Me: Hey there, Flab. How's it going?
Flab: Hey, Jon! No complaints here.
Me: Good, good...you're not feeling, I don't know, uncomfortable? Unwelcome?
Flab: Nah. I'm perfectly content, thanks.
Me: So all that exercising I've been doing hasn't been disturbing you or making you uncomfortable.
Flab: Oh, is that what that is? Honestly, I've barely noticed.
Me: Oh.
Flab: I mean, sometimes, if I'm paying attention, I notice some sort of activity. When I do, it's actually kind of fun. Just bouncing around and jiggling like that.
Me: Hm.
Flab: Of course, now that you mention it, I have noticed that there's a little bit more of that...oh, what's the word? The hard stuff that's not bone or flab. Mucus? Definitely an "M" word.
Me: Muscle.
Flab: Right, right. Muscle. There's a little bit - just the tiniest bit - more of that around, way, way, way down at the bottom of me. I mean, it's buried deep under me, but it's there.
Me: Hm.
Flab: I have to admit that it made me a little nervous at first. I've heard this muscle stuff, like, feeds on fat or something.
Me: That's the theory, yeah.
Flab: But your muscles? They don't seem the least bit interested in me. They're all "live and let live." Frankly, I think they like having me wrapped around them. I'm like a security blanket.
Me: Hm.
Flab: Other than that I noticed that when you're standing up straight I do end up getting stretched rather thin...if you'll forgive the expression!
Me: Funny.
Flab: Thanks. Anyway, as soon as you sit down, gravity takes back over and I just spill out in every direction and it's just like old times. After all, there's still plenty of me left in the strategic flab reserves around your midsection and your butt. Enough to last a lifetime.
Flab: Well, certainly enough to last for what's left of your lifetime. After all, that time bomb you call a heart is still ticking away in your chest, and I don't imagine we'll have to wait too terribly long before it goes off.
Me: ...
Flab: Anyway, I guess if I had any request for you it would be "Sit down more."
Me: I'll see what I can do.
Flab: You do that. And you don't have to worry about sitting down on that hard muscle stuff - I'm in that area in full force to provide cushioning.
Showing posts with label adventures in fat-assery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventures in fat-assery. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 08, 2012
Sunday, August 07, 2011
Memento Fatty
Tradition has it that in ancient Rome conquering generals who paraded through the streets in celebration of their victory had a slave behind them whose duty it was to continuously utter a single phrase in order to remind the proud generals of their own mortality.
That was the memento mori; remember you will die.
Or, as it's more commonly stated in popular culture, "Remember, thou art mortal."
The point being, sure, you're hot stuff now, but one day you'll be worm food just like the rest of us, so don't get too full of yourself.
Not being a conquering general, I don't need any such a reminder, but - whether I need it or not - I do frequently receive what I call the memento fatty.
It's a reminder that, for as much weight as I've lost, and as much muscle, tone, and definition as I've built up, I'm still not exactly Mr. Universe material.
Remember, thou art a fat ass...
For example, the other night I went to see Cowboys and Aliens with Scott and Casey. We went to a later show, so I had time to go home and change out of my work clothes:
(Jon takes off shirt. Looks in mirror.)
Me: Nice. Lookin' good!
(After getting home from the movie, which contained scenes of a shirtless Daniel Craig, Jon undresses for bed, and accidentally sees himself in the mirror.)
Me: Gah! Put that away!
...
Srsly, in the parlance of the Internet, "No homo, but have you seen Daniel Craig without his shirt on?"
Earlier today, I received yet another memento fatty while doing some stretching exercises.
I made the horrifying mistake of doing so with my shirt off.
It wasn't so bad until I did that thing where you start out on your back and then you lift your legs and lower body up until your feet are straight up in the air and you're balancing on your neck and shoulders.
As I looked up and saw my stomach giving way to the inexorable pull of gravity, I felt like I was a 1950s' teenager trying desperately to escape fom The Blob
.
"My god, it's oozing right towards me, and nothing can stop it!"
Memento fatty.
(And yes, I do know enough about Latin to realize that's not even close to how something like that would be said.)
That was the memento mori; remember you will die.
Or, as it's more commonly stated in popular culture, "Remember, thou art mortal."
The point being, sure, you're hot stuff now, but one day you'll be worm food just like the rest of us, so don't get too full of yourself.
Not being a conquering general, I don't need any such a reminder, but - whether I need it or not - I do frequently receive what I call the memento fatty.
It's a reminder that, for as much weight as I've lost, and as much muscle, tone, and definition as I've built up, I'm still not exactly Mr. Universe material.
Remember, thou art a fat ass...
For example, the other night I went to see Cowboys and Aliens with Scott and Casey. We went to a later show, so I had time to go home and change out of my work clothes:
(Jon takes off shirt. Looks in mirror.)
Me: Nice. Lookin' good!
(After getting home from the movie, which contained scenes of a shirtless Daniel Craig, Jon undresses for bed, and accidentally sees himself in the mirror.)
Me: Gah! Put that away!
...
Srsly, in the parlance of the Internet, "No homo, but have you seen Daniel Craig without his shirt on?"
Earlier today, I received yet another memento fatty while doing some stretching exercises.
I made the horrifying mistake of doing so with my shirt off.
It wasn't so bad until I did that thing where you start out on your back and then you lift your legs and lower body up until your feet are straight up in the air and you're balancing on your neck and shoulders.
As I looked up and saw my stomach giving way to the inexorable pull of gravity, I felt like I was a 1950s' teenager trying desperately to escape fom The Blob
."My god, it's oozing right towards me, and nothing can stop it!"
Memento fatty.
(And yes, I do know enough about Latin to realize that's not even close to how something like that would be said.)
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Giving In To The Worse Angel Of My Nature
Okay, so I guess I’ve been away a while.
Fortunately you haven’t missed much.
For Easter I was offered (and accepted) an invitation to dinner from Scott and Stacy.
As I said to Scott, “Well, Jesus came out of His tomb, so I suppose the least I can do is come out of my condo.”
I ended up staying quite a bit longer than was comfortable, as their dog’s hair had started to get to me right away, mostly irritating my eyes, but eventually leading me to itch and sneeze, and when I got home I took some Benadryl, which managed to overpower all of the caffeine I’d had (not sure why I drank so many Cokes), and caused me to turn in early, even though I’d gone to bed relatively early on Saturday night and had slept in until nearly 10 that morning.
Of course, I woke up several times throughout the night after having weird and oddly disturbing dreams that seemed to be related in some fashion to the movie Grindhouse. Not sure what that was about, but I do know that I was kind of creeped out whenever I woke up, and I was starting to expect some deformed girl to show up and kill me with a “nife.”
Monday I woke up and had to decide whether or not I was going to go shopping, and ultimately opted for “not.”
Of course, I had to go out later in the day, as there was a training session at work at 3.
I wasn’t sure what route I was going to take on the way home, and didn’t know what I was going to do for dinner, but then, in a moment of inspiration, I had the answer to both questions.
Which brings me to this.
You know you’ve thought about doing it.
Everyone has, just admit it.
You’ve always wanted to do it but you’ve been afraid to try – what if you got caught? What would your parents say? Or the neighbors?
Still, the thought is always there, nagging at you like a little devil on your shoulder telling you to do it, while that ineffectual angel cautions you not to.
So yeah, I did it, but don’t you dare judge me. You’re no different; you just don’t have the courage to even admit that you want to do it, let alone actually do it.
Not like me. I had the courage to say, “By god, I’m going to do it! I’m going to order an entire family-sized bucket of KFC chicken for myself.”
And I did.
I drove up through Ashburn, stopped at the Taco Bell/KFC, ordered a 10-piece bucket of chicken (with 4 biscuits and two family-sized sides), and made my way home where I proceeded to stuff my face.
Obviously I didn’t eat it all in one sitting (I still have several pieces of chicken left, as well as some coleslaw), but even so, I did end up eating a lot of food.
Today I went out and did a bit of grocery shopping, though not much. I figure I don’t really need much, as I’m only working one day, so I don’t have to worry about cooking so that I have leftovers for lunch at work (though I haven’t been doing much of that in recent weeks anyway), and on Friday Scott and Stacy want to take me out for dinner for my birthday.
When they mentioned that to me on Sunday my response was underwhelming, and led to a “well, we’re not going to twist your arm “ comment, but it’s not the being take out part that’s sapping my enthusiasm, it’s the birthday part.
I never really look forward to my birthday, but somehow it seems worse this year.
Maybe it’s the fact that it’s kind of a “milestone” age, or maybe it’s just hat I miss my dad, and Betts, or maybe all of the above plus all of the usual nonsense and some other random crap that I’m not even consciously aware of.
So yeah, I’m not likely to build up a lot of enthusiasm for “celebrating” my birthday this year, but I do appreciate the fact that there are people who care enough to want to do something to acknowledge it, so I apologize for seeming to be an unappreciative ass than usual.
Anyway, aren’t you glad that I’m finally filling you in on what’s been going on since the last time I posted?
Fortunately you haven’t missed much.
For Easter I was offered (and accepted) an invitation to dinner from Scott and Stacy.
As I said to Scott, “Well, Jesus came out of His tomb, so I suppose the least I can do is come out of my condo.”
I ended up staying quite a bit longer than was comfortable, as their dog’s hair had started to get to me right away, mostly irritating my eyes, but eventually leading me to itch and sneeze, and when I got home I took some Benadryl, which managed to overpower all of the caffeine I’d had (not sure why I drank so many Cokes), and caused me to turn in early, even though I’d gone to bed relatively early on Saturday night and had slept in until nearly 10 that morning.
Of course, I woke up several times throughout the night after having weird and oddly disturbing dreams that seemed to be related in some fashion to the movie Grindhouse. Not sure what that was about, but I do know that I was kind of creeped out whenever I woke up, and I was starting to expect some deformed girl to show up and kill me with a “nife.”
Monday I woke up and had to decide whether or not I was going to go shopping, and ultimately opted for “not.”
Of course, I had to go out later in the day, as there was a training session at work at 3.
I wasn’t sure what route I was going to take on the way home, and didn’t know what I was going to do for dinner, but then, in a moment of inspiration, I had the answer to both questions.
Which brings me to this.
You know you’ve thought about doing it.
Everyone has, just admit it.
You’ve always wanted to do it but you’ve been afraid to try – what if you got caught? What would your parents say? Or the neighbors?
Still, the thought is always there, nagging at you like a little devil on your shoulder telling you to do it, while that ineffectual angel cautions you not to.
So yeah, I did it, but don’t you dare judge me. You’re no different; you just don’t have the courage to even admit that you want to do it, let alone actually do it.
Not like me. I had the courage to say, “By god, I’m going to do it! I’m going to order an entire family-sized bucket of KFC chicken for myself.”
And I did.
I drove up through Ashburn, stopped at the Taco Bell/KFC, ordered a 10-piece bucket of chicken (with 4 biscuits and two family-sized sides), and made my way home where I proceeded to stuff my face.
Obviously I didn’t eat it all in one sitting (I still have several pieces of chicken left, as well as some coleslaw), but even so, I did end up eating a lot of food.
Today I went out and did a bit of grocery shopping, though not much. I figure I don’t really need much, as I’m only working one day, so I don’t have to worry about cooking so that I have leftovers for lunch at work (though I haven’t been doing much of that in recent weeks anyway), and on Friday Scott and Stacy want to take me out for dinner for my birthday.
When they mentioned that to me on Sunday my response was underwhelming, and led to a “well, we’re not going to twist your arm “ comment, but it’s not the being take out part that’s sapping my enthusiasm, it’s the birthday part.
I never really look forward to my birthday, but somehow it seems worse this year.
Maybe it’s the fact that it’s kind of a “milestone” age, or maybe it’s just hat I miss my dad, and Betts, or maybe all of the above plus all of the usual nonsense and some other random crap that I’m not even consciously aware of.
So yeah, I’m not likely to build up a lot of enthusiasm for “celebrating” my birthday this year, but I do appreciate the fact that there are people who care enough to want to do something to acknowledge it, so I apologize for seeming to be an unappreciative ass than usual.
Anyway, aren’t you glad that I’m finally filling you in on what’s been going on since the last time I posted?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
