I sometimes forget how taking a late shower (instead of first thing in the morning) is usually a bad idea, because I might already have my contact lenses in (and thus, can see my naked self in focus). Passing the mirror on the way to the shower, I thought for a moment that Kim Kardashian might have been lazing around my house in the nude. Although nowhere near as pretty in the face as Kim, Sweet Pickles has a similar motor in the the back of his Honda. Although my weight gains are primarily and fairly consistently ass-centric, that is by no means my only issue. I am constantly baffled at where this excess weight comes from, because I've never really been a big fan of the food. But a realization that I've long struggled to suppress is dawning... I've known all along who the real culprits were, but I didn't want to admit to myself what they're doing to my body because they're two of my oldest and dearest friends:
At a minimum, I need to drop 22 pounds and cut my body-fat percentage
in half before Perdido (mid-August) if I want to wear my H&M
swimsuit (instead of something from the Big and Not-So-Tall Men's
store). When I put it on now, my ass pushes the waistband so far away from my back that people can easily slip things down the back of my trunks (and I mean things like ice-chests). I don't need people asking me "Hey Sweet Pickles, would you carry these lawn-chairs down to the beach for us on that large shelf you call your ass?" With that threat looming, I think I'm going to start blogging more about trying to reduce the junk in my trunk, as a way of keeping on track and committed. So, be on notice that this could be a summer full of weight-related postings that you can feel free to ignore. Note to K-Fiel: We're gonna need to start incorporating that Stairmaster into our exercise regimen. Note to all my co-barflies: Please help me to keep my drinking regimen strictly in the vodka zone.
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