You know, the big drawback to going out all these days is my disincentive to brush my teeth.  Sure, I have plenty of time after I get home to do that, but I'm tired and there are other things I need to do.  For example, I got home from gorging myself at the Kickoff To Summer At The (Minnesota State) Fair, and I had to buy chocolates online, then I had to watch intently the last episode of The Late Show With Stephen Colbert, and then I had to blog post, so now I'm too tired and I have to go to bed!  When will I ever have the time to brush my teeth?

Is BBQ Supposed To Give You So Much Regret?

So last/Tuesday night after work (and after dropping off my property taxes), I went to this barbecue place relatively close by that I have heard a lot of good things about.  And I love BBQ, so I looked through reviews to see what people really liked -- and I tried pretty much all of the best recommendations, namely this place's pulled pork, ribs, brisket, and mac 'n' cheese.

It came in a relatively small tray.  I thought I would conquer it with ease.  In fact, all the items I bought were essentially half-orders, and looking at what I got, I regretted that I didn't go with full orders like I originally wanted.  Wow, was I wrong.  I finished up with the ribs, and the last two bones felt like climbing the sheer face of a mountain vertically.  After starting up just fine I hit a wall out of nowhere, and I can't help but think that the Unforgivable Wetness of 20 or even ten years ago would've wolfed all that down and ordered the same thing again.

No meat sweats, but even now I feel so logy, let alone fat.  All that meat felt good going down my throat, but now that all of that went through my stomach (and sure, my intestines, too), my tummy aches.  And I'm scared it's going to ache tomorrow.  How can I regret eating such good barbecue??

I Make Bad Choices

So I was at this bar last/Monday night for the WNBA Draft (the Lynx will rue that they chose Miles over Fam Thiam, book it).  I wanted to stay for the whole thing, but the wings I got weren't enough for me.  So I got these "Chicken Dunkers," and when the server asked me what else I wanted to go with it, I realized I may have gotten myself way over my head, or stomach.  And lo and behold, I got this small but bountiful basket of chicken ... well, they're smaller than tenders but bigger than nuggets, put it that way.  And there were tater tots, which I chose, interspersed with those.  I finished, but barely, and now I feel fat.  Because I am fat, and I make bad choices when it comes to eating.

I was so tired after coming home I went to bed after the news.  As I was falling asleep I realized that there's a bruise on my left knee.  Have no idea where I got it from.  I didn't bang something hard at work or at the bar.  Maybe it happened spontaneously.  Maybe my body's breaking down.

I make bad choices.

When I Socialize, I Eat ...

... and I had a group dinner on Friday and a friend's birthday dinner last/Saturday night.  I went to two places I haven't been to, and to celebrate, I ordered a lot of food.  And I ate it.  And I am fat, and I feel fat.  

Drank a bit, too.  Starting to feel like it's a bit much.  It certainly is wrecking my sleep schedule.  I went to bed early last/Saturday night because I was tired, and yet I woke up at 8.  And I see, as I type this, that the Gold Medal Game of the Olympic men's hockey tournament is going on now.  Everybody, and I mean everybody, is watching this Game ... and to celebrate, I think that I am going to go out to watch with other Americans, too.

I don't stop.  Even though, maybe, I should.

Maybe Fuck Dinner

I am doing my level best to convey how upset I am that they have gone through and literally thrown away most of my stuff, but doing so in a passive-aggressive way so that I don't get thrown out of the house.  That's tough to do, considering that they still don't seem to give a shit.  But I might have been pushed to do something that could get their attention, if only because I am now tired of it myself.

Yesterday/Thursday was a no-spend day.  I was going to go in to work, leave work, and go home.  (I have my trepidations about doing that, but I will blog post about that at a later time.)  Work actually was light, light enough for me to come home at a decent hour, early enough to eat dinner with my folks.  But that didn't happen.  My Fucking Mother recently alluded to the fact that, because I had worked so late so often, My Fucking Parents don't eat dinner much, either.  So, regardless of when I come home, eating together has gotten quite rare in the last, oh, couple months, and we really haven't eaten together all that much since they came home.

What they do is leave food for me, and usually it's too much, way more than I would get for myself if we were eating together.  My Fucking Parents continue to say that I don't have to eat all the food they leave for me, but I know that's a goddamn lie.  I mean, they used the impetus of me spearheading donating my old car as an excuse to clean everything else I hold near and dear out.  (Don't care if that sounds like a conspiracy; I believe it.)  So I am under the gun to eat everything they laid out for me.  And for dinner last night, they laid out two pork chops, three pieces of Kentucky Fried Chicken, a bowl of spicy vegetables, tofu soup, and about a cup of rice.

That was so goddamn much it took me two hours to eat it all.  And I feel fat because I am fat after consuming that all.  And they're not even there.  So now, after they've taken everything important from me and done so under false pretenses, why in the fuck am I eating all this shit by myself?  If dinner is something we don't do anymore, why should I even eat at home anymore?  I mean, sometimes I will eat out.  But I am thinking that even on these no-spend days, I just go home and ... not eat.  And it doesn't matter if I get home late or early.  I just won't eat.  You know, I keep complaining about all this food and how it's fattening my belly and making me gain weight.  Why not ... just not eat?

And hey, it might send a message that I don't think we're a family anymore.  Because after the bullshit they just pulled, we're not.

Sore On Belly

For the record, I have a sore on my belly.  I may have gotten it ... Tuesday, when I ate too much and I felt that I distended my stomach.  I feel fat to this very second.  (I don't really remember if it was Tuesday; I feel as though I have had this sore for a while.)

It is scary that this sore popped up after I ate too much, meaning that this sore may have developed because I ate so much.  I am imagining that my stomach grew to make room for all the food I ate, and ... um, then I developed a sore on my skin.  That happened because that happened, you know?  And I wonder if the only way this sore goes away is if I eat much less -- which won't happen.

Felt Sick, But Now Feeling Fine

So I started off yesterday/Saturday having an American brunch with my parents, and I felt fine.  Then I went to this big event and, even though my stomach felt a bit oogy, I nibbled on a few things and felt fine enough.  I then treated myself to a big post-event dinner in St. Paul, and I had the same thing (food and drink) I had when I went there last year, and I didn't think it was too much or bad for my gastrointestinal system, but that's when I felt the urge to, you know, relieve myself.  But I thought I could tough it out to the bank and the gas station before heading home.

I was able to do all that and get home -- barely.  I had to go so bad that I immediately went to the bathroom, whereby I tried to poop, then did, but felt that I had shit some more, but couldn't.  And my body got real hot, a level of uncomfortable warmth I don't ever remember feeling.  It was not hot or humid outside, but I was burning up.  I began to sweat profusely.  And I started to panic; I noticed that there was no way for me to open the window in the bathroom (it's a long story, and maybe I'll blog post about it) and I felt like I wanted to scream.  My gut and GI tract were killing me.  And still I wasn't excreting as much as I thought it would.  You ever have that feeling of relief, if not euphoria, after a huge bowel movement?  I was banking on that, but it didn't happen for me.

I thought I was done, wasn't, went back into the bathroom, and didn't shit at all.  When I felt like my insides were no longer going to imminently cave in on me, I went back into my bedroom, turned on the fan, crept underneath my blanket, and passed out.

I woke up about three hours later (and totally missed Liga MX, which I had on the TV this whole time) ... and I feel fine.  Well, I still feel fat and as if I am still carrying a lot of human waste inside of me that I shouldn't.  But the sweats are gone, as is the intestinal distress and the feeling that I am about to go crazy.  I don't think I'm out of the woods quite yet, but I can now think about just what the hell happened to me.  It couldn't have been the brunch, could it?  Or was it the cheese during the party?  Or was it all the pork bellies I had for dinner?  Or was it a combination of those three occasions, or food poisoning, or something else?

Four Things From Yesterday/Saturday:

1. So I was reaching into my bathroom closet for my supply of allergy nasal spray yesterday/Saturday afternoon.  I grab the bag, but when I pulled it out, I knocked over a nearly empty plastic bottle of conditioner and my sister's bottle of (and I didn't know this until I actually looked at the label) massage oil.  What?  Whatever.  Anyway, the important thing was that the bottle was glass.  Somehow, it did not shatter when it hit the floor.  Unfortunately, the bottlecap did, and bits of it went all over the place after it somehow dislodged itself from the top of the bottle, so massage oil went spilling.  I was able to Swiffer it all up, but for some time there was the sick smell of lavender.  Also, even though the very top of the bottlecap is still intact, one side of it is gone.  It's back on the bottle, but loosely.  And it sucks that I have no way to find and/or buy a new replacement cap.  Well, there's one way, but I don't have time to just run there with the bottle and find a cap size that fits it.  My main takeaway from this is I did this all without my glasses.  And yet you would think that if I didn't knock the bottles over when I thrust my hand in the closet, I would make sure not to knock them over when I took it out.  But that thought never occurred, and look at what happened.  Would I have done it if I were wearing my glasses?  Is this is a sign I'm getting clumsier in my old age?
2. The USWNT Match was a success, of course; they defeated China, 3-0.  My friend gave me great seats: Field level, which meant that before the Game began, we had the run of their, uh, Field Club restaurant (or whatever it's called), where all the food and tap beers were free.  I have been down there once before, for a Loons Match, and dammit, I miss eating and drinking like rich people do.  I had turkey with Grand Marnier cranberry sauce, beef bourguignon, mojo pork, prime rib sliders, nachos from their nacho bar, charcuterie, BBQ and sea salt chips, this long and girthy sausage on a bun, hot dog on a bun, a dinner roll with butter, popcorn, a Modelo Especial and a Wild State Wild Apple, both of which were on tap.  I skipped lunch because I knew I wanted to be damn hungry to eat everything without skipping a beat, and I managed to do so.  And I missed the lemonade, fruit punch, and desert, darn it.
3. And yet, knowing everything I gorged myself on, I still had plans on going to Bang Brewery to have a pizza from pop-up place Farina Rossa Kitchen.  They were great -- so great, in fact, that by the time I got there, they ran out of their margherita pizzas and sausage.  There were some pizzas that could be made that had jalapeño, and that's an automatic no from me, so what was left was a pizza made with ricotta, asparagus and lemon.  That seems to be a light and airy pizza.  Moreover, there were no strong flavors that my palate deemed in conflict.  I don't know if I blog posted about this, but I once had a donut with bacon on it, and I got so nauseous I barely finished it.  Well, I'm here to say that lemon does not belong on a pizza.  It just doesn't work.  (I didn't say that to the guy who took my order; when he shouted from his tent, "How do you like your pizza?" I said, "It's fantastic!)  Now, that assessment may be based on me being beyond full stuffing myself at Allianz Field.  Turns out I didn't finish the personal pan pizza I bought; I brought home the final two slices, and some time either today/Sunday or tomorrow/Monday I will eat them and maybe I'll change my mind.  But, maybe I won't.
4. I am charging my phone a second time right now.  To be fair, I didn't charge it last night while I was sleeping, so it was running dry till just before I left for the Match.  But I used a lot of the juice at Bang watching FC Dallas play The Philadelphia Union to a scoreless Draw (and eating slow, and wondering why in the hell did I order food when I'm beyond full), and I just got done talking to my sister for 51 minutes, so it needs to be recharged again.  I think I said before that the battery on this phone has been substandard ever since I needed to buy it the day after Easter 2024.  I use it heavily, and I still think it's bad.

Ate Too Much (Again)

Ever eat so much that you feel like throwing up?  That even smelling more food made you nauseous?  That is how I felt after eating at this steakhouse/supper club after work last/Friday night.  They are very generous with their birthday coupon -- $25 off!!!  So I had to use it for their most expensive sirloin ... and the hashbrowns, bread, and watermelon in a cup (?) that went along with the dinner.  Thank God I had an Old Fashioned, a Coke and a water to wash it down or else it wouldn't have been good.

But for all the times I complain and hate myself for eating a gigantic meal, believe me, what I did last night was insane (well, that or I am getting old).  I didn't think I was going to be able to walk out of there.  I felt like the guy who died via "gluttony" in Seven, only this was self-inflicted.  I had to walk around Hy-Vee to feel like I got any sort of exercise to work out the food, even though I had a lot of meat sweats that set in after I got done eating (although I then realized I needed to buy travel-sized Kleenex).  And then I fell asleep, which helped my body deal with it all.

As I write this I'm still full, but not as stomach-bursting like several hours ago.  And yet I brought home the second helping of bread that I was so generously given.  I think I can keep these until lunch today.

Ate Too Much Again, Dammit; Boxing Day Thoughts (Oh, Well)

One of my self-traditions for Christmas is making pasta for myself.  I do it even though it's a pain-in-the-ass; from start of preparation to finally taking a bite, it took me two hours.  I'm glad I did it -- sort of.

But I usually make two portions for myself whenever I make it.  I did not do it this time.  I think, although I do not remember, that at this time last night I looked up, "How much pasta for a 24 oz. can of spaghetti sauce" (no use to save the sauce; I'll just use whatever I couldn't eat for leftovers) and the Google AI said a pound.  The oldest pasta we have in the pantry is this box of mostaccioli.  It is a pound.  And I used half of it.  Then, when I dumped all the pasta into the sauce (I see on the Internet that you should mix the pasta with the sauce and have it as once instead of doing the pasta and then adding the sauce at the dining table), it looked like it was going to use all the pasta.

I don't think reheated pasta will taste good, so I looked at the pan and thought the mostaccioli was big enough for me to eat it all.  And the first big bowl was fine.  The second ... well, on the second bowl I added leftover cheese, but I think it's been around long enough that it started to smell, and it might be that -- or it might not -- that closed my stomach.  It took a while near the bottom of the bowl, but I got through it.  But dammit, I am still feeling it right now.  I have eaten nothing else (although I have made myself two cocktails, the first time I've done that since my parents left) and I'm still full.  I must've ate over 2,000 calories for Christmas.

I don't know what did wrong, exactly.  I think the type of past threw me off.  I think I should've just eyeballed a quarter of the box to use, but I couldn't think of any way of measuring that because the see-through window on the box only covered the bottom half.  I didn't think till afterward that I could've tipped it on the side, looked at sideways through the top of the box, and used my hand to measure out a quarter of it.  But I also think I'm just out of practice since my parents went to Vegas later than they usually do.  I want to think that if they had left around Labor Day, I would have remembered what I should measure out to eat just enough for today and then have enough sauce for a second helping some time later.  Oh, well.

---

Got some laundry done.  But I was going to work on organizing my stuff, and I didn't.  I am going to blame two things: Getting up at 11 (although I'm not complaining), and the quintuple-header of NBA Games on ABC/Channel 5.  I really, really thought that it was just the middle three Games (including the Timberwolves holding on to defeat the Mavericks in Dallas) on free TV.  Someone dropped the ball in advertising that all five Games were going to be on over-the-air.  And so I watched instead of going downstairs.  Oh, well.

---

I think Christmas music has its season.  I am unstinting in believing that one shouldn't hear it until Black Friday.  And, Christmas music makes no sense once Christmas is over, which it now is.  I mean, it's not Christmas anymore, right?  So why listen to it?

I have listened, to my heart's content, to Christmas music the last month or so.  But once it rolled past midnight, I can't bring myself to listen.  It's ... old.  And, well, inappropriate.  I listened to a lot of Christmas music on SiriusXM (may Buddha once again bless Holiday Pops, love that pop-up station), but I can't listen to the holiday channels on there now.  Yet I feel kind of ... uh, oogy listening to anything else on satellite radio now.  Don't know why.  Maybe I feel ... uh, blasphemous listening to SiriusXM and not listening to holiday music, even though I firmly believe no one should be listening to holiday music now that it's December 26.  So right now, I'm listening to my iTunes.  It seems as though I'm hiding and listening to the music I want to hear without anyone knowing.  Which I am.  Kinda; I'm sure Apple is tracking me.  Besides, I haven't listening to music through my iTunes in forever, and I think this is a great time to do so.

Oh, well.

All Over A Plate Of Fries

I overindulged with food again last night.  Once again, my long-held belief that I'm getting fat because my parents make me eat too much food at home is upended when I eat too much on my own.

After work last night I had this screening for a research study at the University of Minnesota.  But this wasn't on campus.  Instead, it was in north Minneapolis.  And I heard of a new restaurant just north of there that is kind of recommended.  I say kind of because I checked on Yelp and the reviews, especially when it comes to the food, haven't been universally kind, shall we say.  I thought about not going.  But ... well, I don't know the next time I will be in that part of town, and everybody seemed to like the drinks, so I decided to wedge a visit there between the experiment screening and Taco Bell, where I planned to finally eat that night.

And then, once I go to this relative new place, I caved and got an order of fries.  The fries weren't generally condemned, I don't think.  Besides, it was fries.  I figure it is hard to screw up, and even if it were, it's the cheapest item on their menu.  Now, they were good, even though I wish I had gotten a much bigger cup of aioli.  But it was a lot.  It was shareable size, and I was the only one eating it.  And my stomach got so full that I wondered whether I could even eat at Taco Bell.

But I made the decision to eat at Taco Bell anyway.  I altered what I would get, going from three food items to two.  But eating even a Mexican Pizza and their new street chicken chalupas was difficult.  I was so full that consuming them was not enjoyable, if you know what I mean.  And now, waking up after a four-hour sleep that's really a nap, I feel -- a bit bitter, but still plenty full.  Really, I feel as fat as I have ever felt.  All because I decided to have fries with my drink, dammit.

Yesterday/Wednesday Was A Low-Key Not-Good Day

Despite having a relatively slow and easy day at work, it was a bad day.  Why?  Allow me to list them:

• Well, the world.  I just don't understand how a fucking demented, racist and convicted felon who has vowed to do the bidding of conservative oligarchs to implement what basically is fascism to America isn't thrown into the fucking ocean instead of being nominated for President, and, more weirdly, everybody looks at one debate, doesn't look at what Joe Biden has done, and is demanding he drop out by insinuating that everybody close to him wants him to drop out.  (Seriously, the journalism surrounding this ... for lack of a better word, "plan" is so coordinated that it seems fishy.  Really, it feels like some trick a Republican would make up.  And it sure as shit ain't journalism.)  Everywhere, no one cares the fire is spreading, and no one wants to speak about it.
• Got yelled at by a customer.  I was doing my job, making sure a test gets run, and she goes, "You are delaying testing."  Asshole, I am doing my job.  Also, you are not the one who gets to tell me how I'm doing my job.  I would rather not shunt dealing with prick customers to someone else, but I think I only do it for, like, two companies.  I think I can add a third.  I really think I need to so long as I am at this job, because I was close to saying something I should not have said.
• During the day I called the ticket rep to whom I'm coordinating this mass purchase of tickets for my alma mater's football Game here.  I still don't know what to expect, but I got some clarity, and it's bad news, too: Most of the seats some of us want to sit in are already gone.  In fact, we might have to sit in the upper deck, and I don't know if they want to sit up there.  Also, we are going to pay a hefty convenience fee.  Oh, and we don't know when we can buy them.  All those factors are really harshing my mellow.
• Saw the Loons lose.  They lost handily and awfully, to Vancouver, 3-1, and it wasn't that close.  The Whitecaps scored their first Goal when they pounced on a piss-poor slow backpass to the Goalkeeper, who is the third-string one called up from their MNUFC2 reserve team.  Add a header where the guy out-jumped our guy by a full head, then add a completely unmarked guy getting a golazo from just outside the box, and these fuckheads have now lost five in a row.  And I'm giving these guys money as a season-ticketholder!
• Ate a lot.  I ate a whole lot the day before -- a roll Mother made for me to eat at work, then dinner, then a Cheez-It Crunchwrap from Taco Bell (although I don't think I got the Cheez-It), then I ate peanuts to keep me awake for the Colombia-Brazil Copa America Match, then I ate the banana Father made for me to eat at work.  Yesterday/Wednesday I had another roll.  On the way to Allianz Field some kids were selling cookies, so I bought one.  I ate this smashburger and mac 'n' cheese at the United FC Match.  Because they lost, I went to Kwik Trip to drink a Wild Cherry Pepsi.  Then I ate a banana Father packed for me.  I was wearing a medium USWNT jersey, and I could feel it wrap around my fat stomach, and I think I getting fat around my sides, too.  God, I need to exercise again.
• Finally, my car's acting up again.  The short rattling noises when I accelerate are back.  I haven't heard them for a while, but I have been accelerating slowly when I can.  If this is something getting worse no matter how much I baby my car, I will have to bring it in sooner than I want.

But hey, it's a midweek holiday!

Have Felt Fat Since Friday

I had the day off Friday.  Made the mistake of eating three times, each 90 minutes apart from each other.

I took the day off because I wanted to finally finish up my teeth cleaning at the University of Minnesota dental school.  The school has always recommended I finish get a ... what's it called, a varnish?  Insurance doesn't pay for it, but they say it revitalizes my enamel, and I should keep my teeth as strong as possible.

Unfortunately, as part of making sure the varnish sticks, I could not eat anything too hot, sticky or crunchy -- or alcohol -- for four-to-six hours.  That meant that my plans to eat a hamburger with potato chips and cocktail at this new dive bar (isn't that an oxymoron?) went out the window.  Or did it?  I decided that I may not be back there for a while, so I still went to the dive bar.  I just modified my order: I decided to upcharge my side from chips to french fries (the burger and chips are a lunchtime special) and drank water instead of alcohol.

However, I regularly check all my fast food apps, and Chick-Fil-A was giving out free chicken nuggets in conjunction with the Timberwolves playing in the NBA Playoffs.  I thought about just going to Chick-Fil-A, but ultimately decided I could eat a little at the dive bar, then eat a little at Chick-Fil-A.  I washed the nuggets down with a Cherry Berry Sunjoy, whatever that is.

I figured that whatever I eat for dinner at home I could cut back on, like a snack.  But dammit, that was the day Mother decided to make pho for us.  Normally I would it and scarf it down; it may be my favorite meal, definitely my favorite meal she makes.  Unfortunately, since I had a burger and fries and chicken nuggets and a sugary drink, I hit a brick wall when trying to finish.  Guess I shouldn't have asked for more soup, but Mother usually offers and I usually say yes.  Most of the added broth I couldn't eat, and there was some noodles and meat and green onions down at the bottom of the bowl I simply could not consume.  I feel ashamed.  Still do, days later.

And I haven't quite come down from feeling full since Friday.  That triple shot of meals over the course of three hours was a big, big mistake.  And I can feel it, and probably see it, whenever I look down at my fat belly.

The After-Second Shift Munchies

I weighed 176 pounds on Monday.  Very disappointing for me.  Didn't think I ate that much up to that point, but assuming the scale isn't broken, it don't lie.

I am working second shift Monday through today, then getting the rest of the week off.  (Tomorrow/Thursday the guy from the sprinkler company is coming over to winterize the system, and I want to be there for that.  Then, I have some paid time off to burn, so I thought to just make a long weekend over it.)  I usually buy sandwiches beforehand to eat for lunch, then drink tea and the pop I also bought, and that would be my dinner.  That doesn't seem that calorie-rich, and I don't think it is.  But in each of the past two days, and for all I can remember every time I work second shift, as soon as I get home past midnight, I'm eating something.  This time around it's either Doritos with french onion dip or peanuts.  I think my diligence at work is suppressing my body and my appetite so that once I'm done, my urge to eat is unleashed like an animal freed from a cage.  And depending on how much I eat (which, if you remember, is on top of the sandwich and pop and tea I usually consume at work), it might blow my self-imposed calorie restriction.

But I'm hungry, darn it, you know?  Eh, I might as well be on laxatives on a regular basis if I want to lose weight. ...

Sorry, Too Much Food ... Can't Help Myself

Did not have to spend one minute extra at work.  Left after eight hours.  Surprised because I thought there would be a ton of stuff backed up from the weekend, but I got through it all.  This probably means the crush of work comes today/Wednesday.

No matter.  I was going home at a decent hour -- early enough where, possibly, I would be able to eat with my parents.  But that didn't happen.  My folks, both of whom are in their seventies, continue to eat dinner at around ... fuck if I know, but let's say 3 in the afternoon.  Because when I got home around 5:15, they did what they usually do when they eat first: They have a place setting of some food in dishes and have a plugged-in rice cooker with rice and some protein they cooked up (steak, pork, or chicken, like it was last night) in it.  That's totally great.  I don't want to take for granted that they have provided food for me all my life, and continue to do so to this day; I am never for want, plus it saves me money.

Unfortunately, I am permanently beholden to the idea that whatever they leave for me I have to eat.  All of it.  I can certainly blame them for that mindset; I was a difficult child when it came to eating because I was never hungry.  I was beaten down (always mentally, sometimes physically), and then I gave up and decided the best way to get their love and approval was to eat whatever they presented in front of me.  That mentality set in at some point when I was a kid, and it has never, ever let me go, even to this day.

That's why I was hoping, probably beyond hope, that they would wait for me.  When we eat together -- well, I like the fact that we eat together, don't get me wrong, but I also feel as though I get to dictate how much I eat.  Instead, when they leave food for me, I don't ever feel like I can just not eat what they left for me.  I eat it all.  And mostly it's a hell of a lot -- especially rice; most days when I eat on my own but especially last night, I wasn't hungry, and I probably ate way more than 2,000 of them.

The only upside I feel to eating by myself is not feeling pressured to finish.  If I have to eat it all and then do the dishes, I'll do that all on my time.  But either it was because I was hoping my parents would eat with me or because my stomach was full from everything I ate at the State Fair on Monday, I really, really was not looking forward to eating this all.  I wasn't that hungry.  But Christ, I ate it all anyway, because otherwise Mother will get mad at me, even if I know nowadays that she won't.  And I did eat it all.  Took me almost two hours, but I did!

In the middle of my consuming slog, Mother came up to me at the dining table.  She told me I didn't have to eat it all, and she said that if I told them around, oh, 3 o'clock that I would be coming home at 5, then they'd wait for me.  But I have been coming home late so often that they can't wait to eat, so they eat first and they guess what they will leave for me.  Usually it's more than I need.  I'm not mad, but ... it's too much.  It almost always is.

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I have been feeling fat all night.  I have been fat -- shit, for a long, long time now.  I have averaged over 170 pounds the past few times I have been screened, and I know it's because of the combination of the food Father forces me to take to work with me and the food Mother leaves for me when I come home.  All those unnecessary calories add up to my distended belly.  And that's why (let me vent here) I'm glad they're leaving soon.  I love their food, I love that they make food for me, and it allows me to save money.  But I am feeling too damn bloated every single day and night, and it's finally gotten to be too much.  I probably will eat too much (and eat out too much) once they leave.  I know it.  But as I am feeling right now, I would prefer that.  Because this is too much.  Way too much.

Just between you and me, I haven't been feeling great lately.  It goes beyond the bloat I feel from eating too much, something that won't be alleviated because I'm hitting the State Fair a couple more times before it's gone.  But I've been coughing some too, and I've been blowing my nose more often as well.  I hear allergies are kicking up, and August is the time I get my second wave of it (mostly from ragweed, even though I don't know if ragweed levels are up right now).

Do you know what's also kicking up?  COVID.  I have been kind of loose with the precautions (asshole at the Fair aside), so I easily could've gotten it.  Man, I wish I could get a new vaccine.  Well, if it's too late, I hope I'm healthy enough to live through it.

Last Friday, when I had that, uh, situation with getting into my screening, when I finally was able to get into my blood screening, one of the things the lab technician made me do was hold one end of a tape measure to get my waist.  I am 38 inches round.  Hearing that made my heart sink.

Last/Friday night I went to St. Paul to check out the restaurant which will have our alma mater's Game on.  Thought I would let them know how serious I am about giving them my (and hopefully our) business, I opted for their prime rib dinner.  And I'm glad I finished it, even though it took me time, but I felt every single damn calorie of that thing, great as it was.  But that may just be the green khakis that I am wearing for the week.

I keep noticing my belly bulging through my shirts more and more.  I think I've said before that I started getting fat at least a decade ago, and probably long before then.  But between the waist measurement and not getting into my tight khakis comfortably and eating last night, yeah, I'm getting fat.  And I feel I am getting fatter, and I feel like I'm gaining weight.

(sigh)

Hmmm ... These USWNT Jerseys Really Bring Out My Fat Belly

My USWNT jersey came yesterday/Thursday.  Hope to wear it once before Sunday, when they take on, and probably get steamrolled by, Sweden.  More on this later (I think), but I also hope to be able to wear it with some pride after bitter recriminations of falling short of their third World Cup title drop away and their 2019 WWC triumph (as memorialized by the fourth star atop the badge on the jersey) stand in our memory untarnished instead.

Kind of waited before getting the jersey ... just because.  But as I waited, the selection of sizes dwindled.  When I finally decided to buy it, I had two choices: Extra Small and Small.  Before that, when I checked the Nike website, they had Medium, but no Large.  When I saw that S was all that was left, I was at first scared I couldn't buy it.  But then I checked the two USWNT jerseys I do have, which I bought during the 2019 WWC (which had three stars) and, I think, shortly after the 2015 WWC (which had two).  The '19 shirt was a Medium, but the '15 was a Small.  And I fit in both, and with little trouble.  By the way, I can tell the S is smaller than the M, but the difference is slight.  Nike makes a good product, IMHO.

I put both of these on and strode up to my bedroom mirror.  Neither jersey suffocated me, but they are both tight around my stomach -- my fat stomach.  Yeah, whenever I walk around in these shirts, I'm reminded again about how everyone can see the bulge in my gut.  And this is where I lament again about how skinny I was in my childhood and into my twenties.  Seriously, when I got to college, I was between 115 and 125 pounds.  And I was there for a long time despite the different diets I decided to fall back on once I was out on my own, in both Los Angeles and later in El Paso.  And yet, at some point 20 years or so ago, the metabolism that kept my body rockin' like a furnace broke.  One day not too long ago I was rifling through old photos of myself (I don't remember if I was on my phone, I was online on Facebook, or I was looking through literal pictures I had in my hand).  I can date back to about a decade ago photos where the big belly I have now was quite visible then, so I've been fat and out-of-shape for at least a decade.

I wonder when it all went wrong.  I sometimes wonder how it all went wrong.  Was it because of the depression I went through in my twenties, when the lack of a full-time job and direction finally compelled me to eat so much my metabolism quit?  (I think my depression was a main reason I started Wailing And Failing.)  Did it coincide with Grandmother's mental deterioration?  Or is this all natural, and that I have eaten and drank as much as I wanted when I was a kid but my body no longer can just use it at a rate where my body doesn't look like I eat and drink a whole lot?

At any rate, I am fat and I look fat, and these now three USWNT jerseys really emphasize my fat belly.  But hey, I wanted to commemorate the team winning its fourth title, so I stuck to my principle of buying the USWNT shirt on the Year of a Women's World Cup if they won the previous Women's World Cup.  In other words, if what I think will happen happens, I won't be buying no jersey in 2027.  At any rate, since both the Medium and Small bring out my gut, I saw no reason why I shouldn't buy the Small.  It fits me, plus the only real reason I would buy a Medium is if it would hide my stomach, and if the M I do have is any indication, I don't think it will.  So I bought the Small, and I will wear it at least to the 4 a.m. Women's World Cup Final, featuring or not featuring the United States, and I will stick out my fat belly for all to see!

This Is What Happens When I Eat By Myself

Work yesterday/Monday was a grind.  I feel as though I was in the wrong frame of mind going in to work after four days off.  The load of work was not an unprecedented amount, although it was as high as it has gotten.  I just felt as though it was a lot.  And I got out of there at ten hours not quite completing everything I want to do before I leave for the day.

Still, since my parents are home and they're willing to cook something for me, I went straight home for dinner.  What did I get?  Mashed potatoes and shrimp.  It was great.  Really, it was.  So great that I ate 20 shrimp -- and they weren't small.  They were plump.  And deep-fried.  Haven't had shrimp in a long time.  Haven't seen my parents break out a ketchup bottle for dinner in a long, long time.  But I sat at the dining room table, by myself, scrolling through my phone, gobbling up first the potatoes and then having a first serving (by which I mean I sprayed an amount of ketchup on my plate) of shrimp, and then deciding to have a second serving of shrimp.

Big mistake, that second serving; me eating my feelings quickly ended, and my bloated feeling of getting fat kind of rose up from my stomach and slapped in the head and screamed at me, "What the hell are you doing??!!  You're eating too much!!"  And I am, and even as I type this now -- after finishing up a bowl of melons Father cut for me for work after the shrimp, and then putting jelly into the peanut butter sandwich he made for me for work which I actually ate around midnight -- I certainly am feeling the aftereffects of my, uh, bingeing in my stomach.

I am quietly freaking out now because my health screening for my health insurance is coming up.  OK, it's in five weeks.  But I'm still freaking out about it.  They have increased the number of benchmarks you need to get the discount I have gotten on my insurance ever since I started working for my company.  Up to this year you had to just sign a statement saying you don't smoke and fall below a Body Mass Index threshold.  Now, there are three more markers -- one of them is high blood pressure and I don't remember the two others -- and you have to reach three of the five.  I'm pretty sure I'm not going to get the high blood pressure one, and I'm scared as hell that stuffing my face like this is going to cause me to overshoot the other two factors.  And I think it's best to start as soon as possible limiting how much I eat and what to eat, but dammit, I've got my parents at home and they're worried sick that I'm not eating, and I'm worried sick that if I don't eat at home I will displease them.  It would be me if they decide to leave the day after I do this panel.  One final week's worth of dinners at home, one final week of proving I am their son, and I am going to sacrifice potentially an extra $240 to do it.

(Well, there are diversionary options if I don't hit three of the five that still get me that insurance break.  You have to sign up through some fitness coach thing on the work health insurance, but I don't want to do that.  And to be honest, I could be stuffing my face if my parents weren't here, so there's that.)

But this is what happens (sometimes) when I eat by myself.  I can't eat just one shrimp.  I have to eat 20.  And I have to feel it for the next 24 hours ... or five weeks.

Smart People Can Be Real, Real Dumb

I endeavor to participate in more of this club's events.  This particular sub-group goes out for dinner once a month, and I'm down.  I went to a local Mexican restaurant chain, and it was fantastic.  Well, I got full really quick because I ate my fill of their free chips and salsa, and I kind of regret doing that because I felt full ever since I made myself two cocktails Thursday night.

The company was ... good.  I don't know them well, but we were united in our objective smartness.  But once again I am reminded that just because we're smart doesn't mean we're, like, smart in other areas, if you know what I mean.  If you don't, let's just say that the guy sitting across from me, a very mild-mannered, conservatively-dressed man who was very nice to me, kept spouting Republican talking points about how there should be no minimum wage, there should be fewer regulations when it comes to creating housing (he was joined in agreement by the guy sitting beside me, another person who, when not talking about these issues, was also really nice), and the perils of socialism.  While MAGAts in polos, khakis and masks are terrifying, it's the quiet ones, the men and women who look so normal they will blend into the scenery, that probably hold the most insidious opinions on politics and life.

This club holds a massive worldwide convention every year.  In one convention (probably one just before the pandemic), organizers apologized to attendees after some made allegations of sexual harassment and unwanted touching.  There was a Facebook group with club members who solely told racist, sexist and anti-Semitic jokes; the global board knew about this group but did nothing about them because ... uh, they believed in free speech or something.  That group finally got shut down after some members made a lot more noise about it.  Finally, I remember going out for beers one night with another sub-group, and one of the people there consistently wanted to tell jokes that always included oral sex.  Consistently.

We might be book smart.  We could be intense in our passions, and very probing with our curiosities.  That doesn't mean, at all, that we put the knowledge we have gathered to good use, or draw reasonable conclusions from what we learn.  And it sure as hell doesn't mean we won't say or do stupid things, or that we'll even behave like grown-ups.  I keep falling into the trap that because we are smart when it comes to one thing, we know what to do -- we are "smart" -- when it comes to all things.  You can't be further from the truth, and last night's dinner is a prime reminder of that.