note: anyone with high hopes of philosophical content in today’s entry should adjust their expectations (in the words of Freitas).
ask anyone who has known me for years, and they’ll tell you that i have always stayed skinny as a rail, regardless of what’s been thrown down the proverbial chute. of course, it’s nice to be able to easily win contests where people try to figure out which guy has the smallest butt, but this distinction loses its glamor after awhile. in fact, i always wanted to gain weight, if anything so that i didn’t blow away in strong breezes.
in college, i ate nothing but frozen dinners, pizza, beer, pasta, and the occasional hot dog (i weighed 145 lbs.). graduate school saw me switch to healthier fare, including about 5 lbs. of brown rice a week, plenty of tofu, and lots of green vegetables (still about 145, and as regular as an atomic clock). when i started pulling down big bucks working for the man, and began eating out a bit more, i ‘ballooned’ up to 153. in other words, not a lot going on in the weight department.
the last few months have seen me spend more time on my keester at home, though – no more three martini lunches or jet-set lifestyle after the layoffs, right? it turns out lassitude has its rewards…
a few days ago, sitting at my desk at home, shirt off, basking in the infrequent san francisco sun, i looked down, deep in thought. i found it hard to think, because this big paunch was obscuring the view of my navel, where i often gaze for inspiration. i then had a flashback to a recent trip to Dolores Park when i got sunburned, and realized the zebra-striped burn across my belly was not due to amateurish application of suntan products (you can probably fill in the blanks here).
the mental cogs turned for a moment, and then let me down slowly with the bad news: karmic retribution has struck, my friend…all those years of saying i could eat anything and not gain weight have come back to haunt me. finally, the cheetos and fritos and quesadillas have come home to roost, like unwanted dinner guests, on my belly.
is this the beginning of the downward slide into middle age, decrepitude, and adult diapers? certainly not. i’m sure that cutting back to one bag of cheetos a week should clear this up in no time.
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