Monday, July 27, 2015

Master Of Disaster

I didn't fall off the face of the earth, although, wouldn't that be fun? I hope it would be about where the Bahamas are located. My luck, it would be Alcatraz.

I'm finding myself at a crossroads. Perhaps it is the impending doom of 50 approaching. Yikes!



My daily routine has become too routine so I am mucking up my schedule so I don't fall into the geriatric category. You know how those old people get all out of whack when they don't abide by their schedule? Screw that.

So Monday-that is TODAY- is a change of pace and I am going to begin painting for the first time in over 20 years. Granted it is an art piece on the wall of my house and not a canvas. No, I am not painting naked ladies on the wall, but an eclectic tree of life. I will post before and after pics.

No, I am not going to cut out my running routine or stop cooking fresh food. I'm going to change up my pace to enjoy some things I haven't done in a while. I found out some information on some fishing holes so we will see how that goes. I don't know. I 'm used to trout fishing in blue ribbon streams with clear Rocky Mountain water. I'm not sure about this eastern murky bliss fishing for browns. Yeah. Not the trout kind of browns. Oh, but Fargo, it's filtered! We filter Indiana streams and river. Bleck. The pee still gets through. Nothing like wading knee deep in sewage.

Maybe I will score a trunk of lost gold. It might be safer than pan frying any of these fish.



My luck otherwise seems to be along the same lines as usual. My boss said I am a disaster and the only luck I have is bad luck. Peeshaw.  Well, he may be sorta right.

Saturday faturday. Hooked my front bumper on a piece of re bar from a parking block. That was in an attempt to work out on the greenway by the river and mind you, I parked at the only parking space with effing re bar still in the parking block. Dang you, City! My work out wasn't so great either because it was humid and hot and miserable and I had to dodge goose poop.



Yesterday while working in the yard, a mosquito bit my face and it swelled up to the size of a goiter. Isn't that effing great. I looked like the Elephant Man. I'm not even exaggerating. I needed an extra napsack to carry my face whereever I go. Nothing a little Benadryl followed by a drug induced sleep wouldn't cure. It knocked me out for 3 hours.

Today. More fun. Flat tires. Made coffee with no coffee grounds so a pot of nice hot bland water came out. Grr. It's a football day. Punt away I say!

However, No worries. I am still positive. Must stay optimistic. No sense letting a few crab tree moments get a good woman down.

My daughter comes home tomorrow from her visitation in Wyoming. I am so excited to see her. The house has been NOT so quiet with the crazy dogs. Bless their furry hearts. Nothing accomplished on that list I posted a while back. NOTHING. I did not paint the house. We had too much rain and when it wasn't raining, it was too hot. So it now looks like it will be a fall project.

Well, I can add an extra set of arms with the Bugmeister being home. Scrape. Scrape. Wax on. Wax off. Just call me Mr. Miyagi.

Thursday, July 16, 2015

Sugar Belly

Except for diseases and hormonal issues, my doctor said MOST OFTEN, not always, our metabolism slows down or stops from too much sugar, processsed food, preservatives, and additives. It's a breakdown in our innards. Consquently, it affects brain function as well and leads to depression, auto-immune diseases, and metabolic syndromes. It doesn't even have to be A LOT of those items being inputted into our bodies. It just depends on how it reacts.

It is no secret I contracted asthma from a meth lab house and incident on a raid. No I was not a drug addict, I was a cop.

A long time ago (2002) I had purchased a book on asthma which included information on foods and beverages which affected breathing. Sounds crazy, doesn't it? Not really after you understand how food works. Well, I discussed it with my doctor in Denver who is the best respiratory doc in the world. No kidding. There are awards to prove it. She said absolutely. So here are some breathing tips:

1. Lots of water.
2. Caffinated coffee or tea (is there any other kind?)
3. Fresh uncooked green vegetables.
4. Apples

What makes breathing slow down? Things with sulfides, additives, preservatives, sugars, chemical ingredients, pastas,  and some grains. Weird, huh? Not really. It makes sense now.

I'm used to it. And because I was a non-believer of all this mish mash I tested all of it. Guess what? Duh. Doctors were right. I guess they do know something.

It's true I have been an exercise freak for quite some time and kept my manic routines up during all of this but nothing was progressing. Last fall, I had 6 months of almost nada because of my broken neck and rotator cuff issue as well. I was a miserable human being inside and out. And in denial on top of it. It is hell getting old. Bastards never told us any of this shit was going to happen.

I don't take Geratol nor any other vitamins. Nor do I need Metamucil. Maybe I could use some Ben Gay once in a while after running, but I opt for a hot pack.

I do have to supplement this regimented plan with the B-12 shots from the doctor.

So when doctor number 2 tells me I need to go all organic, I did not question this. I jumped on that pony.



Since March 20, I have lost 33 pounds and have not used my emergency inhaler. Hmm. Crazy. I packed in those pounds eating poor man's food when I was unemployed which led to a cycle I couldn't get out of nor set aside.  Plus processed foods are cheap and you would think the opposite.

I'm pretty embarassed to tell you all that.

Was I shoving sugar down my throat by massive buckets of ice cream? NO. But did you know SUGAR is in everything. It is. Read your ingredients. And if you don't know the chemical by products or other names sugar goes by, you might miss it. Scary stuff.

They put crack in our food so we buy more.

Oh yeah. I check everything. No one wants to shop or live with me. I am strict and dedicated.

Once in a while I slip a little just to show myself  NOT to do that.

Even Cadbury Creme Eggs sound gross. Crazy. I know, right?

If you keep up with the Kardashians, you would see my new pics on Facebook. I look a lot better. I feel a lot better. Old me returneth. Fuck that unhealthy nonsense. It sucked.

I have totally eliminated sugars and almost all pastas. Rarely do I eat bread and I have already mentioned what kind I buy. Funny thing is I am not as hungry. I don't crave sweets. I have energy. In a few months I get my chemistry done again to see if anything has changed. I am still fighting with Vitamin D, B12, and iron levels. Plus for some reason my protein is low despite all the protein I consume.

All this is boring to you I am sure.

So what happened today to spark this post?

Our students have graduated and it's their last day in the office. What better way to celebrate than to eat cake? Duh. I did not buy it. The bosses bought this lucious white cake with the butter cream frosting from a great bakery in town. I'm sure the frosting is made out of lard.

Well.

I had to have a piece.

I thought one little piece will be fine.

Ugh.

I had two little pieces which were a little cake with a lotta frosting.

I am now sick.

I told you so.

Here's a cute baby bat picture so you can say you at least got something out of these confessions of a Sugar Belly.






Monday, July 13, 2015

Straitjacket Talk

"Just what if."

That's what my friends said to me the other day while we giggled over her online dating woes. What if you met your soul mate?

Thinking about online dating makes me want to seize up. I have had many friends find their husbands through online dating. Actually, the thought of dating scares me and I fear a broken heart again.

Subsequently, my history with men shows I can't pick 'em. Even if the computer matched me, I would choose wrong. For example, if I had several matches online, I would pick the serial killer. Or the hot guy who turns out to be a meeb. So then, do you trick yourself by picking an average looking guy? What hits you in the heart about their profile? I mean, they could all be fake. It's like fishing and I would reel in the bucket.



All of these fears did not phase Carol and Rita. They had those too. In fact, I think they relished on the catfishes more than the real persons who turned out to be disappointing dates. They were able to pick out the spammers and scammers faster than determining who was compatible with them in real life. I don't know that I have any of those skills. It's true, I used to be a cop. However, I have failed at personal relationships and I can't figure out why for the life of me.

My first fear is putting myself out there like a slab of meat. Many have told me if I was online, the hits would come out like the Mafia took over Chicago. Is that a compliment?

So their best advice was to tailor your headline a certain way to attract attention and their advice: it should be a bit cheeky or clever, but not to sound desperate. I think you should be authentic or not be online at all. I know, there are trolls. Now I have to be clever, too? It is a haven for freaks. It's part of the process. But, it's too bad the screening companies can't screen them better.

Second, I will be real and sure enough, I would get a fake dude or one who thinks he is all that and turns out to be a slimy fish in reality. And what if you get a great guy with a little penis or a dysfunctional one? We discussed that too. Not that sex is everything, but I am in my prime.  Why not use it before you lose it? Plus, a vibrator only gets your rocks off. It doesn't get intimate with you.

Lastly, we must stay away from foreign spammers who suck you in and want to take your money. And what if your pics are too sexy? And what if you come off as corny?

Attracting the meebs is surely going to happen, yes? That's what I fear. My friends scolded me..."You were a cop, for Pete's sake." Why bring Pete into this? Apparently my cop work did not work well with the second husband. It was like the prison guard falling for the inmate type of thingy. Ew. Shudder. I don't want to go back to that.



We came up with a Fargo list...

My priorities:

1. They must be STD cleared, carrying a health card, and have not slept with the entire world.

2. A first date priority is to drop trow and if Mr. Wanky goes up with the wind, they pass the next round. Then pull them up and save that for later if he passes for a second date.

3. The ex wife or girlfriend cannot be a psycho bitch from hell and/or on the police blotter list for stalking. Definitely no married men.

4. Financial portfolio must show they are a hard worker and capable of supporting a family. Well to do would be preferable, but I can live with a secure income. Online you can say anything you want. You have to meet them in person and figure that out for reals. Shudder.

5. Intelligence would be nice but not required as long as the woman is considered the princess. ( I had to lower my standards) Ok. Wait. I can't lower this requirement. I do not want to mingle with Dumbo. He's cute and all, but I need some smarts.

6. Eventually, he must be monogamous if it goes past a few dates. I am not one of his whoers. (Pronounced hoo-ers)

7. A gentleman would be nice and preferred, but a woodsy real man will do, too. Can I have both?

8. Must not be a couch potato. He has to be active and adventurous, likes to explore, and loves the outdoors.

9. No arrest record. Well, at least not recent and no felonies. Ok. This part is hard to prove. Shudder.

10. Must love guns. Only not gangsta style.

11. Must love dogs.

12. Manners matter. Good looks are a bonus. Humor is a must.

13. I have to screen your plaid. There is cool plaid and lamo plaid.



Yes, we laughed and had a little fun. That's what you do when you drink, eat, and girl bond.

Anyway, those are the tops on the list for now. I can't even think about it, really. it hurts my head. Additionally, I have a child to proect.

I watched the trolls flock on to my friend's profile and not surprisingly because she is a beautiful woman inside and out. She has had maybe 5 dates in 15 years and has not gotten past the first date with any man. She doesn't even answer most of the online hits. Maybe getting the hits is just a self-esteem boost. I don't know.



Some tips I can give those trolls out there:

1. If your online name is LOOKING4U...I will be inserting my finger into my mouth and not to simulate a blow job and trying to entice you, but faking a gag.

2. If your profile is jb236 I think of you more as a vial of sperm waiting at the sperm bank for a lucky couple and not a real person. Sure, you want to be sorta anonymous for a while, but couldn't you pick something a little more personal?

3. If your online name is  loney_guy, you definitely will get passed over because you can't spell. Seriously? You didn't think about that? You just needed an "L" and you sound desperate. Common sense? I think not. I don't need a spelling bee genius, but if you can't take the time into your profile name to spellcheck, then egads, man!

4. I love the old pictures of when you were in high school, Mr. 52 year old. Really? Either show us how you kept yourself up or show us your moobs. Be real or get off the set. Puhlease.



5. My favorite are the arrogant assholes who show themselves in leather pants and all their 25 pics are of them next to a cut off girl, but they kept her boobs in the shot. Face palm. Thanks for giving me that, because you are too egotistic for me to give you a second thought, Mr. I Think I Am It. Perhaps you should go to strip clubs or do some Internet porn to satisfy your needs of sleeping with every girl on the planet. It's obvious you are just looking for a hook up. Maybe Tinder is for you.

6. If some of your pics are you in front of a mirror flashing gang signs and you are 55? Seriously. Loosah. You might find your match down in the local ghettohood. Where does the computer get off thinking I would be attracted to that?

7. If you are from Los Angeles and you "favorite" me, I am thinking you are a creeper. Really? You can't find any fish in the big ocean of LA? I'm not that hot.

Ultimately, wherever my bobby pins and hair ties go, they're happy. I know. They are metal and elastic. I do not claim to make any sense. On a serious note, I don't want to get in touch with my feelings again. It hurts too much. I wish I could trade my heart for another liver so I could drink more and care less. NO! I am not ready for a straitjacket yet.

Now this is the Strait jacket I am talking about, people!


So who wants to screen my hits? Any advice?

~TooScaredToOnlineDate
~TrollKeeper




Thursday, July 9, 2015

Glass House, Cardboard Box!

Sometimes I feel sorry for my friends who have always lived in a box. I guess I shouldn't. They have always lived there.

I must have a bewildered look on my face at times when they talk about their lives. Their routine is the same every week. Like nailed to a cross. Maybe twice a year they alter it and take a vacation. However, the rest of the year...every day is planned out. I'm not kidding. The plan cannot be changed. It is the plan. Beat me.

I couldn't do it.

I need to live...OUTSIDE the box. Boxes are good. For packing.



Imagine my surprise when for some reason pre-paying for fuel came into our recent conversation. My friend said she has never done it in her life. Never paid in advance for gas with cash? Nope. Never.

WTF? Over.

I can't comprehend. My mind channeling will not compute.

So, I said, "You got two bucks? Let's go do it."

She would not have it. Maybe it was the two bucks worth of gas. Maybe it was going to face REAL PEOPLE. Cringe.

Also, we are 40 miles from any border and do you think she has been to Ohio or Kentucky?

So I had to break her at least into Ohio.

Camping? Nope. Not even a thought.

They don't have satin sheets there. Shudder.

So these things are not every one's cup of tea, but I just can't comprehend not trying something or even educating yourself about it. And when you live 20 miles from another state, I cannot even think you wouldn't go hop the border for a visit. Weird.

It all makes as much sense as this song from Bob The Builder. Big fish. Little fish. Cardboard Box.

It does have a little beat and I like the knee jerk dance.

Cardboard box!

I can't help it. It is so weird to me.

People who live in glass houses should not throw stones. Or kids. Or have sex. People can see you.


Sunday, July 5, 2015

The Turd Boat to Bozo Town

Have you ever experienced clarity? I don't think they are long moments of time. I believe they are glimpses in which God takes a 2 x 4 to our head, only in a nice way.

For example, yesterday I stepped outside and the grass was so green it pierced my eyes. I ran last night and I could taste the air, smell all the scents, and the fire flies lit up the fields.

Or you have those moments where there is so much love in your heart, it is going to burst.

That's the mother fucking clarity I'm talking about.

Coming back to life from an energy deficient metabolic hiatus is no easy task. Now that I have seen the other side again, I don't want to go back to that unhealthy state. I can't imagine why I got used to living in pain and fatigue. I was existing in a fog and not really living life. It isn't the first time. I have had other stages where these phases have taken over a chunk of time. I call them Twilight Zones.

Trying to tackle fat is a challenge, however, I would feel better if my fat screamed when I exercised. I'm sadistic like that. It would make me feel good to get even with it. 


Sometimes I jump on my pillows half naked and pretend I am pounding fat. Not really.
How many of us take selfies standing on our bed like this? Like no one.


I feel the same about food which does not agree with me.  There is good food and mean food. It's just like the rest of the world. If it has a boxing match in my stomach, I want revenge. However, beating a tomato doesn't give me much satisfaction.

I want to hit it back like with a baseball bat, but by the time I figure out I need to retaliate against food, it's too late. That would really hurt my stomach. And once it leaves the body, well, it's just poop. That pretty much defeats the purpose. I try talking to my food and tell it to be nice to me before I eat it but it doesn't listen.

This disturbs me. At first glance, oh cute baby thing. Then you think about it. You are eating a baby. Just gross.


Have you ever thought about how unfair fat is to a person? First, while you are exercising, you have to keep telling yourself to keep going. It always tries to talk you out of it. Fat is the negative voice in your head. And then fat makes your brain wander off track and think of ice cream and chocolate. That's why I have music blaring in my head-to shut off the voices. Second, you get treated differently when you are fat, even snarled at, frowned upon, or discriminated against.

So what are we supposed to do? Think of that perfect body we are going to have? Is that motivation or obsession? What about thinking about being healthy and feeling good? Meh. That's pretty blah-zay. It doesn't motivate me at the time, it makes me feel good later.

How about fantasizing about slapping skin with Dwayne Johnson? Well, it is an orgasmic moment which passes,  but it doesn't motivate me because it isn't going to happen. Imagine being fit and...nope...does nothing for my motivation.

How about other types of fantasizing for motivation? Hmmm.

I don't read romance novels either so I can't escape the reality of being alone without a man. So I don't imagine one whispering he wants to put his sword in my sheath. Yeah. That's why I hate romance novels. They are corny. And I really don't need someone's manhood throbbing between my thighs or poking me in the butt while I am trying to cut melons. It is neither practical nor realistic to think women walk around the kitchen nekkid waiting for our man in a loincloth to come home with his beast kill for the evening feast, drop it on the floor, and stick it to us before sitting down for a mug of slog.

Nope.

So creative thoughts about me being Fargo Barbie do not enter my head. I don't have a Ken.

The really great thing? I am getting healthy for only myself and it has always been about that no matter what stage in my life I got fit. It has to be about what is inside. We have to be happy with ourselves no matter what size or flavor we are.

I really don't know anymore which thoughts, incentives, or actions inspire me to exercise. Perhaps opposites attract and I don't want to go back to that dark place. Maybe it is the fact I feel great when I am done. No one ever walked out of a gym and hated the fact they went.

Things which motivated me in the past, don't now. For instance, I had to past a rigorous PT test for cophood. I don't now.  I have just gotten into a routine and guilt has taken over if I slack off. I guess it works.

Maybe if someone was running in front of me with a Cadbury Crème Egg or a beer, that would motivate me to go faster.

I started to surf Pinterest for new exercises, or motivating articles with some different running schedules, but nothing really kept my interest. I can't help but wish I had been born with better genetics which gave me a healthy body I didn't have to work for.

I have never heard of exercises which make your clothes fall off. I just called it sex. This article has to be about sex moves.  I remember it to be better with a partner.

 
 
I really don't have all the answers to why we have moments of clarity nor why we lose it to lengths of weakness and get lost in our lives. Maybe we check out for a while. Maybe. Aliens. Are. Real.
 
Before I realize I have checked out, time has swallowed months, maybe years. Maybe I am the only one who has these issues. But I don't think so. Alien abductions are reported all over the world. I don't remember anything about the mother ship except they feed you ice cream and lots of take out.
 
Maybe aliens are the natives to Earth and humans are the intruders.
 
Not really.
 
I go through bozo moments.
 
I have to kick my own ass on occasion. I'm going to kick this body into high gear and get inspirized by a headless figure. I used to have a stomach like this. When I checked out, aliens took it with them and replaced it. Bastards.
 
 
But what about our journey? What happens to the inside when we work on the outside? I started by taking a before picture with some words which sum me up in three sentences. In a few months, I will take another picture and see what the camera captures inside and out. Maybe we all need clarifying moments and silly tasks to look at ourselves through different lenses.
 
 
 
 
Whatever floats your boat. It's a terrible saying. I say-Paddle your ass through the water. Turds float.
 
Don't Be A Turd!