Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.
This morning started with tired quads, sore hammies, and tight calves. Fortunately, the upper body aches were only barely noticeable. Getting out of bed proved easier than I expected, but the trip down the stairs showed things weren't as peachy as I thought. With each step down, I felt fire in my hamstrings and fatigue in my quads. I realized there was no way I could do another round of Plyometrics without a day or two of rest in between. Instead, I opted for the Cardio X workout.
Cardio X is just what it sounds like. You warm up with some Yoga exercises to stretch, move on to Kenpo (a basic form of Karate with mild kicks and punches) to get the body warmed up, then really start to burn calories with a combination of Plyometrics and other cardio and core exercises.
It's been a while since I'd done this disc and I forgot some of the exercises, and one other thing. At the start of the disc it tells you to have a heart rate monitor, water and towel, yoga mat, etc. Seeing 'water and towel' I expected there to be short water breaks in between some of the exercises. Not so much.
Starting off with the yoga showed just how tired my quads were. My body shook during runners pose and the 2-3 warrior poses. I continually lost my balance, but had both a cat and a dog right at my feet to catch any falls. The yoga in P90X is different than any of the yoga I've seen on TV. The poses I've seen on TV usually require you to hold the position for 10-15 seconds. In Yoga X, you're looking at holding poses for 45-90 seconds. It's brutal, and that's just the stretching part of the Cardio X routine.
By the time the yoga portion was done, I was covered in sweat and dying for that first break. Don't hold your breath because it's not there.
The Kenpo is kind of cheesy, but does warm your body and during this series of exercises, the sweat was flowing freely. Like I said, kind of cheesy, but sort of neat at the same time.
I could have done without the Plyometrics moves today, but they were fairly low impact, so I went with it. Actually, after yesterday, it was a blessing to only perform a handful of these moves. I breezed through them, sweating profusely the whole way til we got to the more cardio-based moves, at which point I really expected a water break. Still didn't happen.
So, I paused the damned disc and made my own water break. The Citrus Cooler Gatorade never tasted so good. I toweled off and headed into the home stretch of exercises aimed at seeing if I could induce a heart attack with some cardio/core exercises.
There are two in particular that are kind of fun, but simply shred your body, especially if you're in shitty shape like me. The first is called Steam Engines. If I remember right, you do this for something like a minute and twenty seconds. It starts off fun, then it just hurts.
Watch below in this video:
The brother in this video is holding his head a little low, the P90X guy would want it a little higher, but try this for 80 or 90 seconds and see what it feels like.
Another exercise that starts off wacky and cute is called Wacky Jacks. They take a while to get a feel for and you usually do them wrong the first couple times you do the disc, but you eventually get it...and holy crap does it burn. Watch this chick below:
It was somewhere during the Wacky Jacks where my lungs caught fire and I had not only sweat, but tears rolling down my face. And after this crazy series of moves, did we get a water break??? Hell no, it was time for a 5-minute cool down to end the program.
When I stretched my legs, I heard things pop in three different places. Fortunately, I didn't feel anything pop because I was number by then. Not sure what it was, but I can't imagine it's good. I limped into the kitchen for some more Gatorade, then crawled up the stairs to the shower. In the shower I couldn't distinguish the water from the sweat from the tears.
Now a couple hours later I'm at work and I can't feel anything below my waist. Well, I can feel one thing, but nothing below that. Everything is tight and sore, but nothing hurts...unless I move.
I didn't get on the scale today because I expected it to be higher than yesterday. Anytime you start some sort of cardio program, your body overreacts into thinking you're going to die so it stores up excess water so you don't dehydrate and you end up weighing more than the day you started, so I'll wait til the end of the weekend and see what I weigh.
There's so much sore in my lower body right now, that it won't all fit and it's radiating up into my butt muscles. Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Operation: Fat Bastard revisited
As I explained on Facebook yesterday, I'm really fat. I've got a nice set of hooters that a 5th grade girl would be proud of and I can barely see my gentlemen's region when I take a whiz. Plus, most of my britches don't fit, except for the ones with an elastic waist band. It's getting to the point that I'm considering asking my wife if she has any of her maternity clothes left over. She had this sweet pair of jeans with the elastic thing in the front.
Yesterday, at my heaviest, I tipped the scales at 194.8. Granted, that was right after breakfast, but still, that's 10-15 pounds (at a minimum) more than I need to be. Sure, the happy pills are supposed to make me gain weight but not like this.
Last night I ate a sensible meal. Instead of treating dinner at home like a buffet (admit it, when you eat at home, it's always "all you can eat" as you eat til you're full), I had a normal sized plate of some crap I had left over and then just a handful of tropical trail mix a couple times before bed. I never was hungry, but I never felt bloated and miserable either.
I don't do diets and I'm not cutting out my weekend of beer tastings. What I can do is cut out things I don't care much about. Going back 6 or 7 years, all I drink is water, beer, or A&W Root Beer. The root beer has 170 calories...that's pound and a half a month right there. So, no dieting, which just leaves exercise as a way to shed lbs.
Riding my bike is very enjoyable for me, but it doesn't develop much muscle. Jogging on the dreadmill is a last resort because it's so boring and running in the neighborhood bores me as well. There's a disc in the P90X series called Plyometrics that I wanted to try again. Plyometrics is simply jump training. It doesn't sound like much and at face value, it's really not.
The chick in this video is doing every exercise in the program in a condensed 90 seconds. You stretch for 10 minutes or so in the beginning and then again for about 5 minutes at the end. The disc is an hour or so long, so you're doing this for 45 minutes. Again, cute little jumps for 45 minutes easy...then you try it.
It's been two years since I've done this. OMG!!!
I worked up a little sweat simply finding the right pair of shoes (you really need a good shoe for this or you'll be crying in no time). By the end of the 10 minute warm up/stretching bit, I was drenched in sweat and ready to call it a day. Then I looked in the mirror on the wall and saw what appeared to be a really ugly lady about 6 months into her pregnancy. I kept going.
You do the first, second and third exercise for 30 seconds each. You do the fourth exercise for 60 seconds. Then you repeat the entire sequence. A 25 second break follows. Then you do the fifth, sixth and seventh exercises for 30 seconds followed by the eighth exercise for 60 seconds and then you repeat the fifth through the eighth exercises again. You continue through the five or six sets of exercises.
Normally I wear a heart rate monitor that beeps when I start to go into cardiac arrest. Because I haven't done Plyometrics in so long, my battery was dead, which I should have taken as a sign. But, I'm a warrior, so I went for it without a warning device for when my heart was about to explode.
After the first couple exercises, I was even more drenched than after the warm up period. With each jump, sweat went flying. It wasn't pretty. I almost fell twice during the program, but fortunately, the fireplace caught me. The dog was laying on the couch trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
It was something else and much harder than I remembered it, though I was carrying about a dozen extra pounds. I started the program this morning at 193.2 pounds and ended it at 191.2. It was a struggle to get upstairs and into the shower because my legs were shot.
I took off my shoes and threw them into the closet. I took off my left sock and threw it onto the floor while I started to take off the right sock. In the process of removing the right sock, I noticed the left sock get up and run away. After the right sock was off, I had to chase both those little sock bastards around the room with legs that were all but worn out.
Tuesdays are easy mornings for me because I don't go into the office until noon or so. I have plenty of time to do Plyometrics, cry about it afterwards, and limp to work. I'm not sure whether this is something I want to do everyday or if I'm even able or supposed to do something like this everyday.
With all the jumping and lunges and stuff, my back and shoulders are already starting to ache because when 190ish pounds hits the ground on a frame made to carry less than 180 pounds, something has to give and it seems it was my body.
Oh well, I'm still breathing.
Yesterday, at my heaviest, I tipped the scales at 194.8. Granted, that was right after breakfast, but still, that's 10-15 pounds (at a minimum) more than I need to be. Sure, the happy pills are supposed to make me gain weight but not like this.
Last night I ate a sensible meal. Instead of treating dinner at home like a buffet (admit it, when you eat at home, it's always "all you can eat" as you eat til you're full), I had a normal sized plate of some crap I had left over and then just a handful of tropical trail mix a couple times before bed. I never was hungry, but I never felt bloated and miserable either.
I don't do diets and I'm not cutting out my weekend of beer tastings. What I can do is cut out things I don't care much about. Going back 6 or 7 years, all I drink is water, beer, or A&W Root Beer. The root beer has 170 calories...that's pound and a half a month right there. So, no dieting, which just leaves exercise as a way to shed lbs.
Riding my bike is very enjoyable for me, but it doesn't develop much muscle. Jogging on the dreadmill is a last resort because it's so boring and running in the neighborhood bores me as well. There's a disc in the P90X series called Plyometrics that I wanted to try again. Plyometrics is simply jump training. It doesn't sound like much and at face value, it's really not.
The chick in this video is doing every exercise in the program in a condensed 90 seconds. You stretch for 10 minutes or so in the beginning and then again for about 5 minutes at the end. The disc is an hour or so long, so you're doing this for 45 minutes. Again, cute little jumps for 45 minutes easy...then you try it.
It's been two years since I've done this. OMG!!!
I worked up a little sweat simply finding the right pair of shoes (you really need a good shoe for this or you'll be crying in no time). By the end of the 10 minute warm up/stretching bit, I was drenched in sweat and ready to call it a day. Then I looked in the mirror on the wall and saw what appeared to be a really ugly lady about 6 months into her pregnancy. I kept going.
You do the first, second and third exercise for 30 seconds each. You do the fourth exercise for 60 seconds. Then you repeat the entire sequence. A 25 second break follows. Then you do the fifth, sixth and seventh exercises for 30 seconds followed by the eighth exercise for 60 seconds and then you repeat the fifth through the eighth exercises again. You continue through the five or six sets of exercises.
Normally I wear a heart rate monitor that beeps when I start to go into cardiac arrest. Because I haven't done Plyometrics in so long, my battery was dead, which I should have taken as a sign. But, I'm a warrior, so I went for it without a warning device for when my heart was about to explode.
After the first couple exercises, I was even more drenched than after the warm up period. With each jump, sweat went flying. It wasn't pretty. I almost fell twice during the program, but fortunately, the fireplace caught me. The dog was laying on the couch trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
It was something else and much harder than I remembered it, though I was carrying about a dozen extra pounds. I started the program this morning at 193.2 pounds and ended it at 191.2. It was a struggle to get upstairs and into the shower because my legs were shot.
I took off my shoes and threw them into the closet. I took off my left sock and threw it onto the floor while I started to take off the right sock. In the process of removing the right sock, I noticed the left sock get up and run away. After the right sock was off, I had to chase both those little sock bastards around the room with legs that were all but worn out.
Tuesdays are easy mornings for me because I don't go into the office until noon or so. I have plenty of time to do Plyometrics, cry about it afterwards, and limp to work. I'm not sure whether this is something I want to do everyday or if I'm even able or supposed to do something like this everyday.
With all the jumping and lunges and stuff, my back and shoulders are already starting to ache because when 190ish pounds hits the ground on a frame made to carry less than 180 pounds, something has to give and it seems it was my body.
Oh well, I'm still breathing.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Happy Pills--Day 4-ish
Into my fourth day of happy pills and the drowsiness side effect is a myth. I'm staying up a bit later each night because I'm simply not tired. Eventually it just gets late and I head off to bed. At that point, I'm falling asleep pretty easily, so maybe the side effect should be 'helps you sleep' instead of 'drowsiness.' (However, each day it's getting harder to get out of bed).
After sleeping well for a few hours, there's still always something that wakes me and I'm struggling to fall back to sleep. We have a poltergeist in our house. This poltergeist causes a variety of problems; one of which is that something is always in need of repair. As soon as we fix something, something bigger and more expensive falls ill and needs to be looked at. I've somewhat resolved that by just leaving a few things broken. However, another problem from the poltergeist is that when someone is using one of the five phones in the house, the alarm clock starts making a God-awful staticy sound.
I'm not sure what was going on this morning, but just before 6 AM that damned clock starting making a crazy sound. Pushing the snooze button did nothing. So I gave it a gentle toss across the room. Seriously, had I not been on happy pills, I'd have chucked the clock into the wall as hard as I could, but since I'm more mature and mellow now, I gently tossed it aside.
But in an effort to test my new happy pills, the clock mocked me by continuing it's annoying song. Being that I'm more mature and mellow now, instead of getting out of bed and making sure the clock never sang again, I merely unplugged it. I didn't get the impression my lovely wife appreciated my newfound maturity, but it's better than how I normally would have handled it.
The poison oak I lost a battle with the other day is becoming increasingly annoying. I'm jonesing to take a hair brush and just start scratching my arm. Also, I've got a couple weird looking spots on my legs that look different than my arms. I thought they were just cuts from the branches, but they're starting to itch as well. Fortunately, the happy pills have matured me beyond belief so no worries.
After sleeping well for a few hours, there's still always something that wakes me and I'm struggling to fall back to sleep. We have a poltergeist in our house. This poltergeist causes a variety of problems; one of which is that something is always in need of repair. As soon as we fix something, something bigger and more expensive falls ill and needs to be looked at. I've somewhat resolved that by just leaving a few things broken. However, another problem from the poltergeist is that when someone is using one of the five phones in the house, the alarm clock starts making a God-awful staticy sound.
I'm not sure what was going on this morning, but just before 6 AM that damned clock starting making a crazy sound. Pushing the snooze button did nothing. So I gave it a gentle toss across the room. Seriously, had I not been on happy pills, I'd have chucked the clock into the wall as hard as I could, but since I'm more mature and mellow now, I gently tossed it aside.
But in an effort to test my new happy pills, the clock mocked me by continuing it's annoying song. Being that I'm more mature and mellow now, instead of getting out of bed and making sure the clock never sang again, I merely unplugged it. I didn't get the impression my lovely wife appreciated my newfound maturity, but it's better than how I normally would have handled it.
The poison oak I lost a battle with the other day is becoming increasingly annoying. I'm jonesing to take a hair brush and just start scratching my arm. Also, I've got a couple weird looking spots on my legs that look different than my arms. I thought they were just cuts from the branches, but they're starting to itch as well. Fortunately, the happy pills have matured me beyond belief so no worries.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Happy Pills--Day 3-ish
In just over two and a half days, I'm not sure my pleasant attitude is changing, but I'm seeing bits and pieces of the side effects. The drowsiness is a myth. Last night I don't even remember yawning and when I got in bed at 12:30, I was pretty much wide awake. Fortunately, I turned the TV to a cycling event and was asleep in no time.
I'm still dragging ass in the mornings. Once I wake up, it's really hard to fall back asleep so I just toss and turn and think of all the shit I need to do. I'm pretty sure the happy pills are supposed to combat that, but right now, the anxiety is winning the battle. Sometimes I do fall back asleep, but them I'm just wasted when I get up.
My temperament I think is improving. Last night I should have killed Hayden a couple times, but I kept my hands to myself, and don't even recall yelling. I might have raised my voice, but no yelling and no beating. Baby steps.
Later in the evening, there was another f-bomb or two that flew out of my mouth, but again, not from anger. I was more scared than anything. I'm not sure what I was doing, but in the master bathroom area, I heard this sound, it can only be described as some guy motor-boating his large chested lady friend. I looked around and my wife was across the room and fully clothed, so that wasn't it. I searched for the sound and saw this wasp that was the size of a large bird and had markings like freaking Darth Maul from the Star Wars movie.
When he flapped his wings, the house shook. He was up by a light bulb and I really thought he was going to break it with those large wings of his. I took a towel and tried to beat his ass with it, but the towel just bounced off. One time I caught him off guard and took his big ass down to the ground. At this point, Porter the cat came in to help. I tried to get her out of the way because I was afraid this waspadactyl would carry her off for a late meal. Jennifer kept yelling at me to just grab it, but it was bigger than I was so I just ran around the room trying to protect myself.
Eventually I landed a few more blows with the towel and stunned him. I grabbed a Kleenex and went in for the kill. I had him but he came out of his funk and tried to fly away. My whole hand shook as he broke free. Again, I ran around the room screaming like a little girl trying to save myself, leaving the cat and my wife to fend for themselves. Apparently, another side effect of the happy pills is self-preservation.
Finally I grew tired of Jennifer (hiding under the covers) yelling at me to grow a pair and kill the thing. I went at the thing one more time, beating anything that moved with the towel. Finally I subdued this waspadactyl beast and sent him to a watery grave in the toilet. The waspadactyl had the last laugh, however, as after flushing, the can was partially stopped up.
It should be noted that despite my happy pills, I was dropping f-bombs during this intense battle for life. I'm not proud of it, but I had to defend my man-card in front of my wife and cat.
I'm at work now and despite passing new road construction on North Green River Road (isn't this basically a new road that took 4 years to finish), I don't recall any road rage...even when I passed the dead guy driving the truck with the handicapable license plate.
One other side effect that wasn't entertaining was discovered at 4:49 this morning when the birds woke me up. I sort of had to tinkle (as least it felt like that), so I got up to use the now unstopped toilet. I stood in front of the can. And I stood...and I stood...and I stood. I started thinking about how I'm going to be a stallion with these new drugs. Apparently taking a whiz is going to be an ordeal as well.
Oh well. The things I do so I can be nice to others.
I'm still dragging ass in the mornings. Once I wake up, it's really hard to fall back asleep so I just toss and turn and think of all the shit I need to do. I'm pretty sure the happy pills are supposed to combat that, but right now, the anxiety is winning the battle. Sometimes I do fall back asleep, but them I'm just wasted when I get up.
My temperament I think is improving. Last night I should have killed Hayden a couple times, but I kept my hands to myself, and don't even recall yelling. I might have raised my voice, but no yelling and no beating. Baby steps.
Later in the evening, there was another f-bomb or two that flew out of my mouth, but again, not from anger. I was more scared than anything. I'm not sure what I was doing, but in the master bathroom area, I heard this sound, it can only be described as some guy motor-boating his large chested lady friend. I looked around and my wife was across the room and fully clothed, so that wasn't it. I searched for the sound and saw this wasp that was the size of a large bird and had markings like freaking Darth Maul from the Star Wars movie.
When he flapped his wings, the house shook. He was up by a light bulb and I really thought he was going to break it with those large wings of his. I took a towel and tried to beat his ass with it, but the towel just bounced off. One time I caught him off guard and took his big ass down to the ground. At this point, Porter the cat came in to help. I tried to get her out of the way because I was afraid this waspadactyl would carry her off for a late meal. Jennifer kept yelling at me to just grab it, but it was bigger than I was so I just ran around the room trying to protect myself.
Eventually I landed a few more blows with the towel and stunned him. I grabbed a Kleenex and went in for the kill. I had him but he came out of his funk and tried to fly away. My whole hand shook as he broke free. Again, I ran around the room screaming like a little girl trying to save myself, leaving the cat and my wife to fend for themselves. Apparently, another side effect of the happy pills is self-preservation.
Finally I grew tired of Jennifer (hiding under the covers) yelling at me to grow a pair and kill the thing. I went at the thing one more time, beating anything that moved with the towel. Finally I subdued this waspadactyl beast and sent him to a watery grave in the toilet. The waspadactyl had the last laugh, however, as after flushing, the can was partially stopped up.
It should be noted that despite my happy pills, I was dropping f-bombs during this intense battle for life. I'm not proud of it, but I had to defend my man-card in front of my wife and cat.
I'm at work now and despite passing new road construction on North Green River Road (isn't this basically a new road that took 4 years to finish), I don't recall any road rage...even when I passed the dead guy driving the truck with the handicapable license plate.
One other side effect that wasn't entertaining was discovered at 4:49 this morning when the birds woke me up. I sort of had to tinkle (as least it felt like that), so I got up to use the now unstopped toilet. I stood in front of the can. And I stood...and I stood...and I stood. I started thinking about how I'm going to be a stallion with these new drugs. Apparently taking a whiz is going to be an ordeal as well.
Oh well. The things I do so I can be nice to others.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Happy Pills--Day 2-ish
I'm now some 40 hours into my Happy Pills Experiment. Day 1 was fairly uneventful. I think instead of curve balls, Life eased up and started lobbing balls into my wheelhouse. I can only think of one F-bomb from yesterday and that was when I was cutting up cauliflower for dinner and dropped some onto the floor.
I took my second pill last night about the same time as the previous night. I'm still undecided on this drowsy thing. On the one hand, I started yawning almost immediately after taking the pill. On the other hand, I didn't feel sleepy and managed to go to bed at about the same time as usual. More research is needed.
While I slept, I slept well. But like the first day, once I woke up, I struggled to fall back asleep, and today it never really happened. Like yesterday, I really struggled to get out of bed. It seems I'm drowsy after waking up rather than at bedtime. One thing that was different today was I had a bloody nose after blowing my nose this morning. Maybe it's not uncommon for a bloody nose to take place after an aggressive blow, but I don't recall that happening before. Again, more research is needed.
The weather is warming here in Indiana, but there hasn't been much wind-->bike riding is very easy right now. I went out for a short ride today, and dropped only the second f-bomb I can remember since I started doing drugs. The good news is that this f-bomb wasn't out of frustration. No, as I was riding down Baseline Road out in the middle of nowhere, I came across a large stick in the road. This stick was almost as long as the lane opposite to me. As I rode closer, the damned stick moved. I think out in the country where I was riding, the roads are like 8 feet wide. This 'stick' was within a foot or two of taking up the whole lane and wasn't laying straight. I'm guessing this Stick Snake was 7 or 8 feet long. I don't like snakes. They scare the hell out of me. I said, "Holy %&@#!"
Traffic was acceptable today so there was no road rage. All in all, it's too early for the happy pills to be working (doctor said to expect up to a month before I notice anything), but I think Life is taking it a bit easy on me. As such, I don't have anything funny to report.
I took my second pill last night about the same time as the previous night. I'm still undecided on this drowsy thing. On the one hand, I started yawning almost immediately after taking the pill. On the other hand, I didn't feel sleepy and managed to go to bed at about the same time as usual. More research is needed.
While I slept, I slept well. But like the first day, once I woke up, I struggled to fall back asleep, and today it never really happened. Like yesterday, I really struggled to get out of bed. It seems I'm drowsy after waking up rather than at bedtime. One thing that was different today was I had a bloody nose after blowing my nose this morning. Maybe it's not uncommon for a bloody nose to take place after an aggressive blow, but I don't recall that happening before. Again, more research is needed.
The weather is warming here in Indiana, but there hasn't been much wind-->bike riding is very easy right now. I went out for a short ride today, and dropped only the second f-bomb I can remember since I started doing drugs. The good news is that this f-bomb wasn't out of frustration. No, as I was riding down Baseline Road out in the middle of nowhere, I came across a large stick in the road. This stick was almost as long as the lane opposite to me. As I rode closer, the damned stick moved. I think out in the country where I was riding, the roads are like 8 feet wide. This 'stick' was within a foot or two of taking up the whole lane and wasn't laying straight. I'm guessing this Stick Snake was 7 or 8 feet long. I don't like snakes. They scare the hell out of me. I said, "Holy %&@#!"
Traffic was acceptable today so there was no road rage. All in all, it's too early for the happy pills to be working (doctor said to expect up to a month before I notice anything), but I think Life is taking it a bit easy on me. As such, I don't have anything funny to report.
Monday, June 10, 2013
Happy Pills--Day 1-ish
I'm about 15 hours into my experiment with happy pills. The doctor said they might make me drowsy and suggested I take them at night to help me sleep (not that I normally need help sleeping). I'm on the fence about whether or not they actually made me drowsy. I did start yawning at 10:30 last night, but that was also after my second beer (both of which packed a nice little 8% ABV), so I'm not sure what the cause was.
I went to bed around midnight, right as the rain was starting to pick up. Shortly thereafter I started losing DirecTV's signal and called it a night. While I slept well, like usual, I do recall feeling a bit hotter than normal despite sleeping with a box fan going, a ceiling fan going, and a window air conditioner blowing right over me (and yes, the central air was running too). I blame the happy pills for that.
I woke up still feeling fairly tired, possibly due to the happy pills, but possibly not...who knows? My stomach wasn't upset, though I had a strange feeling in there, despite having already relaxed with my thoughts while reading the sports section of the paper.
I showered, got dressed and headed into the office. I did notice along the way to work that I wasn't flipping off anyone, wasn't calling anyone an effing idiot, and was feeling no road rage at all. However, the jury is still out because there wasn't much traffic. Also, I seem to be yawning more than usual.
At work, things haven't really improved, I knew it was going to be a bad week and that hasn't changed. Stress is high and that's fairly common, but I haven't dropped any F-bombs yet and it's relatively peaceful at work, though that's likely because the owner is out of town.
The early results of the happy pills are inconclusive.
I went to bed around midnight, right as the rain was starting to pick up. Shortly thereafter I started losing DirecTV's signal and called it a night. While I slept well, like usual, I do recall feeling a bit hotter than normal despite sleeping with a box fan going, a ceiling fan going, and a window air conditioner blowing right over me (and yes, the central air was running too). I blame the happy pills for that.
I woke up still feeling fairly tired, possibly due to the happy pills, but possibly not...who knows? My stomach wasn't upset, though I had a strange feeling in there, despite having already relaxed with my thoughts while reading the sports section of the paper.
I showered, got dressed and headed into the office. I did notice along the way to work that I wasn't flipping off anyone, wasn't calling anyone an effing idiot, and was feeling no road rage at all. However, the jury is still out because there wasn't much traffic. Also, I seem to be yawning more than usual.
At work, things haven't really improved, I knew it was going to be a bad week and that hasn't changed. Stress is high and that's fairly common, but I haven't dropped any F-bombs yet and it's relatively peaceful at work, though that's likely because the owner is out of town.
The early results of the happy pills are inconclusive.
Friday, June 7, 2013
Doctor appt
My visit to the doctor went fairly well. He rarely remembers why or what we talked about last time so it's actually been a while since he's tried to get in my pants and today was no different.
He walked in and immediately started asking if I still drank weird beer. I replied in the affirmative and he told me a story about him telling some friends of his a story about me and my beer issues. From there he asked if I was still taking the drugs he put me on a few years ago and how my wrists were doing.
As the appointment was coming to a close, he asked if there was anything else. Normally, if we'd gotten this far and I still had my pants on, I'd have flown out of the room, but I was feeling good about this visit, so I stayed. I asked him if he could put me on happy pills or if I needed to see a shrink.
He said that was something he could handle, but wanted to know my symptoms. I gave him the run down and then asked him if there were any happy pills that didn't include side effects such as insomnia, weight gain, or my wiener not working. He laughed and said EVERY medicine has side effects.
He said the drugs nowadays really work well, but there are things to take into consideration. He mentioned I'd probably be sick to my stomach for the first few days, but it would eventually go away. He told me I'd probably feel tired early on, so take the drugs at night before bed. And he said some of the happy pills are prescribed for guys who are three pump chumps to help with their premature issues. He said my wiener would still work, it would just take longer to finish the transaction. After thinking about it for about, um, a second, I said, "Sick to my stomach so I'll lose weight, it'll help me fall asleep, and I'll be the Energizer Bunny? Sounds like a win-win to me." He laughed and said, "Yeah, you'll really be able to lay some pipe."
That's not exactly what he said, but that's what he meant. He stressed it would take up to a month before I stopped wanting to hurt people and asked that I schedule another appointment with him in about 30 days to see if I was still wanting to beat people, though I suspect he just wants to hear my stories about being a stallion.
Since tonight starts my weekly tradition of drinking really, really good beer, I'm going to start the happy pills on Monday. Hopefully the upset stomach will last til Friday morning and I can drink my good beer all over again Friday evening.
I already don't care about most things, but I'd like to think the happy pills will make me not care about anything.
He walked in and immediately started asking if I still drank weird beer. I replied in the affirmative and he told me a story about him telling some friends of his a story about me and my beer issues. From there he asked if I was still taking the drugs he put me on a few years ago and how my wrists were doing.
As the appointment was coming to a close, he asked if there was anything else. Normally, if we'd gotten this far and I still had my pants on, I'd have flown out of the room, but I was feeling good about this visit, so I stayed. I asked him if he could put me on happy pills or if I needed to see a shrink.
He said that was something he could handle, but wanted to know my symptoms. I gave him the run down and then asked him if there were any happy pills that didn't include side effects such as insomnia, weight gain, or my wiener not working. He laughed and said EVERY medicine has side effects.
He said the drugs nowadays really work well, but there are things to take into consideration. He mentioned I'd probably be sick to my stomach for the first few days, but it would eventually go away. He told me I'd probably feel tired early on, so take the drugs at night before bed. And he said some of the happy pills are prescribed for guys who are three pump chumps to help with their premature issues. He said my wiener would still work, it would just take longer to finish the transaction. After thinking about it for about, um, a second, I said, "Sick to my stomach so I'll lose weight, it'll help me fall asleep, and I'll be the Energizer Bunny? Sounds like a win-win to me." He laughed and said, "Yeah, you'll really be able to lay some pipe."
That's not exactly what he said, but that's what he meant. He stressed it would take up to a month before I stopped wanting to hurt people and asked that I schedule another appointment with him in about 30 days to see if I was still wanting to beat people, though I suspect he just wants to hear my stories about being a stallion.
Since tonight starts my weekly tradition of drinking really, really good beer, I'm going to start the happy pills on Monday. Hopefully the upset stomach will last til Friday morning and I can drink my good beer all over again Friday evening.
I already don't care about most things, but I'd like to think the happy pills will make me not care about anything.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
He's back
Yes, you thought he was gone. And sure, he's been away, but Psycho Dad never really leaves. Sometimes he just lurks.
Anywho, Psycho Dad had some errands to run today before heading into the office. First stop was at the Post Office. Since our office moved a few months ago, we're no longer right across the street from a Post Office and now the closest one is at Eastland Mall.
Eastland Mall scares Psycho Dad. Earlier in the day it's full of old people and later in the day it's full of young people; neither of which are appealing. However, the post office is very close to exit doors so you don't have to deal much with either young or old people. The lady working at the post office was very friendly and helpful, even when dealing with the old guy who was in line before me. She had no problems repeating everything she said 3 or 4 times so the deaf guy (i.e. the old guy) could hear her, and then doing it all over again so the old guy (i.e. the deaf guy) could understand what the hell she was talking about. Apparently it was new to him that you can actually look into a 'TV screen' and track your package. It was equally appalling to him that you could receive confirmation through said 'TV screen' when the package you sent has been signed for. My goodness, what will technology bring us next.
My next stop was the Nissan dealership, but as I was pulling out of the mall parking lot, I saw Bed, Bath and Beyond. I love that place and we needed something for home, so I stopped in. I think I love the place now because I used to love it in the past. My recent trips haven't been fruitful, so I think I'm putting it on the Psycho Dad Shit List.
I found my way to the correct section and started looking at the different styles of the utensil I needed. I couldn't find it. That moved the needle on my annoying gauge because the thing I'm replacing at home was purchased from BB&B. I looked all around, but couldn't find what I wanted, so I decided to settle on something similar. After looking at the price (Holy shit, I remembered why I didn't enjoy my last trip there, everything is freaking expensive), I put the thing back on the shelf. Unfortunately, I was at Wally World within the last couple weeks and couldn't find anything better, so I picked the damned overpriced thing from the wall and walked to the checkout area.
There was a choice of standing behind the 40-year old lady and her mom in the left lane or behind a couple clueless people wanting to return shit in the right lane. I overheard the 40-year old lady laughing about blowing her budget (I'm sure her husband was laughing his ass of too, poor bastard) to her mom in the left lane so I chose the right lane. Sadly it wasn't so much a choice as it was a lack of options because neither side moved. For 7 minutes I stood in line, fuming, before saying fuck it. I left the line, which was steadily growing with customers wanting to check out, returned the overpriced item to its original resting spot and left that shitty place for what I'm hoping is the last time. Shitty service and shittier prices isn't going to bring me back.
After that debacle, I finally made it to the Nissan dealership to get some new batteries for the Infiniti key fobs. The guy who replaced the batteries was very friendly and helpful; the lady I gave my credit card to wasn't as friendly or helpful. I'm the least friendly or helpful person I know, yet I can still manage a smile from time to time. I always thought in customer service industries you were supposed to be friendly and helpful whether or not you really wanted to. Apparently, I learned that wrong in college.
Somehow, Hayden loves to go out with the Grandmas when they do nothing but run errands. I don't get it. Running errands sucks (I think Hayden is only in it for the free lunch or Starbucks that usually follows). There's always something to piss off a Psycho Dad. As far as I'm concerned, I'm not out of the errand running business.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Serious pucker factor
My morning hasn't been the greatest. It's 37 degrees out, the wind is howling non-stop, it's wet out, and I spent the last hour on the business end of a 24-foot ladder.
Late yesterday afternoon our neighbor rang our doorbell to tell us we had a piece of our fascia that had come loose and was making a crazy racket banging against the brick chimney each time there was a gust of wind. I went out a bit later to take a look at it and realized it was going to suck to fix. I didn't think much of it until I let Memphis out for one last whiz before going to bed at about midnight. When we got outside, it sounded like a shotgun was being fired. Memphis was barking at the sound and I was trying to figure out which idiot neighbor was causing the commotion so late at night.
As I walked around to the side of the house, I realized we were the idiot neighbors as the fascia was just barely hanging on and crashing into the chimney with each gust. My first thought was, "how in the hell am I supposed to sleep with that (because the fascia was right above our bedroom window)?"
Memphis and I went back into the house and I went into our bedroom. It was just as I thought, while Jennifer was sleeping fine, there was no way I'd be able to sleep through it since I hear everything (it's funny, when I'm trying to sleep I hear every noise, but when I'm awake, I can't ever seem to hear anyone when they're talking to me). So, I went into the mancave and went to sleep on the futon.
Very early this morning, Jennifer came into tell me that I needed to fix it. Her tone was apparent, like I was the one who made the wind blow or who caused the fascia to come lose. Being married I've learned that it doesn't really matter the situation or who or what is to blame, it's my fault and my responsibility to fix it.
Our house is a two story money pit. It was built in 1986 and virtually nothing has been updated so EVERYTHING is falling apart. I keep hoping it will burn down (Message to Dillow, my insurance agent/friend: nothing to see here, carry on) and I can start over, but so far, I've had no luck with that. Also, everything that seems to go wrong is a pain in the ass to fix...like this fascia. It picked the exact highest point of the house to come lose. Not close to the highest or just a high spot, the exact top of the A-frame. And because the nail holding it at the highest point stayed strong, the piece of fascia flipped, so it was actually pointing out a bit higher that the top of the house.
When I got up, I called a siding place. I explained it was a simple job, something that even I could do, I just didn't have a ladder tall enough to reach the highest point of the house. I have a 16-foot ladder and it doesn't come close. The guy at the siding place told me there was a minimum charge, which I understood, and said I was looking at at least a couple hundred bucks because his guys work in two-man crews and he had to pay for both them and their truck to come out. He suggested I just go spend a couple hundred bucks on a ladder and then I'd have it for future use.
Instead, I called Hayden's Grandpa because he's got tools and stuff he doesn't even know he's got and not only that, but I could probably borrow his truck to get the ladder home. He was in town and told me to stop by.
He had a 24-foot ladder and asked if that was enough. I looked and looked and wasn't convinced it was. He said to take it and try it, and if it wasn't enough to let him know.
I went back home and put the ladder up to the side of the house. The wind seemed to be blowing harder and harder with each passing minute. 13-feet of the ladder just reached the window as I kept sliding the one piece out farther and farther. As I started running out of ladder, I thought to myself, there's no effing way I'm going up there. With just a couple feet of ladder to go, it was just reaching the point where I might be able to touch the bottom part of where the fascia needed to go, but I was pretty convinced I wasn't going to be the one to do it.
I climbed up as high as I was willing, holding onto the ladder for dear life. It was cold, the wind was relentless, my wet shoes were sliding all over the aluminum rails of the ladder and I was sweating like nobody's business because I was pretty sure I was going to die. The one thing I had going for me was that with the rain last night, the ground was muddy and soupy and I figured I probably wouldn't die after all when I fell, as long as I could avoid the gas meter just below.
Just when I was ready to take down the ladder and head back to Grandpa's, it occurred to me I'd have to give back Man Card if I didn't at least give it a try. I figured if I fell, I'd only break my back, but I'd have a great story to tell. In the end, having a story won out.
I trotted back up to the top of the ladder, using 23 of the 24 feet available and reached for the piece of fascia, but it was just too far out of reach and there was no way I was going any higher. I again descended the ladder and went into the garage to find something I could use as a hook to catch the offending fascia. In the backyard, I found just the thing...a shepherd's hook that I'd neglected to put away for the winter. It extended my reach plenty, but meant I had to climb the damned ladder with mostly one arm.
Eventually the fascia had been caught and was back in place...but now I had to figure out how to hold nails in one hand, a hammer in the other, and still keep two hands on the ladder. I went back down the ladder for the umpteenth time, my butt still as puckered as my first trip up.
I grabbed a handful of nails and a hammer and placed them all in my little construction guy belt and climbed the ladder yet again. Starting at the lowest point of the fascia, I got the first nail in in no time and managed to stay atop the ladder. With the fascia now in a semi-attached state, I tried to reach a bit higher to the next nail hole. Unfortunately, there was no way to hold a nail and swing a hammer without ending up on the neighbor's roof so I called it a day.
After returning the ladder and truck to Grandpa (thanks Grandpa) I headed back home to get ready for a trip to the office, the fascia still attached where it's supposed to be. My butt is still a bit puckered from the morning's traumatic experience, but I'm not in traction like I partially expected to be at this point in the day. I'm really happy Grandpa had a ladder because I'd have wasted a couple hundred bucks buying one for my own because I have no intentions of ever going that high again.
Late yesterday afternoon our neighbor rang our doorbell to tell us we had a piece of our fascia that had come loose and was making a crazy racket banging against the brick chimney each time there was a gust of wind. I went out a bit later to take a look at it and realized it was going to suck to fix. I didn't think much of it until I let Memphis out for one last whiz before going to bed at about midnight. When we got outside, it sounded like a shotgun was being fired. Memphis was barking at the sound and I was trying to figure out which idiot neighbor was causing the commotion so late at night.
As I walked around to the side of the house, I realized we were the idiot neighbors as the fascia was just barely hanging on and crashing into the chimney with each gust. My first thought was, "how in the hell am I supposed to sleep with that (because the fascia was right above our bedroom window)?"
Memphis and I went back into the house and I went into our bedroom. It was just as I thought, while Jennifer was sleeping fine, there was no way I'd be able to sleep through it since I hear everything (it's funny, when I'm trying to sleep I hear every noise, but when I'm awake, I can't ever seem to hear anyone when they're talking to me). So, I went into the mancave and went to sleep on the futon.
Very early this morning, Jennifer came into tell me that I needed to fix it. Her tone was apparent, like I was the one who made the wind blow or who caused the fascia to come lose. Being married I've learned that it doesn't really matter the situation or who or what is to blame, it's my fault and my responsibility to fix it.
Our house is a two story money pit. It was built in 1986 and virtually nothing has been updated so EVERYTHING is falling apart. I keep hoping it will burn down (Message to Dillow, my insurance agent/friend: nothing to see here, carry on) and I can start over, but so far, I've had no luck with that. Also, everything that seems to go wrong is a pain in the ass to fix...like this fascia. It picked the exact highest point of the house to come lose. Not close to the highest or just a high spot, the exact top of the A-frame. And because the nail holding it at the highest point stayed strong, the piece of fascia flipped, so it was actually pointing out a bit higher that the top of the house.
When I got up, I called a siding place. I explained it was a simple job, something that even I could do, I just didn't have a ladder tall enough to reach the highest point of the house. I have a 16-foot ladder and it doesn't come close. The guy at the siding place told me there was a minimum charge, which I understood, and said I was looking at at least a couple hundred bucks because his guys work in two-man crews and he had to pay for both them and their truck to come out. He suggested I just go spend a couple hundred bucks on a ladder and then I'd have it for future use.
Instead, I called Hayden's Grandpa because he's got tools and stuff he doesn't even know he's got and not only that, but I could probably borrow his truck to get the ladder home. He was in town and told me to stop by.
He had a 24-foot ladder and asked if that was enough. I looked and looked and wasn't convinced it was. He said to take it and try it, and if it wasn't enough to let him know.
I went back home and put the ladder up to the side of the house. The wind seemed to be blowing harder and harder with each passing minute. 13-feet of the ladder just reached the window as I kept sliding the one piece out farther and farther. As I started running out of ladder, I thought to myself, there's no effing way I'm going up there. With just a couple feet of ladder to go, it was just reaching the point where I might be able to touch the bottom part of where the fascia needed to go, but I was pretty convinced I wasn't going to be the one to do it.
I climbed up as high as I was willing, holding onto the ladder for dear life. It was cold, the wind was relentless, my wet shoes were sliding all over the aluminum rails of the ladder and I was sweating like nobody's business because I was pretty sure I was going to die. The one thing I had going for me was that with the rain last night, the ground was muddy and soupy and I figured I probably wouldn't die after all when I fell, as long as I could avoid the gas meter just below.
Just when I was ready to take down the ladder and head back to Grandpa's, it occurred to me I'd have to give back Man Card if I didn't at least give it a try. I figured if I fell, I'd only break my back, but I'd have a great story to tell. In the end, having a story won out.
I trotted back up to the top of the ladder, using 23 of the 24 feet available and reached for the piece of fascia, but it was just too far out of reach and there was no way I was going any higher. I again descended the ladder and went into the garage to find something I could use as a hook to catch the offending fascia. In the backyard, I found just the thing...a shepherd's hook that I'd neglected to put away for the winter. It extended my reach plenty, but meant I had to climb the damned ladder with mostly one arm.
Eventually the fascia had been caught and was back in place...but now I had to figure out how to hold nails in one hand, a hammer in the other, and still keep two hands on the ladder. I went back down the ladder for the umpteenth time, my butt still as puckered as my first trip up.
I grabbed a handful of nails and a hammer and placed them all in my little construction guy belt and climbed the ladder yet again. Starting at the lowest point of the fascia, I got the first nail in in no time and managed to stay atop the ladder. With the fascia now in a semi-attached state, I tried to reach a bit higher to the next nail hole. Unfortunately, there was no way to hold a nail and swing a hammer without ending up on the neighbor's roof so I called it a day.
After returning the ladder and truck to Grandpa (thanks Grandpa) I headed back home to get ready for a trip to the office, the fascia still attached where it's supposed to be. My butt is still a bit puckered from the morning's traumatic experience, but I'm not in traction like I partially expected to be at this point in the day. I'm really happy Grandpa had a ladder because I'd have wasted a couple hundred bucks buying one for my own because I have no intentions of ever going that high again.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Short story, please
Being a male, I'm not much of a talker. Sure, I'll give you my opinion on anything, but I typically use as few words as I can get away with and if I don't have to talk, that's even better. It's the same way when I ask a question. A simple yes or no will suffice, I don't need the long story. Whoever came up with K.I.S.S. was right on the money, keep it simple, stupid.
I get the long story at home a lot. One of Hayden's grandmas is quite the talker. Often I have to butt in and say, "Grandma, just give us the short story." From time to time, that long story gene makes an appearance with Jennifer. I ask a question that requires a one word answer and after a few minutes I stop listening. Same thing with Hayden, everything with him is a freaking negotiation. It gets to the point where I just stop listening to him as well.
I bring this up because I got it at the office the other day. The people that process our payroll sent me a file with a list of employees who hadn't received a check in a while and they wanted to know if those employees could be terminated in their system. I tried to open the file, got an error message and was told I couldn't access the file.
Subsequently, I sent a message back to the payroll girl explaining the message I'd received and asked if she could send me the file again. I expected an e-mail with an attachment and maybe a three word-sentence saying something like 'here you go.'
Instead I got a dissertation on how she didn't understand what the problem was, that she'd opened the file and had no trouble with it, blah, blah, blah...I stopped reading. I was prepared to fire back a nice, professional two-word reply; no not those two words, but two I use at home ALL. THE. TIME. "Don't care."
In thinking about it a bit more, it occurred to me that I get shit at the office all the time. Someone asks me something, I give a short, direct, wonderful answer; and then I'm given all the reasons why we can't do what I propose. The whole time they're talking (generally speaking, after you've reached the allotted number of words I think an answer should take, I quit listening), I've already stopped listening, wondering why in the hell they bothered me in the first place if they weren't going to like my answer and have started back on what I was working on. Then when they finish, if I'm still awake, I look up and say, politely, "I'm sorry, are you still in my office?"
In the future, I'd like for all to remember that my capacity for listening is several hampered by my y-chromosome and in the best interests of everyone, you should just give me the short story.
I get the long story at home a lot. One of Hayden's grandmas is quite the talker. Often I have to butt in and say, "Grandma, just give us the short story." From time to time, that long story gene makes an appearance with Jennifer. I ask a question that requires a one word answer and after a few minutes I stop listening. Same thing with Hayden, everything with him is a freaking negotiation. It gets to the point where I just stop listening to him as well.
I bring this up because I got it at the office the other day. The people that process our payroll sent me a file with a list of employees who hadn't received a check in a while and they wanted to know if those employees could be terminated in their system. I tried to open the file, got an error message and was told I couldn't access the file.
Subsequently, I sent a message back to the payroll girl explaining the message I'd received and asked if she could send me the file again. I expected an e-mail with an attachment and maybe a three word-sentence saying something like 'here you go.'
Instead I got a dissertation on how she didn't understand what the problem was, that she'd opened the file and had no trouble with it, blah, blah, blah...I stopped reading. I was prepared to fire back a nice, professional two-word reply; no not those two words, but two I use at home ALL. THE. TIME. "Don't care."
In thinking about it a bit more, it occurred to me that I get shit at the office all the time. Someone asks me something, I give a short, direct, wonderful answer; and then I'm given all the reasons why we can't do what I propose. The whole time they're talking (generally speaking, after you've reached the allotted number of words I think an answer should take, I quit listening), I've already stopped listening, wondering why in the hell they bothered me in the first place if they weren't going to like my answer and have started back on what I was working on. Then when they finish, if I'm still awake, I look up and say, politely, "I'm sorry, are you still in my office?"
In the future, I'd like for all to remember that my capacity for listening is several hampered by my y-chromosome and in the best interests of everyone, you should just give me the short story.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
"I seen..." is not proper English (even if you're from Kentucky)
Each day, at some point, by someone, in some way, shape or form, I see, hear or read an adult-type person use a sentence with the word "I" followed by the word "seen." I'm not an English major and I didn't stay in a Holiday Inn Express last night, but I'm pretty sure there is only once sentence that contains those two words in that order that is proper English and it goes something like this...'I seen' has the makings of shitty English.
Whether it's from someone in the office, a complete stranger at Wally World, or something I read on Facebook (Evansville Watch is hilarious, especially on the weekends), this seems to come up daily. I just cringe when I hear it.
The problem starts at school. Hayden is now a 3rd grader. He wastes a lot of time at home studying for tests in Science (who cares what soil is made up of) and Social Studies (does anyone care that Portugal, Spain, France and England were the first to send explorers west). Even in Math, he wastes a lot of time learning about shit that just doesn't matter at his age. Kids his age should spend all day (ALL freaking day) learning how to add, subtract, multiply and divide, and how to speak gooder English.
In his Grammar class, he's learning about irregular verbs, which I'm all in favor of (though if you just listen to most people or watch reality TV, you'd think those were actually regular verbs). However, in Math he's moved on from adding, subtracting and multiplying, to learning about right triangles, isosceles triangles and scalene triangles, polygons, lines segments and rays, and a whole bunch of other shit that he'll never use.
He's too young to give a rat's ass about why a rhombus is different from a rectangle or what you call a triangle with two sides that are the same length. Being a CPA, I've been involved in math on a heavy duty basis for over 20 years and I've never had a discussion with my boss, an IRS auditor or our outside accountant about how a square is actually not only a square, but a rectangle and a rhombus as well.
I suggest school officials (it's not the teachers' fault, they're forced to teach shit that doesn't matter) get their heads out of their asses before we fall even farther behind the rest of the world. For the first five or six grades, kids should have math (real math, stuff with numbers, not this shit with shapes) and proper English (no Ebonics or Redneck-speak, and if you want to speak Spanish, move to Mexico) literally beaten into them. By the time they reach the upper grades, they'll have mastered basic math and English and should be prepared for the more abstract concepts of pentagons and rhombi.
It's a shame I spend what I spend to send Hayden to a good school so he can learn shit that's only important if you end up on Jeopardy.
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