Pot (Belly) Purri

As a special treat, I'm train-blogging today via the Treo and my spiffy magic wireless keyboard, so if this post degrades into gibberish, blame my inability to type on a tiny keyboard perched on my shoulder bag (plus the keyboard has a nsty habit on not synchingup with the Treo until you type your first letter, so if I miss a bunch of first letters of words, you know why.

(Note: I went back and edited when I got to my desktop. Couldn't take all the errors.)

Anywho - on to today's subjects.

1. Crash

Saw Crash over the weekend. Going to Sandra-ize it in a later post, but, man, what a movie. After it came in the mail I really thought we'd hate it, and the first ten minutes filled me with dread, but, wow. This could be the one that rewrites the rules. More later.

2. Fat@ssedness

My back has been on strike since about Saturday, and as much as I'd like to blame some crushing yardwork or fantastic accident, I woke up with it this way. So unless ninjas attacked during the night and I sleep-fought them off, there's no good reason I've been schlepping along like an invalid for the past three days.

There seems to be one solution: my back has finally decided that it's tired of lugging around my fat gut, and has gone on strike until further notice,

There's a lot of merit to this possibility, as I have reached yet another level of fat@ssedness I never thought I'd get to. The two of you who've been around for a couple of years may remember that I hit 250 a couple of New Year's Eves ago and went on a dieting and exercising binge that saw me drop 30 pounds, back to to marriage-day weight of 220.

And 220, you mqay recall, is about 40 pounds heavier than my woo-ing weight of 180. (But that was high school, back when I had a metabolism..)

Well, recently we've been flirting, aw, hell, when been completely molesting, 260 pounds, with the number 264 actually being spotted recently.

So this is completely out of hand. It's time again for an epic quest to dump off a pound or 50.

But I need incentive. (Oddly enough, "Not dying" isn't incentive enough.)

Last time I had the incentive of a contest with Brother-in-law #3, who himself was weighing in over three bills and needed to lose some weight for a wedding.

Plus, I was trying to look good for a certain young lady who I was sort-of mentoring and totally chasing after.

(Before you think me a cad: I am very happily married. But that doesn't mean I'm completely inured to the charms of the fairer gender. And it's kind of like a dog chasing a car: like the dog, I have no idea what I'd actually do with it if I were to catch it, so it's harmless, okay?)

Anyway, I need a potential victim love connection unsuspecting lass to chase after to get the old testosterone focused in the right direction. (Otherwise the testosterone says "screw the treadmill, let's play Madden tonight"). I'm going to start perusing the local health-food store to see if I can find a suitable person. (I have a wickedly horrible thing for hippy-chicks... They're my krypotite.)

And Bollix, occassional commentor and long time reader has volutneered to accept the challenge and enter into a gentlemen's wager as we both try to lose weight.

Since he's about 40 pounds lighter, we'll be doing it on a percentage basis. He's one of those crazy bicycle nuts who dress up in tight clothes and cycle all overr the place (lunatic), but I think with the proper incentive (find that hippy chick soon), I can give him a run for his money.

Well, gosh. My train ride's already almost over, so I've got to wrap this up. I wanted to mention one more thing, but that will have to wait.

Just one warning though: Stay away from the graveyards, okay?

That'll have to be it for now. Chat with you later.

(unless they get me, of course....)