Monday, January 08, 2007
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Hunky Dory Day
So I fancied a nice long soak in the bath in the middle of the day.
What of it?
One of the few advantages of living alone is that I can do what the fuck I want, when I feel like it. The same goes for eating and drinking.
Actually, now that I come to think of it, it IS rather nice that there's nobody trying to call me up or wondering where I am or what I'm doing all the time;
nobody filling every square inch of the bathroom with crap and making my bath stink of rotting fruit and washing powder (yes, Ame, I dated a Lush addict);
nobody saying "You've got thousands of books, what do you want another one for?";
nobody throwing a strop and scoring fucking points;
nobody saying "You're not thinking of wearing that, are you?";
nobody to moan that it's black and white or it's got subtitles;
nobody shouting, swearing, abusing and slapping me around every fourth week while expecting me to be angelic and supportive about it, yet never once apologising … ever;
nobody to stop me drinking scotch in bed;
nobody to scream at me for ironing her silk blouse on cotton setting;
nobody to stop me following that police car round and round Norwich with a fucking great spliff on the go;
nobody putting their COLD feet on my nice warm tummy in the middle of the night;
Hmm … perhaps this dating business is all just a cunning and fiendish trap set by weemen to get me to cook and clean and iron for them … Damn my stupid penis for getting turned on by nice perky little boobs …
Anyway, back to my lovely hot, slightly overfilled bath … Brew up some yummy Cuban coffee and relax … Mmmmmm …
Today is a Hunky Dory day (thanks, Rich), so Hunky Dory goes on repeat play in the studio, whilst just down the landing I settle in to my wonderfully unperfumed bathwater and get to work on becoming seriously wrinkly.
Before I get in, I check my bum cheeks for the telltale signs of alien abduction and anal probing after reading Ame's mysterious description of her own experience (check Saturday's comments).
The upshot of all this crap is that I get to thinking about bathtub music, so when I get out, I click on the "play count" in iTunes and am genuinely shocked at what it says about my age.
Crikey!
Most of the top few hundred tracks (we're talking over 90Gig of music collected over forty-eight years) are stuck firmly in the seventies … The SEVENTIES! The decade taste forgot! The decade that saw the death of the mini skirt and the rise of flares. Fucking hell!
This is alarming. If you wander on over to my profile, you'll see the kind of music I actually profess to liking. And that's not it.
The seventies! Shame on me. Although I suppose it was my teenage years, so it must have been pretty formative (newer readers: check back on old Dive's musical history) …
Having said that; Bowie, Steely Dan, Joni Mitchell all loom large, together with Dylan and the Beatles leaking over from the sixties; then there's Jeff Beck's Blow By Blow album (the only record of guitar music ever made that is actually listenable), Marvin Gaye's "What's Goin' On", Elton, Zep, Beefheart, Neil Young, Zappa, a fair bit of (ahem) prog, some punk of course …
Actually, I'm not so ashamed now I look at it. That's some damned fine music.
Let's have a belated hoorah for the seventies!
The puzzling thing is that ever since it first came out in 1979, one song has been stuck in my head.
It's like it's been hard-wired into my brain.
I mean we've all got songs running through our heads pretty much all of the time, right? Yet whenever I'm too busy or distracted I find my brain reverts to default and there's ALWAYS the same fucking song there.
And it's Joni Mitchell's "Sweet Sucker Dance" off her Mingus album.
WHY?
It's not as if I have any particular attachment to the song; it's not even close to being one of Joni's best. But there it is … all the time … stuck in my head.
And it's not exactly something I can sing along to, or even dance to …
Somehow it just got hard-wired in there. My brain's default song … Weird …
So. This calls for a mini-assignment:
Question 1:
Does your iTunes "Play Count" say anything surprising or embarrassing about you?
And please be honest.
Question 2:
Do you have a song that's "hard-wired" into your brain? Again, be honest rather than trying to be cool …
And Question 3:
Given the small list of examples above, am I really sure that I want a girlfriend?
What of it?
One of the few advantages of living alone is that I can do what the fuck I want, when I feel like it. The same goes for eating and drinking.
Actually, now that I come to think of it, it IS rather nice that there's nobody trying to call me up or wondering where I am or what I'm doing all the time;
nobody filling every square inch of the bathroom with crap and making my bath stink of rotting fruit and washing powder (yes, Ame, I dated a Lush addict);
nobody saying "You've got thousands of books, what do you want another one for?";
nobody throwing a strop and scoring fucking points;
nobody saying "You're not thinking of wearing that, are you?";
nobody to moan that it's black and white or it's got subtitles;
nobody shouting, swearing, abusing and slapping me around every fourth week while expecting me to be angelic and supportive about it, yet never once apologising … ever;
nobody to stop me drinking scotch in bed;
nobody to scream at me for ironing her silk blouse on cotton setting;
nobody to stop me following that police car round and round Norwich with a fucking great spliff on the go;
nobody putting their COLD feet on my nice warm tummy in the middle of the night;
Hmm … perhaps this dating business is all just a cunning and fiendish trap set by weemen to get me to cook and clean and iron for them … Damn my stupid penis for getting turned on by nice perky little boobs …
Anyway, back to my lovely hot, slightly overfilled bath … Brew up some yummy Cuban coffee and relax … Mmmmmm …
Today is a Hunky Dory day (thanks, Rich), so Hunky Dory goes on repeat play in the studio, whilst just down the landing I settle in to my wonderfully unperfumed bathwater and get to work on becoming seriously wrinkly.
Before I get in, I check my bum cheeks for the telltale signs of alien abduction and anal probing after reading Ame's mysterious description of her own experience (check Saturday's comments).
The upshot of all this crap is that I get to thinking about bathtub music, so when I get out, I click on the "play count" in iTunes and am genuinely shocked at what it says about my age.
Crikey!
Most of the top few hundred tracks (we're talking over 90Gig of music collected over forty-eight years) are stuck firmly in the seventies … The SEVENTIES! The decade taste forgot! The decade that saw the death of the mini skirt and the rise of flares. Fucking hell!
This is alarming. If you wander on over to my profile, you'll see the kind of music I actually profess to liking. And that's not it.
The seventies! Shame on me. Although I suppose it was my teenage years, so it must have been pretty formative (newer readers: check back on old Dive's musical history) …
Having said that; Bowie, Steely Dan, Joni Mitchell all loom large, together with Dylan and the Beatles leaking over from the sixties; then there's Jeff Beck's Blow By Blow album (the only record of guitar music ever made that is actually listenable), Marvin Gaye's "What's Goin' On", Elton, Zep, Beefheart, Neil Young, Zappa, a fair bit of (ahem) prog, some punk of course …
Actually, I'm not so ashamed now I look at it. That's some damned fine music.
Let's have a belated hoorah for the seventies!
The puzzling thing is that ever since it first came out in 1979, one song has been stuck in my head.
It's like it's been hard-wired into my brain.
I mean we've all got songs running through our heads pretty much all of the time, right? Yet whenever I'm too busy or distracted I find my brain reverts to default and there's ALWAYS the same fucking song there.
And it's Joni Mitchell's "Sweet Sucker Dance" off her Mingus album.
WHY?
It's not as if I have any particular attachment to the song; it's not even close to being one of Joni's best. But there it is … all the time … stuck in my head.
And it's not exactly something I can sing along to, or even dance to …
Somehow it just got hard-wired in there. My brain's default song … Weird …
So. This calls for a mini-assignment:
Question 1:
Does your iTunes "Play Count" say anything surprising or embarrassing about you?
And please be honest.
Question 2:
Do you have a song that's "hard-wired" into your brain? Again, be honest rather than trying to be cool …
And Question 3:
Given the small list of examples above, am I really sure that I want a girlfriend?
Sunday Gripe
Still stuck with my donkey-powered mud and straw local village telephone exchange, which British Telecom "have no plans to upgrade" to one made of twigs.
Having spent an hour and a half trying to read my last comments page (being disconnected twice and having to reload and reload 'cos it only loads the top three or four comments), I am yet again replying to my comments with a new post.
I'll be back in London tomorrow so things should return to "normal"
Oh, shit. That's three times it's disconnected me.
Right … Let's try again …
Robyn:
Blackpool (I'm still stunned that anyone in their right mind would go near the place).
I think your AAA guide must have been driving a Porsche flat out at around three in the morning to arrive at those journey times.
And as for your decision to take the TRAIN back again!!!
A seven hour a day commuter writes (with some authority and a nervous twitch):
Our British railways don't operate as a "transport service"; that concept would leave them baffled (both the words "transport" and "service").
Most of the time they are either on strike (like this Christmas) or closed due to "planned" or "overrunning" engineering works (like this Christmas and every single weekend).
These engineering works are basically panicky repairs; when the "service" was privatised, the first thing the private owners did was get rid of 60,000 (yes, you heard me right) maintenance jobs around the entire country, pay themselves fat bonuses and sell what was left. Several disastrous crashes and hundreds of deaths later we are now paying for their bonuses with our daily delays and cancellations.
For the past two years there have been NO trains from here to London at weekends, and one summer I had to spend eight weeks working from home because of them.
Anyway; enough of my gripes. (Shit! Disconnected again) … Just never even think about taking a train in Britain these days … or living in a Norfolk village if you want to use the internet …
Ame:
The journey from London to Blackpool does not come under the heading of driving and rambling along the British countryside. It's more like one of those bizarre ordeals you see on Japanese TV. Grinding stop-start traffic on endless miles of dull, grey motorway (with lots of roadworks), through the shittiest parts of dull, grey Britain (about half an hour of it up past Manchester is slightly less unpleasant, but that's all).
And I LOVE the new hair-do! It really suits you. Kinda reminds me of London in the swinging sixties. Cool …
As for giving me a year to do something about getting a date …
Okay, I'm up for that. I can't see it succeeding but I'll give it a go.
Kate:
Shouty bitches on trains make me glad handguns are illegal over here. Otherwise I'd be writing this from jail.
Old K.
You're welcome to 'em, mate. Just like in real life, they only want to be "friends" with me, so as far as I'm concerned, they're all yours. Go to it and good luck!
Having spent an hour and a half trying to read my last comments page (being disconnected twice and having to reload and reload 'cos it only loads the top three or four comments), I am yet again replying to my comments with a new post.
I'll be back in London tomorrow so things should return to "normal"
Oh, shit. That's three times it's disconnected me.
Right … Let's try again …
Robyn:
Blackpool (I'm still stunned that anyone in their right mind would go near the place).
I think your AAA guide must have been driving a Porsche flat out at around three in the morning to arrive at those journey times.
And as for your decision to take the TRAIN back again!!!
A seven hour a day commuter writes (with some authority and a nervous twitch):
Our British railways don't operate as a "transport service"; that concept would leave them baffled (both the words "transport" and "service").
Most of the time they are either on strike (like this Christmas) or closed due to "planned" or "overrunning" engineering works (like this Christmas and every single weekend).
These engineering works are basically panicky repairs; when the "service" was privatised, the first thing the private owners did was get rid of 60,000 (yes, you heard me right) maintenance jobs around the entire country, pay themselves fat bonuses and sell what was left. Several disastrous crashes and hundreds of deaths later we are now paying for their bonuses with our daily delays and cancellations.
For the past two years there have been NO trains from here to London at weekends, and one summer I had to spend eight weeks working from home because of them.
Anyway; enough of my gripes. (Shit! Disconnected again) … Just never even think about taking a train in Britain these days … or living in a Norfolk village if you want to use the internet …
Ame:
The journey from London to Blackpool does not come under the heading of driving and rambling along the British countryside. It's more like one of those bizarre ordeals you see on Japanese TV. Grinding stop-start traffic on endless miles of dull, grey motorway (with lots of roadworks), through the shittiest parts of dull, grey Britain (about half an hour of it up past Manchester is slightly less unpleasant, but that's all).
And I LOVE the new hair-do! It really suits you. Kinda reminds me of London in the swinging sixties. Cool …
As for giving me a year to do something about getting a date …
Okay, I'm up for that. I can't see it succeeding but I'll give it a go.
Kate:
Shouty bitches on trains make me glad handguns are illegal over here. Otherwise I'd be writing this from jail.
Old K.
You're welcome to 'em, mate. Just like in real life, they only want to be "friends" with me, so as far as I'm concerned, they're all yours. Go to it and good luck!
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Yesterday's Comment-fest Continued …
Bloody Hell!
This "what women want and how do I get hold of some" business has sparked off such a deluge of comments that I'm somewhat overwhelmed.
As I'm back in Norfolk for the weekend, where - as you know - my broadband connection is made of mud and straw and powered by a donkey, my comments page (31 from the last post so far) takes a bloody age to load.
Therefore, I'm continuing it up here.
So: in answer to those comments thus far unanswered:
Kate:
Voldemort. Love it! Ew indeed …
Robyn:
Sugar daddy? The thought of bestowing my largesse upon a younger lady in exchange for her favours had never actually occurred to me before, yet it is strangely appealing …
Please thank your daughter for her suggestion. I would ask you to box her up and send her over, but Kundsen once sent me a girl in a box (we had airholes cut and everything); and our postal service is so dreadful that she never arrived.
She's probably rotting away in the corner of some postal depot in Dundee …
Old K:
I had always thought that romance in Scotland involved clubbing something over the head with a haggis, rummaging around under its kilt for a bit, then dragging it away if it was vaguely female …
Yet here you are distilling a lifetime's experience into "all a man ever need know about weemen". Wonderful and sage advice.
I'll definitely be buying a cap …
Ame! California Girl!
Yay! Definitely up for meeting in April. Just let me know closer to the time which day you're likely to want to meet up and I'll book some leave and we can "do" London. Whatever you want … And yes, I suppose that would have to include the big Lush shop in Covent Garden …
GG:
Boy, oh boy, girl; you've sure got me sussed. You've been poking around in what passes for my brain and found a biggie.
There are things that'll never appear on this blog that have shaped the way I am. I suppose I should say "thanks" for stirring the sludge and bringing them back up to the surface … and maybe making me think about changing things a bit.
By the way; a nice change would be if some Australian girl living in Japan developed an irrational passion for a tatty old English bloke and turned up naked on his doorstep … er …
Spinny:
There are indeed some regular women commuters on my train. I've referred to them in a past post.
"A Woman Called Horse", "Mary Hopkin, Witchfinder General", together with several who are grouped under "Shouty Bitch With Mobile Fucking Phone" are women I would perhaps date in some dodgy-prawn-curry -induced nightmare, but never EVER in real life … Yikes!
Oh, by the way; EVERYBODY please click on the "Shouty Bitch" link. I sincerely believe it is something the whole planet should read and act upon.
So thanks for all the advice, gang. I now know (sort of) what women want and how to go about getting it.
Will I actually do anything about it?
This "what women want and how do I get hold of some" business has sparked off such a deluge of comments that I'm somewhat overwhelmed.
As I'm back in Norfolk for the weekend, where - as you know - my broadband connection is made of mud and straw and powered by a donkey, my comments page (31 from the last post so far) takes a bloody age to load.
Therefore, I'm continuing it up here.
So: in answer to those comments thus far unanswered:
Kate:
Voldemort. Love it! Ew indeed …
Robyn:
Sugar daddy? The thought of bestowing my largesse upon a younger lady in exchange for her favours had never actually occurred to me before, yet it is strangely appealing …
Please thank your daughter for her suggestion. I would ask you to box her up and send her over, but Kundsen once sent me a girl in a box (we had airholes cut and everything); and our postal service is so dreadful that she never arrived.
She's probably rotting away in the corner of some postal depot in Dundee …
Old K:
I had always thought that romance in Scotland involved clubbing something over the head with a haggis, rummaging around under its kilt for a bit, then dragging it away if it was vaguely female …
Yet here you are distilling a lifetime's experience into "all a man ever need know about weemen". Wonderful and sage advice.
I'll definitely be buying a cap …
Ame! California Girl!
Yay! Definitely up for meeting in April. Just let me know closer to the time which day you're likely to want to meet up and I'll book some leave and we can "do" London. Whatever you want … And yes, I suppose that would have to include the big Lush shop in Covent Garden …
GG:
Boy, oh boy, girl; you've sure got me sussed. You've been poking around in what passes for my brain and found a biggie.
There are things that'll never appear on this blog that have shaped the way I am. I suppose I should say "thanks" for stirring the sludge and bringing them back up to the surface … and maybe making me think about changing things a bit.
By the way; a nice change would be if some Australian girl living in Japan developed an irrational passion for a tatty old English bloke and turned up naked on his doorstep … er …
Spinny:
There are indeed some regular women commuters on my train. I've referred to them in a past post.
"A Woman Called Horse", "Mary Hopkin, Witchfinder General", together with several who are grouped under "Shouty Bitch With Mobile Fucking Phone" are women I would perhaps date in some dodgy-prawn-curry -induced nightmare, but never EVER in real life … Yikes!
Oh, by the way; EVERYBODY please click on the "Shouty Bitch" link. I sincerely believe it is something the whole planet should read and act upon.
So thanks for all the advice, gang. I now know (sort of) what women want and how to go about getting it.
Will I actually do anything about it?
Friday, January 05, 2007
Date Dive Continued …
Hokay …
So with our last three posts and comment-fests, we've established the kind of things women want; and from our - admittedly restricted and probably biased - focus group, it looks like I shouldn't have any problems as long as I manage to speak to a woman before she runs away (basically, I should start looking for women standing in corners so I can establish my "confident, fun and intelligent" credentials while they're still trapped).
Next question:
Just where do I go to find these women?
Bearing in mind that:
- I commute seven hours a day and work the rest, so monday to friday are out.
- The kind of woman who chats up the lead guitarist at gigs is NOT the kind of woman I'm looking for.
- I don't go to "bars" (I'm kind of old-fashioned; I find the idea of casual sex pretty disgusting). Anyway, we don't have such things as "singles bars" like they do in the US, just grotty dives where frankly revolting people go to binge-drink 'til they puke.
- Related to the above, I'm not interested in a short term relationship. Hell, I'm forty-eight; this one's got to last me out.
As for what I'm looking for … the list I sketched out got so restrictive that it became plain that no such woman could exist in this universe.
So let's just take a few points:
The woman I'm looking for:
- must be a non-smoker
- preferably a veggie
- preferably no kids or animals
- politically aware and left wing
- smart, funny, strong and independent (she should have a life of her own outside the relationship as I'm very rarely at home; someone who just sits in front of the telly or calls me up every half an hour would drive me scatty)
- tattoos turn me right off
As for looks (though I know beggars can't be choosers):
- I like slim (I'm NOT a big boob man), quirky looking, bookish, academic types (the old "sexy librarian" / long hair and glasses thing), and I like "feminine" (I'm old fashioned) …
So come on, gang; where does old Dive start looking for a woman like that (if one actually exists) now that you've got his confidence up?
So with our last three posts and comment-fests, we've established the kind of things women want; and from our - admittedly restricted and probably biased - focus group, it looks like I shouldn't have any problems as long as I manage to speak to a woman before she runs away (basically, I should start looking for women standing in corners so I can establish my "confident, fun and intelligent" credentials while they're still trapped).
Next question:
Just where do I go to find these women?
Bearing in mind that:
- I commute seven hours a day and work the rest, so monday to friday are out.
- The kind of woman who chats up the lead guitarist at gigs is NOT the kind of woman I'm looking for.
- I don't go to "bars" (I'm kind of old-fashioned; I find the idea of casual sex pretty disgusting). Anyway, we don't have such things as "singles bars" like they do in the US, just grotty dives where frankly revolting people go to binge-drink 'til they puke.
- Related to the above, I'm not interested in a short term relationship. Hell, I'm forty-eight; this one's got to last me out.
As for what I'm looking for … the list I sketched out got so restrictive that it became plain that no such woman could exist in this universe.
So let's just take a few points:
The woman I'm looking for:
- must be a non-smoker
- preferably a veggie
- preferably no kids or animals
- politically aware and left wing
- smart, funny, strong and independent (she should have a life of her own outside the relationship as I'm very rarely at home; someone who just sits in front of the telly or calls me up every half an hour would drive me scatty)
- tattoos turn me right off
As for looks (though I know beggars can't be choosers):
- I like slim (I'm NOT a big boob man), quirky looking, bookish, academic types (the old "sexy librarian" / long hair and glasses thing), and I like "feminine" (I'm old fashioned) …
So come on, gang; where does old Dive start looking for a woman like that (if one actually exists) now that you've got his confidence up?
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Same Old Same Old
As this is going round and round in circles (see comments to the last two posts), I'll refine my original question to "Regardless of what a woman might (or might not) want in a man, what is it that first attracts her to him … and how the fuck do I get hold of some of that?"
Twitch, Damn You! Twitch!
I've spent the morning putting together a Powerpoint presentation for a talk I've got to do in Japanese class tonight on Japanese cuisine.
Dive's Dining Room (click for bigger table)
As a consequence of which I've drooled my weight in saliva.
The rice steamer's on. I'm making どんぶり for lunch because I'm bloody starving.
While I'm waiting for that; the girls hit back after yesterday's comment-fest, wanting to know what I'm looking for in a woman.
Well I had a good think and wrote out a list, but it very quickly became prohibitively restrictive.
So I have two choices: I can write my shopping list out for you to guffaw at and snort derision upon, or I could just say "anything that still twitches when you kick it."
As for the girls' answers to my own question; all of those things (with the possible exceptions of the blatantly materialistic items) are admirable qualities is a man but I bet my bottom dollar that none of you would date a man who had all of those qualities if he happened to be "differently attractive", like myself.
So I'll revise my "what I'm looking for in a woman" list.
Now it's "any woman who would actually date me".
Don't hold your breath … I've been looking for forty-eight years …
Dive's Dining Room (click for bigger table)As a consequence of which I've drooled my weight in saliva.
The rice steamer's on. I'm making どんぶり for lunch because I'm bloody starving.
While I'm waiting for that; the girls hit back after yesterday's comment-fest, wanting to know what I'm looking for in a woman.
Well I had a good think and wrote out a list, but it very quickly became prohibitively restrictive.
So I have two choices: I can write my shopping list out for you to guffaw at and snort derision upon, or I could just say "anything that still twitches when you kick it."
As for the girls' answers to my own question; all of those things (with the possible exceptions of the blatantly materialistic items) are admirable qualities is a man but I bet my bottom dollar that none of you would date a man who had all of those qualities if he happened to be "differently attractive", like myself.
So I'll revise my "what I'm looking for in a woman" list.
Now it's "any woman who would actually date me".
Don't hold your breath … I've been looking for forty-eight years …
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Drop Dead
Just got back from the Health Centre where the lovely Doctor Amanda was delighted with the results of all my hours and hours of waiting around in the hospital before Christmas and once again declared me obscenely healthy.
Sheesh! What's a guy gotta do to drop dead around here?
That means next time I'm depressed, I can't just go running after trains and hope for the best, I've actually got to do something about it like buy a gun and shoot myself.
Bummer …
So I popped into the city to celebrate with a caffeine overdose and the most obscenely fattening thing on the coffee shop counter and a girl's voice said "Ooh! Leicester Tigers!" (I was wearing my nice new Tigers rugby shirt I got from Phil at Christmas).
I turned and there was a really pretty woman (mid-thirties, slim, red hair … Mmmm) smiling at me from the coffee queue.
So we sat down together and got chatting and …
inevitably she told me all about how her boyfriend and her are big Tigers fans …
… so we had a lovely chat about rugby and how wonderful her boyfriend is …
Arse!
Why do pretty women have bloody boyfriends?
Don't they realise that they can have me instead?
Bugger, bugger, bugger …
Sheesh! What's a guy gotta do to drop dead around here?
That means next time I'm depressed, I can't just go running after trains and hope for the best, I've actually got to do something about it like buy a gun and shoot myself.
Bummer …
So I popped into the city to celebrate with a caffeine overdose and the most obscenely fattening thing on the coffee shop counter and a girl's voice said "Ooh! Leicester Tigers!" (I was wearing my nice new Tigers rugby shirt I got from Phil at Christmas).
I turned and there was a really pretty woman (mid-thirties, slim, red hair … Mmmm) smiling at me from the coffee queue.
So we sat down together and got chatting and …
inevitably she told me all about how her boyfriend and her are big Tigers fans …
… so we had a lovely chat about rugby and how wonderful her boyfriend is …
Arse!
Why do pretty women have bloody boyfriends?
Don't they realise that they can have me instead?
Bugger, bugger, bugger …
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Still 2007
Wow! How time flies.
It's the second of January and the year is already twice as big as it was yesterday.
Still crap though …
This morning I noticed I weigh the same as I did before the "party season" started. Okay, so I skipped most of the parties and didn't do Christmas, so it's not much of an achievement, but I still feel good about it. Yaay me!
Okay. Here's a quick assignment for you:
How many pounds did you put on over Christmas and New Year?
And Be Honest!
"Don't know" will be counted as twenty pounds, so watch it!
It's the second of January and the year is already twice as big as it was yesterday.
Still crap though …
This morning I noticed I weigh the same as I did before the "party season" started. Okay, so I skipped most of the parties and didn't do Christmas, so it's not much of an achievement, but I still feel good about it. Yaay me!
Okay. Here's a quick assignment for you:
How many pounds did you put on over Christmas and New Year?
And Be Honest!
"Don't know" will be counted as twenty pounds, so watch it!
Monday, January 01, 2007
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