Friday, December 4, 2015

When It Comes To Food, I'm Not Half The Man I Used To Be

The subject of this blog neatly dovetails to this song sung by Scott Weiland, who died in the city I work in, the city I'm in right now, yesterday (Thursday).  Alternative rock disdained celebrity, but once people started bending it towards original, thrilling rock 'n' roll, the genre needed its icon, and it probably was Scott Weiland.  A part of my college-aged me died last night.  RIP, sir.



So, the last thing in the refrigerator that my parents left for me are two pizzas, both about a foot in diameter, that did not have instructions.  That was part of the reason why I hadn't gotten around to eating these pizzas until now, but I called them a couple weeks ago, and I decided that it was time to clean out the fridge.

The first pizza I ate last (Thursday) night was, I think, the buffalo chicken.  I preferred that over what appears to be the meat lovers' pizza that was the other one, even though I like meat lover's more, because I wanted to see if the instructions I was given by the pizza company representative -- top rack, 425 degrees, for 20 minutes -- would actually work; any mistakes I would hopefully learn for the "better" pizza.  It was good, even though I think it was cooked through after 14 minutes.

But it was a lot.  I tried putting down whole pizzas that big by myself before, as in during my thirties, and it's a tough slog.  But I still think myself as the man I was in, well, college, and in my twenties, and my metabolism was still high enough that I could plow through the whole thing with no trouble.  My parents know that I am older, and Mother suggested that I thaw the pizza, slice it in half, and just eat the other half for dinner.  That halving seems too complicated for me, however, so I just shoved the whole thing into the oven, and after it got cooked, I shoved the whole thing in my mouth.

I did eat it all, and really, it wasn't as difficult as it was on some other occasions.  Where I really feel it in my old age is the morning after, when I'm shitting the waste from the pizza.  Man, this morning it was coming out of me like I was having diarrhea.  Once I was done (and from the way my stomach is feeling, I may not be done), I looked back into the toilet and was impressed by my, um, production.  But man, that didn't feel good, and my stomach isn't in the best shape.

Did I feel that way when I ate that much in my twenties?  I don't remember -- maybe, maybe not.  But this should be a sign that I shouldn't eat a whole foot-in-diameter pizza in one sitting anymore because I really can't take it and I am now, probably, really, really fat.  But there is one more pizza in the freezer, and I have to eat that.  Probably this time next week.  The Thursday Night Football game is The Bastard Chicago-By-Way-Of-St. Louis Cardinals hosting the Vikings, and I'll be able to see it on free TV.  Might as well eat a pizza -- a big, whole pizza, by myself!!

(ETA at 11:22 p.m. on Friday, December 4 that I realize that I have the lyrics for "Creep" that I put into the title of my blog post wrong.  Technically, it's "Well I'm half the man I used to be," not, "I'm not half the man I used to be."  I like my version better, but tit's incorrect.)

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