Posts Tagged ‘Middle Age’

Food Hangover 8-2-11

Every night around midnight, I get a hankering to eat.  Not just a snack, a full meal.  It’s my right as an American to eat five full meals a day.  When my cravings come upon me, I am obedient and follow them to the refrigerator.  I open the door to survey the my food choices.  If there isn’t anything interesting in the refrigerator, I go to the pantry.  If there isn’t anything interesting in the pantry I go back to the refrigerator.   Eventually I find something, turn on the TV, and eat.

Knowing I have to get up at 5AM makes this late night eating feel so decadent and good.   I’m balancing between the old day and the new one and there is something liberating about quietly eating like a free man in the middle of the night.

This would all be well and good except for the food hang over I’ll get when I wake up in the morning.  I didn’t know why I felt so crappy in the morning, but I consulted other fat and sloppies and they informed me that this is called a food hangover.  I immediately grasped the concept.  I asked them if there was something I could do to still eat and avoid the food hangover.  None of them seemed to know, it wasn’t something they had ever thought about before.

Is this another passage into middle age?  Having to choose eating huge meals at midnight or getting up refreshed in the morning.  I used to be able to do both.

Male pattern baldness 5-12-11

One more irrefutable piece of evidence that I am growing older is my receding hairline.  When looking straight at a mirror, I can fool myself that I still have hair.  I still have good hair days but it seems that I have more and more bad hair days. I like to think I still have close to a full head of hair and it is only slightly receding, but it is getting harder to fool myself.

I always want to know the unvarnished truth about myself, but yet, I really don’t.  Well today, I got irrefutable proof of exactly where my hair line is.  I was at a house painting estimate and I saw the top of my head.  Lucky me.

I was at a mansion in Bel Air and I entered the master bathroom as part of the overall house estimate.  It had mirrors on the vaulted part of the ceiling and the flat part of his ceiling is also mirrored. This configuration of mirrors gave me an absolute perfect sighting of the top of my head from the looking down position.  Basically, I got to see the top of my head the way it really is.

It’s not bad enough that I actually see my male pattern baldness, my reality is even more depressing; the top of my head is balding unevenly.  Of all my fantasies that I’m not really balding so quickly, I never thought that I would be balding unevenly.  The right side is balding back further than my left side and the front is really thin too.  Geeze!  I’m not one of those guys who looks good partially bald.   How much longer it will be until I have to shave my head?    Another middle aged milestone I had hoped to avoid has irrefutably arrived.

Overeating again at the Buffet 4-21-11

No matter how many times I tell myself I won’t over eat, if I’m at a buffet, I overeat.  There is an all you can eat buffet at my hotel.  Why do I like buffets so much?

I have no discipline when it comes to eating food that is layed out in front of me.  There has to be some evolutionary explanation for my uncontrolled buffet behavior and I’d like to know it.  I should hire myself out as an expert to hotels on customer over eating at buffets.  I don’t understand why I keep eating long after I am stuffed.  Something primal in me starts when I join the herd of other over eaters swarming around the buffet offerings.

I’m on vacation with my in-laws and have been eating at hotel buffets for the last three weeks.  I ate so much yesterday that I partially lost consciousness.  I had to go pee so badly but I  didn’t want to get up from the table or abandon my food.   Finally my full bladder was so painful, I had to get up and find a bathroom.

I staggered down the hall and found a bathroom.  I noticed there were no urinals and the wallpaper looked kind of fuffy; I thought it was some kind of hip new bathroom decor.  I found a stall and relieved myself.  I must have peed for five minutes.

What a relief!  I had more room to eat and drink again.  As I was washing my hands, I noticed a woman in the bathroom looking at me with a “what the hell are you doing in here” look in her eyes, and I thought it was odd that she went into the men’s bathroom.  She looked at me like I was some kind of idiot.

I walked out back to the dining hall and looked behind me at the sign on the door and yes, I just peed in the woman’s bathroom.

Two Nations. 4-19-11

Fat and Sloppies are an ungraceful bunch.   Because we choose inactivity, nose to the grindstone work ethic, and tasty diet over exercise and eating right, our thighs rub and our backs are out of whack.  The physics of carrying an unwieldy blubber packet doesn’t allow us to walk a straight line either.

I thought about this as I spent ten minutes watching an obese woman pathetically try to enter the hotel pool.  I noticed her uniquely shaped round cellulite body as she approached the pool deliberating on an entrance strategy.  I quietly ruminated that she isn’t the typical wealthy looking hotel client. It was heartbreaking to watch her because I imagined I might be watching my future.

She wanted to swim, but couldn’t figure out how to get into the pool.  The pool stair system in this foreign hotel was made only for thin, graceful people.  This fat woman couldn’t use the stairs.  She had to lay down on the ground and try to roll into the pool.

She tried every way to lower herself into the pool.  She couldn’t even climb down the stairs because her arms were too weak and her body was too heavy.  She held onto the metal railing trying to lower herself face first, that didn’t work.  Then she tried to lower herself butt first, but that didn’t work.  She kept slowly turning around like a dog chasing its tail.  Still she couldn’t get in.

I wanted to offer help but what was I to do?  Others watching this drama had concerned looks on their faces.  I was engrossed in real life Fat and Sloppy theater watching this woman attempting to get into the pool.  My daughter jarred me from this trance when she asked me, “Daddy, what is that lady doing?”  Almost everyone on the pool deck had watched this spectacle.

Finally, with a splat noise that fat makes when it hits wet ground, I look over and see the woman plopped down on the ground. She decided she would roll into the pool.

Once she was safely in the pool, I looked up at the other people at the pool and noticed that the thin ones walk normally and the fat and sloppy ones all had something wrong with their walk.  I’ll be verifying my theory in the next days, but I already know I’m correct; and I’ve discovered that two nations inhabit America.  One nation wants to be thin again and the other will become Fat and Sloppy as they enter middle age.

Premeals and a Food Baby 3-25-11

I ate two dinners last night. I was with my wife’s family celebrating her cousin’s birthday. She has a great extended family. They are warm, stick together like family should and they like to celebrate at restaurants. 

My gripe is that unless we are at a buffet, (and we do find ourselves at buffets often) it takes an hour for her family to decide what to eat.  It shouldn’t be that complicated; I often wake up having dreamt of what I’m going to eat.  Top that off with their predelection for restaurants that have the slowest order time to table delivery ratio, and it can take two hours to get a piece of food into my craw.

Being fat in general, uncomfortable with being fat at a cramped table, and having limited social skills; sitting at a table without food for a long time doesn’t work for me.  So, I went outside and made some business calls (I should have ordered take out delivery sent to this slow serve restaurant). On my way out, I spoke to the waitress and pre-ordered my meal. I told her to bring my meal at the same time as the other meals.  By the way, I had sworn an oath to eat in moderation just that morning.   

I returned to the table after 20 minutes outside and my dinner was sitting at the table. The problem was that no one else had their meal, they had just finished ordering.   Imagine how rude I must have looked to everyone. I step outside for 20 minutes and my dinner is already there. 

Feeling like her family was looking at me like an anti-social idiot, I immediately told my wife that I would not touch my dinner and was waiting for the others to be served. My commitment to decency lasted no more than a minute. My wife told me it was OK to eat. I started with the broccoli, telling myself “I will only eat the broccoli, but not the other items.”  Then, the ahi tuna steak and mashed potatoes called my name.  Within minutes my plate was cleaned. Feeling shame doesn’t dampen my appetite. I thought it would, but it doesn’t.

Somehow, everyone else’s food was delivered shortly after that.  The site of new food set my appitite blazing again, so I started eyeballing my wife’s dinner.  She ate a few bites and didn’t like it.  She saw me stalking her food and offered it to me.  Great, I’ll eat that.  I called the waitress over and had her spend no less than five minutes frosting my pasta with grated parmesan cheese.  I cleaned my wife’s plate just like I did mine before. 

As we were leaving the party, my wife’s attractive young 30 something cousin leaned into me, looked at my gut, and said that she was planning to throw a shower for my food baby.  Which she said, based on my figure, would arrive any day.

First Ache 3-15-11

I can’t tell you how many times old people ( I don’t consider myself old) have told me about the aches and pains that come with age.  Those complaints and aches were for others, not for me.  In my mind I’m still an athlete and don’t get aches.  So it was a big “what the hell happened here?” moment when my right elbow started giving me big trouble.  I couldn’t tell you any reason why it hurt.  This strange discomfort came from nowhere.   

Granted, my elbow was tender and sore and might have healed if I left it alone, I didn’t leave it alone.  My neighbor, who’s a really nice guy, wanted to play tennis with me.  I shouldn’t have played and I even thought it might not be good for me to play, but I played a vigorous 45 minutes of tennis on a nearby court.  I wasn’t going to let some mystery ache boss me around, so I played like a pro.  I stopped playing at the 43 minute mark as my arm was swollen and my hand wasn’t working properly.  When I came home, my wife congratulated me for exploring the deepest reaches of idiocy.  I still have to work and earn a living for my family and I can’t do it from the hospital.

So with my arm on fire and my hand not responding to simple brain commands, I may have entered a new phase of mid life.  Good for me.

Reinjuring Myself. 3-11-11

I just destroyed my elbow trying to break open a large twist lollipop; the kind you get at Disneyland.  This delicious grape lollipop is too hard to risk breaking my teeth on, so I crack it apart with my hands before throwing  it in my mouth.  I’ve broken down plenty of these in the last few weeks and I’m good at it.

Problem is, I just destroyed my elbow while trying to save my teeth.  The elbow has been bothering me for a week now and was starting to get better until I just fought with, and lost my battle with the lollipop.   On the scales of epicurean pleasure, the throbbing pain in my elbow and my rapidly swelling arm isn’t worth the candy I just shoved in my mouth.  I now own this bit of wisdom.

I stopped working out after I wrote on how great I was beginning to feel a few weeks back, so the elbow injury wasn’t from working out.   If my wife knew that I injured my elbow by breaking candy into small easily scarfable pieces, she would break my other elbow.

It is funny how much candy eating goes on without her knowing about it.  None the less, the wife would still break me like a lollipop if she knew how much candy I was eating.

A Joy 3-10-11

I consider myself a world class candy connoisseur.  As such and as a member of the Fat and Sloppy Nation I’m duty bound to sample the new candies that come on the market.  This is something I do for humanity – I like to think.  Happy times come when I wander around and find a new type of candy.  It makes me feel like Columbus discovering America.

I have two type of candy favorites.  They are the colorful and jelly type.  A week back, while at a convention in Las Vegas, I found a new candy and have fallen in love with it in my mouth.  It is called Joys.  Joys is a candy bar with a red semi-solid jello filling covered with a thin layer of dark chocolate. The center has a fruity sort of raspberry taste and a perfect not too hard, not too soft consistency; its just right.  It comes dressed in a yellow wrapper.

I find true happiness when I eat them. For a brief few seconds, when its me and this raspberry covered chocolate bar, all my other senses step aside in honor of my mouth. Only the mouth exists. Worries disappear, time stops, the eighty-five bucks I just spent on nearly 100 candy bars doesn’t matter; I am transported to taste bud paradise.

I felt greedy, but I bought every Joy the store put out for public purchase.  I had to hide my stash from my family.  They don’t want me eating so much candy (what do they know?) and want to prevent me from enjoying my Joys.  I have been eating five of these candy bars a day.  I could eat more, but I don’t.  I like to consider myself a person with good self control.

On a side note, but possibly related to the Joy story, I almost fell off my chair onto the floor yesterday while I was tieing my shoe at work.  I couldn’t reach over my stomach and I lost my balance trying to reach for my shoe.

2-17-11 Women and a Man Taking a Dump.

Maybe because I’ve been working out for the last few days, I took a dump this morning.  Even a morning dump is a welcome development in my middle aged stressed out life.  Unfortunately, that private and somewhat special event wasn’t private this time.

As what felt like a glass studded tree stump slowly and painfully emerge from my rectum, I was robbed of my man moment when my wife flitted into the bathroom to happily list her days activities for me.   I didn’t request a listing of her daily activities and told her to leave the room.

What I find hard to understand isn’t that my anal sphincter quickly recovers from this trauma, or that my wife feels that I’m not entitled to any privacy,  but how my wife always wants to talk to me when I should be unavailable to her.  Is it her or all women who don’t understand?  I consistently have to banish her from my presence when I’m unloading my packed colon, how many times do we have to go through this exercise?  Is there something in the wife constitution that makes her want to be near me during this special man time?

My turd dramas don’t concern her and she happily tells me all the little things she has scheduled today.   After I finally got rid of her and looked forward to finishing up what I like to call “my quiet moments,” my daughter walks in holding her nose.  Now she has some questions for me.  I couldn’t order her away as I did my wife, and I answered her questions.

She told me to put down my magazine to hear what she had to say.  Maybe this is where little girls learn that they can speak to men in the middle of the quintessential man activity.

2-15-11 Sore as Hell After only 50 Push Ups.

I was so sore yesterday and I’m sore still today.  Only 50 push ups made me this sore.  I can’t believe I’m this out of shape.

I want to feel strong again so I’m off to work out.  I have tons of work to do at my job, but the work will still be there when I return.   Having to write about my exercise and the shame I will feel if I quit is a good motivator for me.

When I look in the bathroom mirror, I see a white, harry, paunchy, pudgy, orangutan looking creature; and it’s me!  What happened to me?  I used to be in such good shape.  I was an athlete!  I don’t want to look like this anymore.  I have to stop eating so much food at each meal.

I’m off to work out now.  It feels so decadent to spend time on myself and exercise.  I’m so used to being a work mule and just working all day.

It is 3:00 PM and I’m off.  I weigh about 205 pounds now.  I’ll chart my progress.  I’ll also weigh myself later today and get my exact weight.  As I was walking out the door, I paused for a second and decided I needed a small something of a treat before my journey to work out.  I found and gobbled up two spoons of pure maple butter, a gift my wife brought me from New Hampshire, and it was soooooooooo delicious.  It tastes like the stuff they smear on maple bar donuts.  Wow, that was tasty, and at my age, I don’t discover too many original taste sensations.  I’ve basically eaten every candy or sweet I could get my hands on in my life and this maple butter is a new and good taste treat for me.

Now it is 3:05 and I’m really leaving.

It’s 4:07 PM and I just got back.   The maple butter gave me massive heart burn.

I weigh 204 with my clothes on and that’s my starting point.   I will start exercising now because I hate the feeling of my man boobs bouncing when I run or exercise (I’d like to know the man who does).   I ran stairs for about 1/2 hour and I’m not sore anymore from my push ups.