Diary of a Fat Man

My title is too frickin true right now.  "Rosemary who?", you ask, picturing a tubby Rosemary Clooney.  I smell like the herb rosemary, douchebag.  I have a big rosemary bush in my front yard ("behind the shrubbery!") and I had to groom it back some when I attempted to put up some of our Christmas lights today.  It didn't feel that cold when I started out, but by the time I quit (after gambling with fate for twenty minutes in the misty drizzle that started falling) I could scarcely move my fingers without feeling like James Kim.  A quick aside, isn't that the saddest fucking story you've ever heard?  I feel so bad for his wife and kids.  That just shows you what a man who truly loves his family is willing to do.  I won't even get out of bed to get my wife a glass of water at 2am.

This post will probably be all over the fucking place.  I'm trying to not let myself sidestep posting by being distracted by the multiple things I'm doing right now (which is why I haven't posted in so long...I'll start doing something else while loading up Spaces and the next thing you know, I'm jerking off to some chick riding a dildo on the end of a pneumatic hammer instead of posting about my family Thanksgiving dinner).

I've posted a few weeks worth of pics over at Flickr including some EXCITING events like "Turkey Stuffing Items" and "Tree Decorating" and "Cross Dressing Dogs".  I put my camera in Laurie's pants this morning and the pic turned out surprisingly clear, but she told me if I didn't delete it off the camera she was going to some some particularly heinous things to me while I slept.

Here's the larger view of my new profile pic.  What a miserable fat bastard I've become (ahem, again).  I was taking a quick break from cooking when this was taken, hence the rag on the shoulder.  Although in combination with my way cool cracker gang signs, I could have been mistaken for a Blood.

I've been eating a hell of a lot better since Wednesday when I started the new and improved diet.  I'm not writing stuff down (yet?), but I'm trying to be really fucking good.  We did go out to eat on Friday, but I ate grilled fish, some rice pilaf,  and steamed veggies instead of the giant cheeseburger I REALLY wanted.  I've been eating a ton of fruit, vegetables, whole wheat stuff, etc.  I've lost about three pounds since Wednesday, but I'm only going to "officially" weigh once a week and see how it goes.  I did eat about half a roof's worth of gingerbread this morning, but I'm trying to avoid beating myself up over minor flubs (oh, and about 8 bittersweet chocolate chips too).  My decline into Criscoville over the past few months was greased (heigh-oh) by the thoughts that "Well, I might as well eat bad all day because I had two McGriddles for breakfast."  I think I hit the wall a few weeks ago when I started HIDING my food consumption like I was a mother fucking junkie.  For about two weeks, I was stopping at Jack in the Box or McDonalds on the way home, eating a full meal, and then eating AGAIN at home.  And THEN snacking all evening on anything that wasn't moving and/or slower than my tubby fingers.  Wish me luck, because if I can't get this shit under control I don't know what else to do.  I really don't want to die in my forties like a buddy of mine from work did a few years ago.  I want to go out like a man...coked up and fucking the babysitter.

Here's a shot of my hideously fucked up back yard during our "DEAR GOD RUN FOR YOUR LIVES EVERYONE WILL FREEZE TO DEATH BY MORNING AFTER HAVING TO EAT THEIR MOTHER IN LAWS FOR FOOD AND BURNING THEIR CHILDREN FOR WARMTH BLIZZARD!" (one day of ice in Dallas).  I've refused to fix the trampoline again after the kids broke the net a few weeks ago, which is why my yard looks even more Britney/KFed than usual.

Oh, and this is my gay dog wearing a blonde wig.  He likes to put it on, put on a little lipstick, and then lick his balls for a few hours.

I had a whole plan for Thanksgiving that including taking pics of everything from start to finish to teach some of you fucking yankees what a real southern Thanksgiving looks like.  That lasted for about five minutes.  But, here is the stuff that I shoved into the ass of my turkey (including a few sprigs of rosemary from my front yard).

Yesterday was my eleventh wedding anniversary.  It seems weird that I've been married for a THIRD of my life.  It was another uneventful anniversary.  We had originally planned on taking a weekend up in Hot Springs or somewhere in the Ozarks, but then early last month I realized that Laurie probably wouldn't be able to ride in a car for eight hours that soon after surgery.  Then to top things off, our dryer died a few weeks ago, so our great anniversary present to each other was a fucking clothes dryer.  It's kind of a running joke now that our anniversarys suck.  Every year, we tell each other "I know it sucked THIS year, but next year will be better".  I guess we kind of set that whole shit-ass tradition in motion with the fact that we didn't even have a honeymoon.  We spent the night in Shreveport LA (where we were married) and then drove to Dallas (where I was living, but Laurie hadn't moved in yet). 

And yet another blow was the continuation of what I've just deemed "The Red Curse of Significant Events".  Laurie's been off the Pill for a number of years (exactly the same number of years that I've been infertile...what a strange coincidence!).  In addition to the miraculous lack of egg implantation that the lovely peach pills provide, they also keep the sloughing on a predictable pattern too.  Now that goddamned menstrual cycle seems to slowly shift weeks throughout the year until it fucks up pretty much any major CHRIS GETTING PUSSY COMMEMORATIVE EVENTS™ like Valentine's Day, the anniversary of our first date, my birthday, and most recently, our anniversary.  And after eleven years of marriage, she doesn't even pretend to consider a blow job anymore.

That's all you get for now.  I've got some porn important things to do right now.