SomaGift
Lifecoaching
Far Side
Wiki Leaks Leaks
That Baptist “church” that shall remain nameless
Salvation Army Ban
Killing Me Softly With Smoking

Servicable Actresses
Smarmy English Guys
Cannin’
Peak Oil
Mix Tapes
Makin’ Dirt
SADness

“I was late & the computer was f*%^ed”, excused Producer Ross.

Cantaloop http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwBjhBL9G6U
Drug Bowl for Baby
Old Ladies Love Misery
Rads
Wiki Leaks = Traitor?
Fall of Rome

J=Dr Robotnik
Happy Birthday!
Jon Lovitz
Jen vs Ang
Life Insurance
Fakin’ a Death
Winter Tourist
Internet vs IRL Friends
R.I.P. twitter
The End…..?

Dog Gone
Tha Dog Pound
Animal Guy
Squirrel Trouble
Newsbomb
FOOD!
DYWTD Blog
Animal Kingdom
Ball Strangler
Turkey Day
Standard > Auto
Walking Stick

Bullshit Balls
Tubemeat Eat Off
Ketchup In Chili
Mustard ‘Shrooms
Naked, Shit-Ass Fight
Poop Square
Garanimals
gardeN 64

Rhythm
The Clintons
Bush vs Kanye
SomaCow Lets the Beat Drop
Powerful Ladies
Raaaaaaaaage!!!
Somatherapy
Holiday Plans
Black Friday

Office Buzz
Prarie Doggin’
Sanford Zoo
Gatorland
J = Racist
Newsbomb
Cricket
Mitchell and Webb Snooker
Sleeping Beauty
Princesses
Advent Dome
Build-A-Bear

In this hour, the guys answer an important question, one every man is faced with at some point in their lives.

Come, share with the guys of SomaCow, and tell us your answer to this life question.

Also, they talk about HP Lovecraft.

By eating produce.

Hi, I am Geoff, I have the Sugar Aids, and this is a blog about me recapturing my life. Eating things right I once ate wrong, and hoping, each time, that the next eat… Will be the eat Home.

I am starting to wonder if I am becoming a vegetarian. I could never have imagined, but I just ate a bite of jackfruit, Brussels sprouts, beet stems, and beet greens for dinner. I had black beans and green beans with garlic for lunch.

I have beet marinating in my fridge. Not chicken, not pork, not a side of beef. Beet.

They are so beautiful. I like golden beets, too, but these are just amazing.

I am really enjoying learning to cook this stuff, too!

Tonight, courtesy of the Wingo (TWAMB), I tried the Gonzilla method of Brussels sprout cooking. Normally I go full onions, broth, stewing, and basically cabbage the hell out of them…

But the Brussels sprout is actually a tender, sweet little broccoloid.

Sometimes, you have to squeeze. Sometimes you have to say “Please“. I gently sliced her and 40 of her sisters in half, down the stem. I lay her down on the oven sheet, lightly dusted her with some olive oil spray. I covered her in seven spice petals, caressing her tender folds with a gentle cascade of seasoning and herbs.

I whisked her and her sistren into the 375 degree oven, and let her bask for about 30-40 minutes (it’s an art, vegetable love is).

When I took her out, she screamed for me to take her there and then. Damning the consequences, I gingerly lifted her, blew on her fevered flesh, and took her in my mouth.

OleRacea!

Jen, Baby Rowan and I are now eating them bitches like popcorn. I am not ashamed. They are so good, so complex, with crunchy thin outer shells and tender, moist inner layers!

You want a second recipe? How about those beets? When you get them at the store, they are attached to their leaves. First, some cutwork.

Remember that our ancestors used this shit to paint with. Plan and protect yourself, accordingly, unless you want to be purple. I can dig it. Purple is very sessy.

Separate the leaves from the stalks from the bulbs.

Chop the stalks into managable pieces. Skin the top layer off the bulbs, and slice them as thin as you need (I like a cm to half a cm, for beefy bites o’ beets!)

Wash everything with a nice rinse.

Chop the leaves (some stem can stay with these, just get the lion’s share off).

So what do we have now?

Leaves with some bits of stalk – throw these in a medium high pan with a tablespoon of olive oil, maybe some sautéed onions. Run em around the pan, chasing with a bit of salt and peppery as you see fit. They will act like Big, Awesome Spinaches, reducing, letting out some moisture, and tasting like goodness in minutes. Enjoy!

Stalks and Beetslices remaining – These go in a ziplock or marinating tray. Hit them with your favorite herbs spices, I go with most of the Italian team (oregano, coriander, basil, parsley, sage, salt, garlic… look, people… spices are not rocket science. What you want is a set that will lend itself to sweet (beets) and hot (pepper and paprika and chipotle)).

Get that going on, plus some apple juice, maybe some white wine vinegar, and a bit of olive oil all in the bag. Soak it overnight. Toss the bag about like it was a cheerleader and you were a power rapist basketball player.

The next day, you can roast them in the oven, if your Brussels sprouts are open minded, or you can throw them in a grill basket and flame ON! Hell, you could even pan fry them in a pinch. I highly recommend the grill. Roast them til they get just a hint of char on the edges.

They will deliver to you sweet, roasted beetflesh, completely devoid of that sorta ganky “Beet” taste your mom’s beets had.

I am not sure if that helped you. I do not care. I love what I eat these days. For REAL.

Coming soon – Thanksgiving Menu! Thanks for the idear ‘dere, Perpetrat’in’!

Weird Al Rules
Shitty Comics
Arties
Canada
Pedro vs India
Bug Fights
Yom is a Badass
Raw Food
www.charityballz.com
Holiday Magic
STFU Protesters
Geoff Will Steal Toys
The Hotness
Robot and/or Time Travel Movies

I have rarely prayed in this life. Only for things I could not control, had no power over, or wanted desperately to get out of. Don’t Take the Girl, Feed Jake, Man, I Hope She Isn’t Pregnant type stuff. Real country music haw yee.

Maybe that comes with an astoundingly shallow belief in God. Oh, I believe someone made all this, I just wonder sometimes at the reasoning, and perhaps the motives. But then who am I to judge?

I suffer from Conan Logic.

For those of you born in Brandon, Florida, allow me to explain.

Conan was a barbarian child, with a good mother and father. Marauding religious douchebags came and slew his family and enslaved him. The religion was called Divorce.

Conan spent years dully pushing a massive mill wheel, grinding futilely away, day after day. The wheel’s name was School.

Conan learned that he could enjoy camaraderie, riches, and the finer things in life by fighting. Day after day, he took on all comers, and with each vanquished foe, he grew in status, and banged more chicks. His battles were in the style of Drugs, Alcohol, and Excess.

Conan earned what he had, enjoyed the immediacy of things desired, and rarely exhibited patience. If a camel or a horse annoyed him, he punched them in the face with his fist. The camels and horses all worked as cashiers and service personnel.

At one point, Conan is asked what is best in life. His answer is, “Crush the enemies, See them driven before you, Hear the lamentation of their women.”

There was a time where that answer worked for me. Nail those who need nailing to the wall upon which nailing is done.

Unfortunately, I was never as cool as Conan. My mantra might have been something like, “Be snarky, Yell at Brighthouse employees, Overtip at a buffet”

Or maybe, “Play some video games, smoke a bunch of cigarettes, kill ten Double Krystals with Cheese”

But really, “Wheeze when you pee, Fail to perform in the sack, Look like you are about to burst, generally”

I have gone right off this analogy.

The point is, Conan is a fucking allegory for what man is, a boy corrupted by his environment; what tarnished him eventually tempered him, and through his trials and losses and curses and adversity, he emerged as a pretty buff dude with a decent set of morals, for a thief.

I’m tired, but my beans are making me feel incredible. Did I tell you the secret to beans already? I think I did. They really are a superfood. The difference in how I feel is incredible. The secret is to soak them overnight in fresh filtered water, never cook them too fast, and always use plenty of homemade stock to cook them.

I walked around Lowe’s and Home Depot this evening, looking for materials for a project. I currently have a few open projects, I realized.

1. Clean the porch, utterly.

2. Sell the books and other crap, utterly

3. Locate and begin the pond, goddamnit

4. Design and build the Advent Dome, yo

5. Till the soil for the garden, and plant some em effing cabbages, yeah

Lots to do, and I have next week off. Where should I start? Task me, You!

By the way, let me teach you a secret about till and ’til.

A till is still, ’til you ask for the bill. You till ’til dusk, or until your back tilts.

See? “til”, is really just a short, “until”. A TILL is either the place a business keeps cash, or a verb describing soil readying. So stop saying “I blew dudes till the cows came home.”

It’s just silly.

See? Grammar, Movie Talk, and Choose the Fatty’s Adventure - All for YOU!

I had a bad scare last night, some hypoglycemia came to pass, but for those of you that asked, I feel as right as rain today. I have made some decisions today, though, some of which you may agree with, others you may not.

1. If it is this late when I get home, I might just skip the blog entry, because it is 9:50 pm, and I should be dreaming of Cabbages by now. I keep forgetting how important sleep is, and I really need to remember that almost all problems, from wakefulness to irritability to weight loss stalling to low sugar to bad digestion all stem from getting solid sleep.

2.  I am not eating out for lunch any more unless it is special, like a birthday lunch or a meetup with my wife. I had Panera for lunch. The Chicken Cobb thingy.

1120 mg of sodium? 140 mg of cholesterol? Screw it. I can make something three meals from that, and not pay 10 bucks doing so. I think salt plays a much more powerful role in weight loss and healthy living then people think, and being a fat diabetic, I need to stay away from that much, certainly. I do not want Heart Rot, damnit! I have enough on my plate with Sugar Aids.

3. I need some new clothes. I asked my friend today at lunch, and he said it looked like I was taking a dump when I walked. Do You Want To Buy? I am not yet ready to buy, so I let the belt and shoe guy in our local mall drill me FOUR new holes.

When I get into the second to last hole, I will get new clothes. I just don’t have the money to buy two wardrobes, and I plan to lose another 100 lbs over 2011.

Man, I ask a lot of that belt.

I also ask too much of my shoes.

Speaking of which, I think I lost some width “down there”! I used to wear 4E width, but now I am swimming in those. I definitely need new shoes this week. Tried the mall today, everything was sort of flimsy. I want a solid, heavy, thick soled, no-plastic siding walking shoe. New Balances have gotten shoddy, I am sad to say.

4. Exercise is now an hour of walking, every single day. I want the health bennys, I need the calorie burning, muscle toning, and cholesterol action. I can always do more, but I cannot do less.

5. I cannot work like you anymore. For fifteen years, I worked how I had to in order to advance, survive, succeed, or maintain. I drove my body into the ditch, I went to extremes. I will not do that any more. More on that another day.

Pedro Lima from The Channel Project, Fifth Base, Rooftop Comedy, etc
AOL Chat Hook-Ups
Not Enough
Pink Talk
The Secret of Comedy!
Baby Films
Pedro Macs
Joe Rogan Podcast
Joke Theft
“The Way of the Gun”

Today started out well. I woke up, made a healthy breakfast, went with my wife to an art festival, waited too long to eat lunch, had a nice healthy veggie wrap at Jason’s deli, came home, still felt snacky, looked in the fridge, saw watermelon, and said, “That’s fibery, and even with the sugar, I remember seeing that on a list of diabetes foods.”

Munch.

For those of you wondering, my goal is a number above 70, where the risk of a diabetic coma begins, and 120, which is a safe, healthy place to hang.

140 is the absolute highest number I want to see.

And it just keeps going up. I need it to stop, and if it gets above 180, I am taking more meds.

Meantime, what the fuck happened?

Complacency. I got lazy with my facts. I took bullshit for granted. I was “reading” a list of high glycemic index foods, not a list of good foods.

So now I am riding the wave crest, enjoying the permanent organ damage that one experiences when their blood sugar is above a 140.

My wife is unconcerned, says it’ll be okay, and I am sure she is not right. In my mind, I am watching sugary spike balls pour into my liver, ripping the soft tissue apart, crystallizing the enzymes in my stomach, smashing and rending their way through my kidneys, eroding my gums, and rubbing me raw, creating friction and destroying my body.

I feel miserable, like I broke something pretty, like I befouled something holy.

I am ashamed of myself.

I almost didn’t want to record the number, because I see it as a blemish on my perfect record. I have a hard time calling it “a bad day”, because enough “bad days” equal “dead”.

I have beans cooking. Starting tonight, back on regimen. Study any food before eating. No fucking mistakes.

You look at me like I am crazy. You say, “It’s ridiculous to declare that you will never again take a single bite of watermelon as long as you live.”

Absolutes may be for cons, but when a food burns me, it goes on the list of shit that is trying to kill me.

And right now, the list is:

Alcohol

Milk Chocolate

Just Juice

Any Soda

White Rice

White Flour

Watermelon

I really want my number down soon. I am pretty sure I Did Not Want To Die. Not for a fucking melon.

Tell Somebody!
Terry Bradshaw
Geoff Invents a Food
wHole wHeat
Vaseline
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Chesebrough
Ass Chat
Agave
J vs The President
Use the Beak
Blackheads
Driving and Crying and Texting
CFTR III: Cycle Off

Ten years ago, right about now, I was saying my good nights to the woman who would be my wife one day. Happy, somewhat drunk, and a bit flush, I turned around on the second step down the staircase away from the party we were at, and she went in for the smooch. She never really left after that, neither my heart nor my actual house.

There are pictures of me from that night, somewhere, but I cannot seem to find them right now. Surely on facebook, somewhereabouts.

When I met Jen, I was at 260 lbs, up from 220 lbs, and had no idea how lucky I was at the time. The woman who fell in love with me at “sorta getting chunky”, stayed with me.

All the way through, “Really needs to step away from the buffet line.”

Right past, “Would not want to sit next to him on Public Transportation.’

Deep into the territory of, “Loose change, if dropped, would probably roll in his 420 lb. direction.”

I do not want to give the impression that Jen is a fatty-chaser. She isn’t. She often encourages me to walk, swim, play, hump, grill, plant, bike, and generally go out. It took me, and my endless lust for food and television and reading and playing video games and sitting, to corrupt her, and myself.

I am glad she held out for the ride back down, as I now work to lose all that awful weight. It’s cool to see her right beside me in all that we do.

I am glad we are new people. Tonight, as we walked around Tchoup Chop, the Royal Pacifica, CityWalk, and the Universal Property, I floated above us, looking down as we worked off our incredible dinner, climbing stairs, taking the long ways back, eschewing the people movers for good old shoeleather.

We deserve our new ways. We’re worth them.

And the little gal that shares our lives, my sweet baby girl Rowan?

We deserve to raise her like this.

I love you Jen. Heading to bed now.

Oh!

I wanted to keep you up to date on how I was looking. Here’s me, and my second best friend Sweet Po Tay Toe!

95 pounds gone, we’ll make 100 by Thanksgiving, potentially!

I suppose my goal is to ask myself, and often, do I want to live, or moreso to the point, “Do You Want To Die?”

I cannot stand the word teetotaler. If you look up the etymology of the word, it has a bunch of goofy stories swirling around, but it essentially stemmed from our ancestors’ fascination with Prohibition, and the “Tee-Total” abstinence from alcohol.

My experience with alcohol has been a rocky one, at best. My father was a drinker, to his health’s detriment. My stepfather also drank, and suffered some of the health problems that go with that. Odd that we toast to one’s health, no?

My family can get their drunk on, certainly. My brother had a taste for it, my other brother can handle acting as bartender at a party if you need him to, my mother is no stranger to a good cold beer, and neither is her mother. My uncle was on TV for his ability to generate more DUIs (8? 11? Someone knows the total number) than should be possible!

I remember seeing my Dad’s beer in his porchfridge, and sneaking out a can to the barn, to idly flip through the Playboy magazines and pretend I was King Shit, sippin’.

I remember my stepfather, a twinkle in his eye as he asked me to “test” the ice cold St. Pauli Girl I had just opened for him, “To see if it is poisoned or not!”

I remember sneaking ounce after ounce of my mother’s Bacardi or Vodka, to take secret sips at night in my room, wondering why people drank this awful, burning shit, which I am just going to have one more sip of…

I remember spending several months in treatment for my abuse of drugs and alcohol.

I remember getting out, and getting my hands on a twelver of Bud Ice.

I remember getting so drunk on Cherry Brandy that I destroyed a friend’s tent, and permanently stained his driveway with cherry vomit.

I also remember being turned over to my mom by the cops that next morning, stank, with my shoes tied around my neck and what felt like a throbbing hot knife buried in the base of my brain.

I remember one of the best New Year’s of my life, quietly drinking milk and irish cream, talking with my family.

I remember another great New Year’s, quietly drinking Kir Royales, and talking with my family.

I remember accruing over 100 cups at Big Belly Brewery with my wife playing trivia and acting the fool, and killing kegs of Heineken in the parking lot after work at Sam’s Club, and drinking Chivas and Dr. Pepper at my wedding, and downing six Ultimate Long Island Iced Teas and praying I could maintain, mainTAIN.

Newcastle, Köstritzer, Ommegang, Corona, Coors, Rolling Rock, Red, White, Blush, Fortified Port, Cognac, Champagne, Brut, Piper, Goldschlager, Martinis Vodka, Martinis Gin, Amaretto, Microbeers, Macrobooze, Aftershock, Everclear, Rumplemintz, Tequila, Margaritas, Scorpions, Kirins, Plum Wine, Cold Duck, Blackberry Schnapps, Sake, Egg Nog, Wassail, Jagermeister, Ale, and ninety other goddamned unfoods.

I got my drink on.

But I am learning, as I read, that I cannot drink any more.

I may not be a Teetotaler… No one should be. Absolutes are for Cons.

But I think I could learn to celebrate Temperance. Enough to make a vow, only SLIGHTLY adjusted for my own needs.

“”I agree to abstain from all liquors of an intoxicating quality whether ale, porter, wine or ardent spirits, except as medicine, or to cook with, and even then, just a bit.”

Because alcohol simply does NOT mix with Diabetes. The science is as follows.

Your liver is fucked up when you have Sugar Aids, so asking your liver to work overtime, on a poison, like alcohol, is dumb.

Additionally, alcohol sugar runs rampant in the blood, and we do not want free radical skateboarding sugars screwing up our pretty town.

Finally, alcohol limits weight loss, impairs judgment (CAKE!), and lowers your extremity temperatures. All things I do not want, or need.

So, if you love me, or you respect me, or you do not want me to bore the living fuck out of you with a six hour diatribe on why I cannot drink, leave me be, and let me sip on my coffee, tea, or water.

Because it isn’t like I didn’t have one of whatever you are having. I just had it in a different timeline than the one I now occupy.

Thanks!

www.charityballz.com
Bacon = Dead
Beans
No Feets?
Amish Bacon
Amish Cheese
Phone Off
Chevy Chase Movies
Music Chat
Mindfuck Movies

I got my first case of sticker shock the other day.

I am not sure if you follow the fear, but many people believe we are on the edge of a financial crisis. We will feel the impact of this impending cash inflation first at the gas pump, and second in the grocery store.

I am scared, because I caught a glimpse of the future, specifically, a future where healthy, sustainable food is out of reach.

I went to a higher end grocery store, often featured on cooking shows. I had never been, and wanted to see what it was like.

I was immediately blown away by the selection. Vegetable juice bar? Ninety-three kinds of fish, instead of five? An olive bar that takes up 200 square feet of space, containing MORE than just three kinds of olives?

Aisle after aisle, I was amazed at the selection. The cheese section alone took me twenty minutes to scan through!

I was overjoyed, because I had finally found a place that seemed almost custom tailored to my new way of eatliving! Need greens? They have eight kinds! Want a bread low in glycemic indices? They have TWENTY! All kinds of good fish, lean meats, grass fed beef, hormone free chicken, natural goat cheese, goat milk, fresh yogurt with no high fructose corn syrup! All the shit that will keep your body not just running, but SINGING!

Every price sticker tells where the food was grown, whether it is sustainable and produced soundly, and even differing colors to help you identify stuff in or out of season!

But, as the fever descended, and I saw what a grocer COULD be, my eyes trailed down those price stickers, to the actual, you know, prices.

A niggling doubt grew into a very real, stark realization for me. For all my love of food, for all my grill outs, seasonings, bulk-buying, recipe-extracting, dinner-fu, I had absolutely no business in this place.

I turned to Jen, and with a thick throat, I said, “I can not afford to shop here. Not even a little bit. I am so sorry, sweetheart.”

I should have stayed in college. I should have bought my house at a different time. We should have saved more, invested more, tried harder. Because for us, Publix was as high as it gets.

We actually need to downgrade, maybe hit some Aldi, keep up the meatbulk at Sam’s, and start availing ourselves of the produce stands that still exist on the north side of town.

I was getting a bit choked up. I bought some goat cheese ($6.00 for a 4 oz wedge), some beans and olives ($20.00), some organicy yogurt in a big ass glass jar for Rowan ($7.99) and a 7 lb. spaghetti squash on sale! ($7.00)

How to cook spaghetti squash? Simple!

Heat oven to 400 degrees

Stab forty tiny holes in the squash so it does not explode

Stick in oven for an hour, a quarter hour or so longer if it’s huge.

When you remove the squash, carefully cut it in half

Sift out the seeds. I think they are inedible, correct me if they are not.

Use a fork, shred the inner flesh away from the rind, and it will come off in little strands, like spaghetti!

At that point, you can do anything to it. Put sauce on it, put thai spices on it, do ANYthing. It is a delicious, healthy canvas upon which you may paint.

I went with some agave, red pepper, oregano, paprika, garlic, mustard, onion, coriander, cumin, and a bit of salt and it was WONDERFUL. If you like Pad Thai, this, maybe, could be the rice noodles in a Pad Thai-style dish one day.

Anyway, here was my hormone-laden chicken, starring next to my organic squash and sauce, and a lovely JenSalad, pesticide-enriched.

I finally have stopped crying, and am looking into a better food $olution. My research has pointed me back to a fascinating idea, which isn’t THAT new, but sure sounds good to me!

Food Co-Ops.

I am investigating several types, and signing up for all of them as fit.

There’s Shaolin Gardens, a local couple who grow produce. Here, you pay a rate up front and receive available produce fresh throughout the season.

There’s Farm Fresh Direct 2U, a farmer who will deliver (meetup style) on what you order, with the price being settled on the order at the time of transfer, due to weight and volume.

And there’s HomeGrown Co-Op, a clearing house where you place an order by x time, and it is delivered or pick-upable by a certain time, all locally grown here in Central Florida, with details on the producers!

Pickles!

Anyway, google your hometown and see what is available. What I immediately noticed is that the further you get from populated cities, the wider your available selection of fresh produce gets. Odd.

Local Harvest can help you find Co-Ops, as well!

Today I was inputting my food intake to Lose It, software I use to track calories and exercise, and I happened across a message from a friend saying “Sensa. It works when you are ready.”

Rather than ask facebook to bear my load, as it were, with a 500-plus word reply, I figured now would be a good opportunity to explain my thinking regarding diets, supplements, juicy juices, foot-toxin absorbers, banana pepper suppositories, add-ons, belly shakers, and other weight loss paraphernalia.

I am against them.

Easy! Whoa! Before you fire up the world-wide internet and copy-paste thirty seven new studies and your friend’s pants that tell EXACTLY why what I just said isn’t true. Stop throwing stuff, and listen.

I got fat eating too much food, certainly, but I also ate bad food. Me getting healthy is about taking steps.

I was talking earlier about putting together a cost comparison of my life now to my life a year ago. I am still working on that, but what I have learned in the meantime is that I used to eat a lot, sure, but I used to eat a lot of very bad food.

I would once console myself, when I was crazyfat, that at least I was getting a good balance of meats, veg, bread, and very little salt and sugar.

I was lying to myself. My weekly diet would often consist of 10 or more trips to restaurants and fast food establishments. I would eat tons of food, but, worse, tons of chemicals. Preservatives, emulsifiers, food dyes, refortified nutrient content, fat blockers, additional sweeteners, modified gums and -itols, acids, artifical flavors, partially hydrogenated buttsechs cream, and on and on and on.

The list of food additives that I do not encounter now is frightening and long.

All of that shit does not all come out in your shit, I believe. It stays with you, like an unwanted holiday houseguest, still laying about come Flag Day, monopolizing your resources and working against your objectives.

There is evidence that suggests weight loss is, at best, stalled when foods that are not food are consumed.

I am hereby calling artificials, supplementals, and all the other crap being sold to us as UnFood. Like the UnDead, it is difficult to disperse UnFood, it may kill you if you are not careful, and people generally do not believe the truth about it until it is too late.

Did you ever notice that just about every fat person you know that does not want to be fat drinks diet soft drinks? AND YET THEY ARE STILL FAT.

Did you ever notice that just about every person who sprinkles fat inhibitors on their food eventually finds that lost weight again?

Did you ever notice that all of the diets, drugs, supplements, and such are always sold on late night TV, or on failing radio stations, or in the back of crappy, desperate publications?

Think about Apple, as a product. I do not care how you feel about Apples. That is irrelevant. Just think about the Apple product. Computers that work so well, they were able to open a whole store consisting of just display models of their computers. Think about Goodyear tires. Think about any product that is reliable enough to stand on its own merit, and be sold as such.

If a weight loss product existed that worked, it would be in its own store, not on aisle 72, behind the steroid socks at your local general poison center.

Myoplex, the shake, apparently has high levels of arsenic.  Olestra makes your anoos ache. Atkins can trigger health disorders.

Sensa makes your body fail to digest and utilize fat. It does nothing to the cholesterol, high sugar, high salt, etc. that you are consuming. Why not just swallow a trash bag, and then eat your food, and when you are done, pull the bag back out?

I am trying to get to a place where everything I put in my body heals me, makes me whole again, provides a nutrient, and enriches my cellular makeup.

I am trying to stop evaluating foods SO much by taste. I tasted lots of yummy bad stuff for a long time. It is time to put away those things, and eat to live, not the other way around.

I believe people should do what works for them. Right now, I have lost half the weight to my goal by eating good food, not eating shitty food, and walking when I remember to do so(getting a BIT better at that).

Who is to say when I get down to that last 80, 50, 20 pounds, and cannot lose the weight, week after week, month after month with no change, that I too will not seek out some shady solution in a bottle?

I can’t say never.

But for now, fuck no! Do you have any idea what the longterm effects of that Sensa shit will be? Me neither.

Want to know my REALLY effective weight loss technique?

Eat seven servings of vegetables a day. Go ahead and try. It’s quite a bit of chewing.

For an added challenge, no salt, minimal olive oil, no butter. Pepper is fine. Steamed or raw is ideal.

By the time I plowed through all seven today, I didn’t even want to TALK, I was so mouthsore.

Thanks, as always, for advice, tips, and suggestions! I consider everything, and I try to research the hell out of it when you folks suggest it. I hope you see that I am not adhering to a “get skinny quick” scheme or plan.

I am building a body to care for my daughter’s father.

Ballsvemberfest
www.charityballz.com
Where’d Ya Vote?
Masons
Tenderloin
Election Newsbomb
Rock for Hunger Fest
Firechicks?
Nanowrinomo
Writing
Bowl, FTW
Publishing
Surprise Boobs!
Face

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=239122&id=552021781

and invite you to enjoy Jen’s from today when she gets them up! Today we were at the Orlando Japan Festival 2010, and I had a really great time. Hundreds of local folks gathering to enjoy lots of good food, music, live acts, and some shoppy-type booths. The ONLY drawbacks I saw out there were

A. Not Enough of Everything. Next year, more vendors, more music, more acts, more of everything!

and B. The Cons.

Those of you that do not know what a Con is… allow me to explain.

On our show, SomaCow, we tired of the words “gay” and “retarded”. Many of our friends and people we respected were gay, and deriding someone by saying they were so seemed odd. I have actual family members that are retarded, and I love them; I do not hate them. Why would I ever call someone retarded to indicate scorn or dislike?

So we sat around, like we do on our show, and came up with a group that none of us felt any attachment toward. Universally laughed at, they work hard at failing in every way imaginable. They play dress up year-round, they eat as much as possible, move very little, and smell very much. They are People Who Suck That Frequent Comic Book, Fantasy, and Science Fiction Conventions, or Cons.

Now. Not every person at a convention is a Con. But a large number of Cons can be found at Cons, Conning up the place.

The Orlando Japanese Festival was attended by people genuinely interested in Japan.

It featured amazing drumming, beautiful dancing, awesome costumes…

and a few jobless shitheel Cons with an overdeveloped appreciation for cartoons.

I would show you pictures of these people, but the internet has literal gigafranpaloonabiltmores of images doing so already, and as I said to my good friend spb today, why waste a single digital pixel on those con ass cons? Google “Bad Cosplay” or “Convention Gamer”, if you really need to see what I am talking about.

I want to be supportive of them, I do. But when you see an 80-year-old Japanese woman in her traditional kimono and obi quietly asking her granddaughter why the fat girl in the Hello Kitty hat keeps mock bowing to her, you cannot help but feel some shame.

And isn’t shame really what the Japanese are all about? Or is that the Jewish community? No wait, that’s guilt.

As both a fatty, and a douche, I hate to see fat douches douche a thing up with their fat.

Anyway, send your angry letters to mickey@somacow.com

Testosterone
Blue Balls
Too Badly Dressed to Be Con
Slash Forum
Fetish Chat

So, I have been trying to eat more healthy, grilling instead of frying, using leaner meats instead of steak, and eating craptons of veg.

I have found myself nearly obsessed with fish. I have never met a food that so divides people, the line in the sand being held by lovers, and haters.

My wife was a hater, once, but I think she is coming around nicely. Slowly, over time, she would allow new seafoods, starting with crab, moving into fried scallops, or fried fish, eventually into shrimp, then sushi. She even ate smelt. She didn’t fall down in love with it, but she ate it!

I think she would try sea cucumbers now. Ew.

So, if she could change, maybe there is hope for the rest of you non-fish lovers. When I go to the grocery stores, I am saddened by the lack of selection, the bleak, desolate aisle, where no one smiles and things often smell… Fishy.

What makes people so mad at a food? I guess, if I had to make a bitch list, it would go like this:

1. The Smell of It

2. The Cost of It

3. The Difficulty of Cooking It

4. F*%&ing Bones and Shells and What Not

5. Huge Pussy

I will try to work through these with you, and then you too can enjoy an entirely new (to you) meat! If you already like fish, fine, bring me over some.

1. The Smell of It - Fish can be stank, but it is a lot like other things – If it smells, something is wrong. Do not eat it if the smell is overpowering. When you go to buy it, sniff it.

It’s fun, and you will know in seconds if you are getting good stuff or need to find a new fishmonger. Don’t be afraid to say it smells bad. Two or three of those in a row will make any seafood store change gears and start getting fresher stock. Meanwhile, fish love butter, salt, lemon, white wine reductions, glazes, pepper, and a thousand other flavor bombs that will mix nicely, and even mask, any subtle smell your fool nose may perceive.

2. The Cost of It – Fish can be seasonal, fish can be local, fish can be endangered, you need to pay effing attention. Salmon can vary greatly in price, with farm-raised fillets running $6 to $10 a pound, Atlantic Salmon running $9 to $15 a pound, and Pacific Salmon running $12 to $19 a pound, and these prices were all seen at standard grocery stores.

While any of that seems expensive, it isn’t when you consider the cost of your first triple bypass is going to run you about $260,000. Copay these nuts, and get yourself some Omega 3. Try to buy stuff in season, and try to buy stuff that is sustainable, and thus, affordable, like trout, whitefish, and… shit. Go here and learn about stuff http://www.montereybayaquarium.org/cr/cr_seafoodwatch/download.aspx

3. The Difficulty of Cooking It – No bones about it, Fish is adult work. Gutting, cleaning, scaling, filleting… Man, that is hard work. Thankfully, there is a guy in a smock who will do any of that for you. If you have, you know, working hands, you can teach yourself most anything with youtube and a knife.

The secret to fish is get the oil, grill, or pan HOT. Fish want to be cooked quick, and don’t fidget with it too much. You are looking for light flaking, not rubbery flapping. Most predator fish can be served damn near raw, so enjoy playing with medium rare, etc. Pick a fish, and research it. Some need milk, some need oil, some fry well, others pickle well. There are, like, way a lot of fish in the sea, and most of them want to be eaten. Learn! Pansy!

4. Fucking Bones and Shells and What Not – Oh bones. Bones suck. Get good at finding them. Some fish have such tiny bones, you can eat them whole. Nom NOM. Most fish do not. If you are going to tool them out yourself, you need a good filleting knife, a decent skin pincher, and I’d consider a pair of food-safe pliers for pulling out pinbones. A thing worth having is worth having right, right?

I find that the effort of shucking oysters, cracking crab claws, peeling shrimp, etc. is a labor that adds to my enjoyment of the inner flesh. Debearding a mussel, teasing a clam from its shell, these things take practice, and to watch a seasoned opener in action is a thing of beauty. Call it the Rubik’s factor, but I just like food that requires some solving.

5. Huge Pussy – Denying an entire food group, especially when we have hormonally imbalanced cattle, salmonella and steroid infused chicken, and god knows how many ecological nightmares from pig farming, is silly. Humans need balance. Finding sustainable food is a responsible organism’s duty.

Ignoring for a moment the toxic fish farms, the overfishing of grouper, tuna, etc. and the general silliness of some seafood stores (thaw, freeze, thaw thaw, freeze?), fish is good food. Stop being such a pussy and eat good food. It is brain power, cell lubricant, a great source of protein, minerals, fats, oils… I cannot overstate the benefits. Although, from re-reading this, I almost have.

Whatever. Do what you want, but know this. If you eat fish, I like you more. If you do not, I think less of you, every day, in every way.

Gary of Just Push Play introduced us to a kick ass fish place up in Lake Mary called Lighthouse. They have a really high quality selection, fair prices, and we love the management. Check them out, if you are nearby!

I am always looking for new places to walk. As I mentioned, Florida has a pretty extensive parks and trails system. This Saturday, friends have invited us to enjoy some time in the Orlando Wetlands, a water reclamation facility consisting of several hundred acres of neato outdoor paths and animals.

We’ll be taking cameras, so I hope to have some good shots for next week’s entries. I’ve been fiddling with the Instamatic App on my iPhone, which takes regular pictures and injects groovy filters and color enhancement to them. It’s nothing you couldn’t do with GIMP, Photoshop, or a hundred other photo manipulators, but I am enamored with it, nonetheless. ‘Cause I am a Hamster.

Thanks to spb13 for showing it to me! I love photography! I like the moment in time, the fleeting second forced to exist forever. Maybe that is why I take so many pictures now, to try and prove I was here, I lived, I saw things. Sad? Probably. But I think my life is enriched, when I look over the things my family and I did together. So screw you, Native Americans!

Anyway, hopefully I can tinker with the new app. Take some Hipstamatic Heron shots.

Sunday I intend to head down to Lake Eola in the morning and walk around the Fall Fiesta. It’s your typical arts and crafts and chicken on a stick fare, but with 600 booths and supposedly some fall weather on the way, I intend to make use of my legs and catch up on some people watching.

I keep trying to talk my camera and art friends into consigning some of their work to me, and I will rent out a booth and try to sell their wares. So many of the existing artists put up their art for exorbitant prices, I think a booth with some fair to low prices would move stock like gangbusters.

Life is settling nicely. I get up, I have a healthy breakfast, I work, I don’t eat out at lunch, I eat three times during the day, small, balanced mini meals, usually beans, spinach, green stuff, lean meat, and whole grains or nuts. My ring is falling off my pointer finger as I type this. I should be on track to be down 100 pounds by December.

Can you imagine? I am already 90 pounds down. NINETY EFFING POUNDS. I would accept people’s congratulations, but when you lose 90 and realize you need to lose 110 more…

Man, I was a big piece of pork.

Speaking of pork!

I made some awesome pork tenderloin, along with sweet potatoes, beans, and Jen made us a Big Damned Salad. Even with the use of maple syrup and some OJ in a marinade on tonight’s pork, my blood sugar just rang back a 77. The beans, people. Beans are good food. Get yourself some damned beans.

For today, I seem to be managing the diabetes. Makes for a nice day!

I have such doubts.

Not that I am a sissy, but I tend to overthink, overworry, and overconsider some things. Not useful things, like mortgage loans and how I treat other people, but silly things, like what is for dinner.

Since being diagnoosed with Diabetes, I have been afraid to eat at other people’s houses.

How will I know they only used the ingredients I think they used? What if they slip me a sweet tea, or there is sugar marinade on the pork? What if there are no vegetables? What if there is only pizza, or bread sandwiches with mashed potato centers!? What if there is PIE!??!

I am usually a wreck, and so I am slowly becoming a serial killer, staying in, cooking fish on the grill, hiding from you. My wife laments her decision to marry me, but that’s been going on since long before Captain Crunch came to Pancrea.

Before I got the Sugar AIDS, I had been invited over to a friend’s place, where his lovely wife was making Indian food most scrumptious. We were to enjoy Chicken Tandoori, Spinachy Cashew mania, and nine kinds of rice, all lovely and yum.

Now, after the math, so to speak, the night of the dinner had arrived, and I certainly didn’t want to cancel. I had to screw up my courage and get back to a regular life. People do this shit all the time!

I was a bundle of nerves. Will it look weird if I bring wine, but don’t drink? I lied, and said I was the DD. I am always the DD, now. It’s sort of neat, in a way, because I know I will not be making any uncomfortable calls to my wife’s mom at 2 am.

I digress.

We grabbed a dessert (Killer Chocolate Cake from Toojay’s, just because my insulin is insolent is no reason to punish the norms) and headed over.

I relaxed into conversation, my favorite planet. We grilled, talked. I watched people smoke, and kept my bile from rising. I heard about new people’s lives. I decided that, regardless of the situation, I would try everything.

As the meal assembled, we stood around a bit, and I felt that panic you always feel in a buffet line. FEED FEED FEED WHY ARE WE NOT EATING GODDAMNIT LET’S EAT NOW FOOD EAT.

I grabbed my inner voice and kicked him dead square in the Utz brand cheese balls.

We plated, and I took a bit of everything.

And therein, found success. I didn’t run from the rice, and when the bread was proffered, I took a small taste. I just kept my portions limited, and doubled up on the veg.

I snuck away to test my blood twice. Both times, under 100. Which is good, to those of you reading from Sarasota. I had after dinner coffee, which my host kicks ass at brewing, and watched them all eat cake. Not even a twitch of desire, and I even cut the damned thing.

I really enjoyed my experiment, and I am happy that I went. Maybe Diabetes is not the death of my social life. Maybe it’s just the death of that belly bursting hotsick feeling you get when you overeat.

You ever get a chance, Check out our new friend Etchie. He’s been on our show twice, now go listen to his!

Bad As A Bone
Pirate Baby
Zombies
Js Sexy Costume
Farmville Kills Kids
Lifecoaching: Don’t Say It If You Don’t Mean It
What’s the Deal?
Time Travel
Apple Store Douchebags

I have reached critical mush, as a consumer. I went out in search of a pedometer.

The Sony store didn’t have them, so they sent me to either the flashy electronics hovel, which did not have them, or Brookstone, which had one model, approximately $40.00 in price, two boxes left, both boxes showed signs of being torn open and taped shut.

I am done with taped-shut boxery, thank you very much, previous consumer who always fails to include the suction cups when he or she is finished breaking whatever device I was dumb enough to purchase. I left Brookstone, slightly concerned that my wife might be looking to leave me for a calf massaging leather chair.

The chair did not massage baby cows. I want that to be clear.

I wandered for a while, wondering if I should get some coffee, until the voice of BOH from the comments floated across my head, saying, “Do you NEED to drink coffee?”

I guess I don’t. Hey! Finishline Sports! They’ll have stuff.

Oooh! Right there in that tall case! Standing in the middle of the store! I see things that may in fact be pedometers! Let me reach inside!

I cannot!

There is glass, blocking me. I would slide the glass aside, but there is a latch. I would release the latch, but it is locked. I would unlock the lock, but I have no key. I would ask for assistance from one of the three employees standing around talking, but they are all doing their best to avoid looking at me.

No customers, just chatting.

I walk over, “Excuse me, could I get an adult to come with me so I can look at the $20-$30 merchandise inside that case?”

“Just a sec.”

Becomes a minute. I am tired. My kid is tired of me looking tired, because that lames up her day. My wife is tired of hearing my conspiracy theories as to why a case containing $30 worth of shit is locked, but the $139 dollar shoes are on display all day.

If only I had been there to buy merchandise approved by the NBA, I might have been worthy of a glance.

I leave.

I have a policy of not putting up with shitty service. If a place is just not getting it done, I walk.

I am getting a lot of walking done lately. I am walking from restaurants, car mechanics, pet stores, grocery stores, and pediatrician’s offices.

Sure wish I had a pedometer to record all that walking.

I am on my way to Best Buy. I am ever hopeful of a positive outcome.

I really need to find a way to deal with my anger. I am like a defective electron, shooting from atom to atom, always screwing up the balance and being unhappy with the outcome.

Maybe I need to get some monkey pants on my head.

Update – It seems my Best Buy is installing a new Fitness Section, which, for some reason, means they have no pedometers. They do have 200-500 dollar Garmin gps thingymajiggers, but I wanted to walk for fitness, not to replace the car I had to sell to afford the step counter.

Happy Birthday Geoff!!!
Geoff = Sorry
Geoff’s Funeral
Geoff = Pretentious Asshole
Geoff Gets It On At the Mall
Geoff’s BD Newsbomb
Geoff Is Scared
Geoff Gets Fishy
Geoff Hates Pit Bulls

Today is Halloween, All Hallow’s Eve, and my samhnag was carved up and ready to go by 12:00 noon today.

I was standing outside, reflecting on what life had become over the last month, while I waited for trick or treaters to come to my house. I watched kids chasing through the shadows, eager to fill their sacks and buckets with as much sucrose as they could lay hands on.

So many of them were fat, pudgy, short of breath, asthmatic, possibly? There’s their dad, smoking like a chimney, his tummy paunched forward, maybe just a gut, maybe cirrhosis.

There’s their mom, walking in that vaguely penguin way women must when their thighs have grown so flabby the skin rubs raw with each heavy, flip-flop mauling step.

As I asked on the show this week, “Why do I need to watch horror movies anymore?”

What emotion  can I muster from watching Pinhead flay the flesh from some chump’s bones, when I know a few high glucose numbers, or low numbers, could see me in a coma, never to wake again?

What terror could possess me about hell, the devil, or demons, when I know I have probably given my own child a loosely wrapped gift, which she may inadvertently open one day and discover this idiot disease waiting inside?

My dreams are no longer haunted by a Freddy Krueger, they are filled with visions of needles and foot amputation and ever-blander diets and waking up one day to find the meds just do not work anymore, or heart disease has finally come home to stay, or my eyes are no longer working.

If the body is a house, this disease is mold. It gets in the eaves, the spaces between the walls, underneath the floorboards, and it festers. It grinds away at the good parts, and corrupts what it touches.

I am thankful I can still see, I just wish the view was not this weirdness.

I know, it looks like I forgot to wash myself.

I didn’t. And those aren’t freckles.

It’s either little burst blood vessels from all of my exercising, or diabetic dermopathy, or some new horror. My next appointment isn’t until January 20 somethingth, and I think I might should schedule a look-see before then.

I’ll keep an eye on it. I really hope nothing is wrong. Otherwise, I had a great birthday, and Rowan had a great Halloween, and I am off to pay back some sleep debt!

Shit Etchie Has Never Had
Taste Retarded
Ghost Powder
Filthy People
Laundry
Scent
Knive Chat
iTunes Sucks
Stupid Is As Stupid Does
Mickey Almost Invented Twitter
Tail = Con
Hoodwinked!
Economic Recovery Slowed

And by Fred, I mean DEATH.

I miss fruit. God, I miss fruit. I miss it like my name was Seth and I just got banished from West Hollywood.

I miss it big time.

Right before I was diagnosed with diabetes, I was drinking fruit juice by the truck load. Fruit juice, it turns out, isn’t really all that good for you. Damn you, Welch’s!

According to what I read online, I should and can eat some fruit, in some ways, but I am terrified to “ruin” my perfect record of kick ass blood sugars. So far, I have only been willing to eat some tomato slices, half a banana, a few raspberries, or a few bites off the fruit bowl at First Watch (Breakfast restaurant, try it some time! I get the lean machine, and for nancy food, it’s pretty great!)

So, help me out. Exactly WHAT can I eat, fruitwise? Or better still, what CAN’T I eat? Apparently watermelon is good, but, jesus, it’s just fructose and water, isn’t it? So much reading.

I love all of your comments, and I love being kept honest, be it by my family, a listener, a friend, or a mix of that. But, I have to be honest here.

I have not been exercising enough. Here is all that I have done this week

Sunday – 5 miles woods/trails walk. Low impact speed, carried Rowan for maybe five minutes, LOTS of strolling, not much heartbeat lifting

Monday – Jack Shit. Fail day.

Tuesday – Walked 1 mile

Wednesday – Walked 1 mile

Thursday – Walked 1 and 1 half miles

Mind you, walking a mile takes about 15 minutes. If walking is to be my exercise, I need to be gunning for 45 minutes, and either corroborating that with a load (carrying baby or weights), or an incline, or faster walking speed.

SO I am doing less than a third what I should be doing, and that is just not cutting it, fatty boom blatty. WTF, Over? DWYTD?

My intention is to kick it up a notch, and be accountable to you, surely, but also myself.

So, a friend suggested I get on this website – http://www.dailymile.com (Thanks, Heather!)

I have done so, my name is Geoffrey Peace on there. Feel free to friend me, watch what I do, whatever. I am going to go familiarize myself with the site, and see what the all is entailed. Hopefully it will help me to remain vigilant, because I am doing great with medication, and I am doing much, much better with diet, but exercise is inconsistent and con right now.

It’s nice to listen to podcasts while you walk. Try ours sometime!

I’m still pony.

That’s a little horse.

The cold that I had has metamorphed to this wheedling thing, and I will be happy when it leaves here with its mucus and its itchy throat and its hazy, almost-but-not-quite sneezing.

In the meantime I am putting in some longer days at work, which requires that I leave the house at 5:30 am and get home at 7:30 pm.

I’ve had way worse schedules, and I am sure many of you do, but it’s sort of a bitch with the diabetes, and I am learning how to get through the day, camping style.

Today, my sweet Helper Monkeys packed superfoods aplenty. When I left my house I had - black coffee – 40 carrot slices – 2 hard boiled eggs – a half cup of beans – six olives - a cup of raw pecans  - a turkey sandwich with tomato on whole wheat and pumpernickel swirl bread – 4 additional slices of turkey

I was, in short, loaded for bear.

Diabetes Bear.

THE DEADLIEST OF BEARS, FOR HE CANNOT ENJOY HONEY! RARRR!!!!!!

At 6:15 I was on the road and feeling good. At 6:50 I was pulling in to get more coffee. I had already eaten three olives.

at 7:20 I popped an egg in my mouth and chewed it up.

at 7:21 I figured I might as well chase that with the olives. Plenty of good fats

at 8:00 I was nearing my job site. I munched a few pecans.

by 9:00 I was nomming more pecans.

the coffee was gone.

by 10:00, the beans made their way down my gullet, briefly alone, until the second egg came looking for them.

by 11:00 (almost lunch time!) I was worried that the turkey sandwich was getting too warm, and so I grabbed it and chomped it down. It was sooooo good.

I also munched the turkey slices. Without ice, how could I ensure their food safety status?

So, by 11:15, everything was gone but the carrot slices. I had no food for lunch, but who needs lunch when you have eaten everything in sight in one morning?

At 3:00 in the afternoon, I munched my carrots. I made them last, enjoying each bite, lightly rolling them in my mouth, savoring their sweet, a bit overhigh in the glycemic index but carotoid heavy goodness.

Or are they?

It seems that the initial rating of carrots as being too high in the glycemic index may have been a misprint, or poor science. It also seems that the carb load isn’t what we are led to believe, depending on which website you utilize. The American Diabetes Association includes recipes with carrots on its website, other sites threaten that too many can spike your blood like WHOA. Some sites cite the sight benefits of beta-carotene, some ignore it completely.

Fun, when simple queries like “should I eat carrots?” are answered with yes, no, sometimes, rarely, never, and often.

I guess it doesn’t matter, since all the carrots were gone by 3:02.

No wonder people keep dying of this shit.

You know what IS good for me? Peppers, onions, mushrooms, and smelt! Had that for dinner, and it was excellent. Super Helper Monkey Rowan helped me brush on some olive oil and pepper.

MAN were they yummy!

Tomorrow, I will try to space out my eating a bit better.

The Rent is Too Damn High therentistoodamnhigh.org
Bit Politics
Mickey = Pink
Lady Pres
Glenn Beck = Tea Party

I’ve never suffered from overconfidence.

Sometimes, people hear my voice for the first time, and they think, “What arrogance! What cocksuredness! What a strange tendency to go all high pitched when excited!”

But I assure you, I have always been uncocksure, or something.

I suppose it has quite a lot to do with what I feel about myself. If I am not useful, valuable, necessary, why should I care for the organism that houses me?

I smoked for 20 years. Apart from some time I spent institutionalized, I did it every day, often to the tune of a pack, later in life to the edge of two packs.

I engaged in a habit that was guaranteed to isolate me, socially, from more than half of the population. Those who choose not to smoke, you know, “healthy” twerps, would naturally avoid spending time with me.

Women who cared about their skin, hair, teeth, pocketbooks, and smell would naturally not be on my radar.

I would almost be guaranteed to have friends that drank, or used drugs. Certainly, people who were disillusioned with life. I mean, who the hell else would pay a corporation to poison their bodies and feed them ashes?

Why I was willing to do that is beyond me. The fact that I am on the other side of it is the most wonderful, freeing, Elysian feeling I’ve felt. It’s like a tiny orgasm, every time I wake up and draw a breath and do not desire a cigarette.

I heard from a friend the cravings may return. I would appreciate it if they never did, but I am ready for them if they do.

Because of the weight I have lost, I now fit into dress shoes again, and can tuck in my shirt without looking a complete mess. I did so today, and went to a work conference. I sat, learning, for four hours without feeling my spine ache from my giant body crushing down on a normal chair.

At lunchtime, I had a wonderful meal in a pretty place…

Here I sat with people I respected, enjoying conversation, not sweating about when I would get my next fix, not embarrassed about the burn holes in my shirt, not horrified that my cancer breath was circling the table, informing everyone of my stank presence.

Far from cigarettes, greasy cheeseburgers, mountain dew goo, massive iced coffees soaked in sweet cream and extra extra sugar, cinnamon twist sticks, and all the other things I used to shove in my body to try and wake it back up to “operational”.

I had the Cobb. It was tasty. It was also $14.00.

But once in a while, I am worth it.

I spent some time with the family tonight, scouring stores for our little girl’s costume for Halloween. Found out some shocking news about food today, will need to confirm what I have read.

In the meantime, since I cannot give you the distance, I will shoot for accuracy.

Eat More Nuts.

Especially Walnuts and Almonds.

They’re like megafood, with regard to what they get done inside you just by eating a handful or two.

Walnuts have craptons of protein, fiber, folate, vitamin E, a bunch of stuff that would mean little to you or me, but had to do with fixing guts, and ellagic acid (stops cancer cells).

Walnuts have kick ass levels of omega-3 fats, which are ninja in helping blood pressure, thinning of the blood, they help with insulin sensing, improve blood vessel flexibility and elasticity.

Almonds make your fat ass feel full. It’s true! I read some crap online that eating almonds WITH wonder bread or mashed potatoes will lower your sugar spike. I may try that one day when I am floating a 70, just to see if it’s true.

Eating almonds also kicks your cholesterol in the squawk, which is great by me!

So, when I get hungry, I cram nuts deep in my mouth. It’s the right thing to do, and the right way to…

Oh?

No Wilfred Brimley quotes?

Sorry about that.

Gotta get some Zs. Good night. I watched Paranormal Activity (the first one, the cheap one) last night. Been scared all day. I hate that feeling. I really hope I get some rest now.

Etchie from Etchie and Broncho   http://etchieandbroncho.com
John Adams
Pres Movies
Stealing Music
Mickey = Bartender
Etchie + Bruce Campbell + Shatner
The Vault http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0386846/
Green Screen 4 Ever

My wife’s grandmother passed away, and between spending time with my in-law side of the family, checking out the zoo, driving back and forth from Florida’s west coast a few times, and trying to get exercise, it’s been a full few days.

I am concerned with my lack of planning. I feel like if I fail to maintain my diet and new way of life, it will be because I fail to think ahead. Let’s examine Friday.

I was already sick, and starting to lose my voice from a sore throat I caught from the little one.

I awoke early, and we had a healthy home breakfast at about 7:00, then headed west. There were some schedule changes to the funeral, so we decided to spend some time at Lowry Park Zoo, and then see Jen’s family when they were ready. Er.

Got some coffee, and we had a great time walking around the zoo, checking out goats and such until about 12:00 noon, when my blood sugar must have dipped due to me not eating. No problem there, I head to the concession stand.

Jen wants a hot dog, Rowan wants a corn dog, and I will have… Hmmm… Not Hot Dog, Not Corn Dog, Not Pizza, Not Breaded Chicken Fingers, Not Hamburger, Not Cotton Candy, Not Cookie, Not Ice Cream…

Uh oh.

Well, they’ll have other places, so Jen and Rowan munched up, and we went walking again.

It was now about 12:30, and the sun was blazing. We were in pseudo-Africa, the part of the zoo with Rhinos and Giraffes and Elephants, and I started seeing little black flies.

We stopped at a few other stands… They had ice cream and dipping dots type stuff, and caramel apples and… shit.

There was a nice restaurant, and no one was to be seen inside of it. Shit.

I started to sort of sink inward, because I wasn’t feeling hungry, I was feeling… weak. Slightly dizzy, my footsteps didn’t quite stay straight and steady on the path, and I was quite a few times thankful to be pushing my child’s stroller, thus gaining some help with my balance.

I had fallen into a pretty damaging, and wholly preventable, trap. I had not planned.

I got some water, drank it, and felt a bit better. We went on to spend another three hours at the zoo, walking in the sun. Some of the black flies were white. A few times I wondered if I was damaging my body. I never said I was smart. We were having fun, and sometimes I would get a boost of energy, maybe from fat pockets being dissolved by my body, who knows?

Suddenly, I felt like my whole digestive system drop, and a cold “rainy” feeling came over my stomach.

I had no idea how used to scheduled eating I had gotten. I mean, I skipped meals all the time just a half a year ago.

We left the park, and I asked Jen to look for a decent place to use “the facilities”. If you know me, you know I must have been in serious need.

There were no facilities. We were in north Tampa, and most restrooms serve as flophouses and opium dens.

Suddenly, my need was gone. What the hell?

We drove back to Clearwater and ended up meeting up with Jen’s Mom, who had normal-people food, and a bunch of trays for the wake-type family gathering that she did not want to open yet. Nurse starts banging through her refrigerator, snapping about what things should and should not be there.

I know Nurse was simply sticking up in an effort to support me, but I felt like a 31 year old worm, sitting on the couch while she harangued her mother for not having diabetes-friendly food.

Why should ANYONE have such in their home? If vegans, or folks allergic to glutens or peanuts came to my house, would I be able to cater to their dietary needs? I grabbed the car keys and ran over to a Sam’s Club. Got some turkey and ham, some olives, a rotisserie chicken, some wheat english muffins, some raspberries, and some unsweet tea.

I think it was just under $50.00 I spent. On lunch. And dinner, because by now, it was around 5:00 PM. But I wanted to make sure I did not get “burned” again on foodstuffs while we were in town for the funeral.

MAN, did that food feel good inside of me.

I think I lost a few pounds from the experience, but I never want to be in that shaky state again. I need to resolve to always having a backup plan, and always be carrying something with me if I am not going to be home for a while.

I am angry again that the Myoplex powder mix contains arsenic. It would be a nice alternative, and can be made with just water and shaking. Damnit.

You cannot rely on other people’s food sources when you have diabetes. You cannot expect other people to have diabetes-friendly foods on hand. Sure, it’s easy… A vegetable, some protein, and maybe some beans, or a piece of whole grain something.

But people always add flour, some enriched corn products, some butter, some trans fats, some heart disease inducing, high fructose corn syrup enjoying additives.

And If You Do Not Want To Die, you need to be prepared, son.

Today I spent some time walking nature trails with Nurse, the Baby, and our friends and their son. It was a really nice day, and I think I am starting to love my new way of living. It sure does get hot out there. But you know what I do when I get overheated?

I sweat. And that is how you know you are working towards being alive. You know who doesn’t sweat? Pigs.

Oh, and a fun fact about sweat. It ALSO contains Urea! Soak that in some milk, yo.

Regarding my sudden stomach issue previously discussed from Friday? Today is Sunday, and 30 minutes before I wrote this blog, I finally solved the equation. It was terrifying.

www.twitter.com/elross

(Hey, that’s all Ross gave me for the notes! But I found out Ross and I were a lot alike in our younger days…)

I have had some difficulty in finding people to talk to about my diabetes, and have taken to harassing complete strangers with it.

“Hi, welcome to Panera, can I interest you in a bread sandwich with bread on it, washed down with a nice bready bread?”

“No, I’ll just have the chicken cobb salad, please. Can you put the vinagrette to the side?”

“GREAT! That comes with your choice, bread, or chips?”

“I think I’ll just skip the side, thanks. Is that green tea sweet?”

“No sir, no sweeteners in the green tea!”

“Really? Great! I’ll have a glass of that, please!”

“We just put mango in it.”

“Ah?”

“Quite.”

To be fair, I am in Panera BREAD Company having this back and forth, but I digress.

“Your total comes to (whatever godawful price things are these days).”

“Thanks.”

“OH! Can I interest you in a raspberry slut wrapped in sugar frosted doughy dough, round boy?”

“What?”

“You look like you know how to eat. Step up and get some Killer Chocolate Face, Fatty McEatsHisHouse of the Clan McEatsHisHouse.”

“No thanks”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Good! ”

“I have Diabetes.”

And she is gaspstruck. She stares at me, afraid, because she knows it’s just a matter of time until the God of Carbohydrates smites her as well. She looks away, muttering plaintively under her breath, “Good for you, eating healthy. Here’s your receipt.”

I have ruined her day, and laid out the contents of my hand before the flop, never mind the turn or the river. Why ruin someone else’s day with your bullshit disease?

Because somewhere inside, the scary 1984 Geoffrey knows that our society has been allowed to free will itself to death. At least 18 MILLION Americans have Diabetes.

About half that actually know it. How scary is that?

Gestational Diabetes is de rigueur amongst pregnant moms, causing oversized heads in infants and unbearable births to moms. Nurse herself was borderline DiaGesty with our daughter Rowan.

So if damn near everyone has Diabetes, You’d think there’d be more education and information about it. Not so.

I would have told you just four months ago that Diabetes means “NO SUGAR, EVER!” Couldn’t be more wrong about that.

With all these cases, you can pretty much infer that around 1 in 20 Americans have the disease. I went looking for some famous people who suffered from Diabetes. Wanna know some of the people I found? Do ya Do ya?!?!

Thomas Edison! Inventor of Light Bulbery, so his fading sugar soaked eyes could see to pee! No wonder he was such a dick to Nick Tesla! He needed a snack!

David “HamFace” Wells! Pitcher and Rage Sandwich Eater for the Red Sox and a buncha other teams! He not only throws a hell of a fastball, he also doesn’t make enough insulin!

Halle Berry! I invite you, Ms. Berry, to come over and have some grilled chops and asparagus with Nurse and I! Just putting it out there!

Johnny Cash! I don’t know what to do when The Man Comes Around, but he better have some goddamned Aviva test strips at the ready!

Elvis Presley! Peanut Butter and Nanner Sandwiches pretty much invented the glycemic index!

Marion Barry! Ex-Mayor, then Crackhead, then Crackhead Mayor of DC! Knowing what a crackhead does for crack, imagine what this man would do for a goddamned doughnut!

Mario Puzo! Nah Nah Nah Na Na Na Nah Nah Nah Na Na naaaaa! What have I done to deserve this miserable pancreas? I make you an offer you cannot refuse! Leave the Canoli, the Gun is Safer!

Anne Rice! I have nothing funny to say about Anne Rice! Rowan’s namesake appears in some of her books, though!

H.G. Wells! Writer of The Food of the Gods and The War of the Worlds! H spoke to the final conflict we all must face, where we the diabetecs rise up against Big Corn and Big Cane, having an incredibly tasty, but deadly, firefight for fit living!

Cezanne! He painted stuff! With his bloody just-lanced fingertips!

Ray Kroc! HA! Hah Hah Hah! HAAAAA!

So I guess this is welcome, my son, to Club Diabeteam!

After yesterday’s literal two of comments, I have decided to hold on to the AndroGel (it’s good for a year!) and try to boost my test, test, testosterone naturally. Thanks for the advice, Lisa! By the way, I do not drink. I used to drink quite a bit, and when we had Rowan, that slowed to “3 or 4 drinks a month”. Now I am at zero intake, which is fine for me.

Alcohol is for destruction, and I am in a rebuilding year.

I have to be careful, I have found, because I am starting to develop a tendency to confront people about their health. I have no right to do this, but I am starting to feel that way.

Case in point – I have a good friend over for dinner, and he says he is thirsty. “Well dude, you might want to get checked.”

Another friend states he pees a lot. “Well, dude, you definitely have it. Go get confirmed.”

Someone passing by comments, “I got NO sleep last night.” – “That’s cause you are DYING OF DIABETES!”

A fat guy waiting for a bus is enjoying a cigarette, and I pull alongside, stab him in the neck with my lancet, and whip a test strip at him as I drive off, laughing maniacally in my smug, knowing way.

It’s terrible. People have the right to be who they are, live how they want, even if it is detrimental to their health.

But I feel a bit like Cassandra, predicting outcomes that no one wants to hear, much less believe. But really, did I want to hear it when I was on the other side of knowing I had diabetes?

Of course I did not. When I even considered the reality that I had diabetes six months ago, I was angry. The mere IDEA was abhorrent to me, and if I DID have it, well I would fix it before it was “permanent”…

I was naive… Not cute, just… Dumb.

So, when I see you smoke, I am sad inside, because I see you killing yourself. When I see you overeat, I am sad inside, because I see you filling a hole with a lack of fulfillment. And when I see you scarf pie, I die inside, because pie is so fucking good. But I know what it CAN do to a person.

And I want better things for you, random person reading these words. I am the man in hell, asking if he can be allowed to just warn his loved ones, so they never have to experience this. Forgive me if I come off all up in your grill about having diabetes. It’s not like I am the mayor, hell, I just fell off the turnip truck here.

But we all have our own row to hoe, you know?

Speaking of rows of hoes, some Testosterone boosting tips for today:

1. Cut back on meat. Less meat activates the inner cave man, forcing your oonga boonga to hunt more meat. Guess what makes kick ass hunters? MANMONES!  So keep meat to a minimum when possible.

2. Every Day Is Wednesday. The more you hump, the more you make MANMONES! The more MANMONES you make, the more you hump. It’s a viscous cycle. I misspelled nothing.

3. Eat Fat. Not like, all fat, but good fats, olive oils, almond and pecans. Try to get fat up to about 30% of caloric intake, or, if you are me, down to about 30%?

Another big tip – LOSE WEIGHT. I am on it, Boss! Dropping some pounds here, Boss! ‘Bout 85 so far now, Boss!

There’s a bunch of weight trainy stuff, which I will discuss at greater length now that I have been cleared to begin weight work. I think I am going to start with Holden’s pushouts. Expect video, probably in wide screen.

Hey, Mickey!!!
IN THE NAVY!!!
Mickey Genetics
Tan & Blonde
Handholder Supreme
Brain Bowl
Bootcamp
Mickey Held It for Two Weeks
LifeCoaching- Figure It Out, 3 YRs Before a Ring, Don’t Be A Dick
In Virgina
The Enterprise
On A Boat!
Mickey Gets Keelhauled
Ribbons
Mickey Almost Invented Twitter

Got my labs back, and I wanted to post the “fails” here, to keep me honest and working toward solutions. This is all blood work from the 30th, taken three days after I learned I had diabetes and right after I started meds. In other words, they are the closest numbers we have to “starting”.

Here’s what sucks -

Serum Glucose – 217 (65-99)

Amount of active (hot) sugar in the blood. This number has already been defeated, as I have not been out of range in weeks, and continue to see safe numbers. This will always need to be monitored, but for now, this number is doing great!

Plan of Action: Business as usual, watch for spikes and dips.

AST – 106 (0-40)

ALT – 81 (0-55)

These numbers indicate the potential for liver or muscle damage. We will have to wait and see what the next results in three months show, but for now, it looks like I heavily taxed my organs with all those frappacinos.

Plan of Action: Stay on track, see what next test shows.

Total Cholesterol – 204 (100-199)

Triglycerides – 154 (0-149)

HDL Cholesterol – 33 (>39)

LDL Cholesterol – 140 (0-99)

Considered borderline-high, and at a moderate risk for heart disease. These numbers will be the focus of my diet right now, because I know I can reduce this with less eggs, saturated fats, and making good choices when cooking.

I could totally fix my HDL and LDL simply by exercising more, and am doing so, posthaste. That’s the nice thing about coming from a position of absolute inertia… ANY exercise is win!

Plan of Action: Keep sugar levels down in range, exercise every day, and cut back on introducing certain unhealthy foods to my system.

Testosterone Serum 138 (280-800)

Free Testosterone 6.7 (8.7-25.1)

Ho. Lee. Jeezus. Poor Nurse. Poor, poor, poor Jen. Oh my. I…

Well, I cannot say I am shocked by this. I have long lamented those age old questions -

“Why am I such a whiny, talkative, unreasonable, vicious, backbiting and mouthy harpy?”

“Why do I listen to The Cure, Depeche Mode, The Sisters of Mercy, and Disney Movie Music?”

“Why do I have these huge bitch tits?”

The answer is right there, folks. I have no penis! Err… No balls! I am a cabron! I am a cuckold! I am a eunuch! My sex life is stiff only in the sense of rigor mortis!

Plan of Action: Well, here is where it gets tricky…

Have I ever told you about Monkey Paw Physics? It’s a simple fact, anything really good given to you must come with a ridiculous price – a horrible catch, if you will. The devil is always in the details. Enter the Andro.

For those of you who do not know, AndroGel is incredible. The benefits include increased mood, sexual desire, feeling of well being, and proper drive and initiative.

It will make you a MAN, man, Maown Maown MAN. You will get hair on stuff that is supposed to have hair. You will sound like a man when you speak. You will smell like a man. It’s what makes Old Spice Commercial Dude Old Spice Commercial Dude.

When you have low testosterone, you get a soft underbelly, and a soft underpenis. Testosterone fixes all that!

It also gives you acne, and contributes to heart disease, and can make you (ha!) even more irritable, and paranoid, and spark insane feelings of jealousy.

Oh, and the best way to get the hormone into your system is via gel application. Which presents the issue that if you accidentally touch anyone with your flesh, you might start messing up their hormones. So my wife or daughter need to stay away while daddy is “manning up”.

Except it stays on you, active, until you wash it off with soap and water. So now, a day would have to consist of waiting until I leave for work, applying the gel to my belly, working all day with absorby goodness, then come home, shower, and THEN I can hug my family again. Maybe. It’s still new, who knows?

Do I really want something like that in my home? Do I really want to be nuclear man, do not touch him or your ladyparts will become manbits?

So, I have some choices. Do I take the AndroGel, and make a baby every NIGHT? Or do I try to raise my testarossa au naturale? And what kinda conboy says things like au naturale?

I mean, I just want to be normal, and having less than 25% of a hormone seems pretty abnormal. Tell me what to do, Goddamnit! NOW! RAGE!

Sorry… took some this morning. I got home and in ten minutes I had heated up our stew for dinner, walked the dogs, put away all the dishes, started putting in dirty dishes, realized I wanted to hang my grill basket, grabbed two nails for it to hang on, realized the hammer didn’t have clear space to swing with the light in the way, disassembled the fluorescent bulb, drove the nails, hung the bulb, spooned the stew, served the bowls, started the washer and was cleaning the coffeepot when Jen walked in.

But I don’t think I feel any different.

Hemoglobin A1c 12.7 (4.8-5.6)

This number is shit. It basically says I was running an average blood sugar in the 300-400 range, which is deadly. We’ll work hard to get this down, but for a diabetic, it should be under 7, definitely.

Plan of Action: Get down on it, with diet, exercise, and medication every single day.

We’ll get refreshes on all these numbers in January, so, back to work, Geoffrey… Or DYWTD?

It’s easy to get complacent when you are trying to adhere to a new way of eating, or a new way of living. You are constantly assaulted by information, some wise, most silly, some outright ridiculous.

I have been told to go ahead and eat whatever, as long as it is the size of my fist. Really? Red Velvet Cake, soaked in egg yolks and rum and butter cream frosting, wrapped in a croissant? It’s the size of my fist, though!

I have been told to drink protein shakes, but I recently discovered they will straight up kill your ass dead, so I will certainly be avoiding those. Anybody want to buy 60 odd ‘Nilla and Chocolate Myoplex powder servings?

There are aisles of “diabetes” food. Funny, for a disease that is trying to “teach” you to eschew processed, chemically treated and generally modified (or “ruined”) food, an entire industry has leapt up, ready to fill our bellies with things that are not food.

Drink saccharine! That’s not food. Enjoy olestra! That’s not food. Have some flax! That’s not…

Oh.

It is?

Are you quite sure?

How… very.

I am most sad when I think the word, “beverage”.

For a guy who used to get his jollies drinking soft drinks, fruit juice, juiced vegetables, milk in all forms, shakes, mixed drinks, ales, ades, and the occasional sweet porter, it has taken some getting used to.

Water. Tea. Maybe coffee (some sites say it’s good, others say it’s bad, only the Moonies really know).

Take aspartame, saccharine, and sucralose out of that equation, and you are pretty much down to three wet things that enter your mouth. Hawt.

Of course, that allows me to branch out within tea.  Spiced tea, Jasmine tea (hooray, Zuko), Earl Grey Tea, Citron Tea, Green Tea. Sort of a smorgasboard of leafy wet goodness, sure.

But you always have to be aware of the marketing, and the buck-making. I was at our local Flea Market buying some pecans or almonds or some sorta nut, and stumbled across -

I have LONG heard of the healing benefits of alfalfa (the American Indians called it “hay”)! And yes, at the bottom, the label on the closer bin is, “Male Magic”.

Thankfully, I live down the street from a proper tea shoppe, and thus have quite a few options ahead of me.

The doctor’s news was partly good during my appointment today. More on that tomorrow, I think. Need to finish analyzing my labs. Also landed some new medications!

Can you guess which ones? Hint, I was thrilled when the pharmacist, (the American Indians called them, “jerkwads”) announced the name of one medication out loud in front of three women. Proud moment for Nurse, you betcha!

Then again, she married me. The woman has no shame.

SomaCow = Geoff
All. About. J.
“Pussy, Geoff.”
Geographic Center of TN
J = Defender of the Downtrodden
True Love = Ass-Slap
Kara-J
Newsbomb- By J!
Miners
Neal Patrick Harris Gives Birth
J <3s Kiss
Mid Tenn State Uni
J’s Date at The Polaris
J = Tire Thief
J’s Wife <3s Dog Music
After the J’s of Summer are gone….

A friend of mine had a daughter who wanted a turtle. She got the turtle, and the parents got a new job, cleaning up the turtle’s environment. If you have ever had the pleasure of being gifted a red eared slider, you know that turtles do two things – poop, and stuff.

And they really don’t do all that much stuff.

All that turtle number two makes a certain… smell. Most reptiles are stank; the smell of omni-or carnivore offal is pretty awful, I must say. If you do not want to be overcome with stank, you need to clean often, and provide plenty of fresh, clean water.

Now consider that a turtle needs about 10 gallons of water for every inch of shell, or carapace, length. So a little 2 inch turtle needs about 20 gallons of water to swim in. Except you can’t really fill a fishtank full of water, or else the turtle will crawl right out. So you need a 40 gallon tank filled halfway.

Until the turtle grows another inch. And then you need to buy a new tank. Neat, huh?

Except the average red eared slider grows to about 12-13 inches. So figure on needing a 120 gallon water load, hopefully in a 200-300 gallon tank.

And even if you buy a great filter, and perform water changes religiously, they can still stink quite a bit.

Oh, and they carry Salmonella, so you need to sanitize after handling them, their cages, and maybe their food.

Oh, and they need UV light, so get them a good sun lamp, preferably one that heats their basking zone to 90 degrees Fahrenheit.

Oh, and they need nighttime UV and heat, too, so they do not catch chill.

Oh, and they need some substrate, so get some rocks, but not too small, or they will choke on it. Static tongue, you see.

Oh and they need a wet-dry filtering system, because in-tank filters cannot handle the load, and side tank bio-wheels cannot operate with the half-filled aquarium tank.

Oh, and they should probably see the vet, at least once a year for a check up.

Oh, and if you can, feed them in a separate tank, to minimize waste issues in their primary tank.

Oh, and they really could use some sun, so consider taking them outside once in a while. Make sure you sanitize after that, too.

Oh, and watch out for egrets while you are out there.

Oh, and the water needs to be about 75-85, with cooler spots and warmer spots, so they can self-regulate.

I knew all this taking on the responsibility, but because the idea of keeping a turtle is worth the trouble to me, I was willing to do so.

I was not willing to have diabetes. Someone else picked it out for me. Someone else raised it on cigarettes and large iced coffees loaded with sugar and baconators and martinis with cheese stuffed olives and cases and cases of Dr. Pepper. Someone else chose to lock it inside of a small cage, out of the sunlight, and overfeed it and not take it to the doctor and allow it to get out of control.

But a good person seems to have come along, and is willing to take on the responsibility of maintaining the requirements of the disease. He knows that it is a royal pain in the ass, but he seems to be capable, he doesn’t complain (much) about the extra work, and he will hopefully keep showing up for the job. He seems to think keeping me alive is worth the trouble. Even with all the pooping.

Doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Hoping for good news, and looking forward to showing him my glucose blood sheets. See if I get an A!

Fall festivals
Halloween
Trunk or treat
Tricks
New SomaCow
Teaching breast exams
Eating seafood
Deadliest Datch
Weight loss

It’s amazing, the neighborhood I live in. There are people who spend their whole afternoons bustling in their yards, warshing their cars, watering their begonias, trimming up their crepe myrtles (sadly, not a pancake), and generally just being outside all evening long.

There are all kinds of birds, and dogs, and a snake, and possum families, and a cockatoo, or maybe it was a cockatiel… I am only sure of the cock.

There are buzzards in the sky, and a moon, and various barbecued smells, and spanish rice smells, and burning maple leaf smells.

There are crunchy underfoot leaves, and crunchy underfoot acorns, and crunchy underfoot kitties (ack!). There are hills, and ponds, and cute little yard things that don’t do anything but rust. There are myriad wonders on my streets.

There are stodgy neighbors, and friendly neighbors, and stoic neighbors, and republican and democrat neighbors, but I don’t hold it against either of them. There are hot neighbors, and smelly neighbors, and neighbors that wave back (my favorite kind!)

There are also two wonderful girls, willing to traipse about with me as we lap the neighborhood.

We chat with each other, and squeal with delight at the butterflies and dog poop, and build up a healthy appetite for the dinner (SHARK MEAT!) we will cook together.

This evening, a year ago, would have consisted of eating Popeye’s Fried Chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, cole slaw, and biscuits drizzled with honey. In a carbohydrate and salted fat stupor, we’d have drooled ourselves into a doze-coma watching Food TV, or some god-awful reality show, while our child fussed at her lack of stimulation and stayed up, possibly too late, watching her dad slowly kill himself between trips to the bathroom.

Plus, stinky smoke.

I really, really enjoyed tonight.

Not just for the great dinner, conversation, and some light exercise. Not just for the nice weather, friendly neighbors, and happy child.

I enjoyed it because it can be like this all the time, if I merely insist that I try. My wife is supportive, my kid is up for anything; the only person that was holding us back… was me.

It’s like we were on a stagecoach, aimed for the cliff, horses lathered and laboring, wheels fittin’ to bust off, and I kept whipping and whipping and whipping, driving us ever closer.

I am glad I put down the whip.

I am glad I am letting go of the reins.

The horses may lead us to water, or perhaps make us think.

But they don’t want to die.

I have no idea what I am talking about. Man, shark and green beans ROCK!

I was going through some receipts last week, and came across a grocery bill from, as our listener Reptile on facebook puts it, “way back when”.

I am shocked at the amount of money, and the volume of food, I would ingest. I mean, I know I was fat.

420 lbs of fat.

A simple perusal of this list, just the highlights.

2 tubs of sour cream, 2 cans of refried beans, 2 lbs of shredded mexicheese, 6 lbs of ground beef, a crapload of crunchy and soft tacos, creamed corn, chocolate milk, lb of bologna, lb of ham, lb of liverwurst, or braunschweiger, and smoked fish dip, and swedish meatballs, 4 boxes of hamburger helper, 4 boxes of macaroni and cheese, 2 containers of Ragu thick and racist, yoplait laden with high fructose corn syrup, orange juice, apple juice, grape juice, white grape juice, lemonade, pink lemonade, Coke, Dr. Pepper, Mt. Dew, Fishdicks, Au Gratin potatoes, Cheesy potatoes, 3 Cheese Potatoes, a shit ton of actual potatoes, whipped potato mix, twice baked potatoes, and potato chips with french fried potato peels soaked in potato oil with potato flake infusion. And all of the bacon in the world that week, each week.

I eat much different now, oonga boonga.

Beyond the pork chops and chicken we’ve been grilling (and man, has it been good) I mostly eat beans, salad, protein shakes, vegetables, the occasional safe fruit, and unsweet tea, black coffee, and plenty of water. Sometimes I nibble ham, or make a red meat concoction, but mostly it’s just good. Gary taught me to make fish last week, and I have since made flounder, and I have a shark steak soaking in milk tonight.

My family has been great about joining forces with me, eating healthy, even if it gets a little boring. I want so much to see more of Rowan’s development into an adult, and I want to help her make great food choices, too.

I am proud of where my tastes are heading. Here was today’s quick restock at Publix-

Green beans, chuck steak for a diabetes-compliant stew I learned about in my new cookbook, spinach aplenty, fresh red lettuce, strawberries and nanners for Rowan and Jen, some zucchini and squash, a plain rotisserie chicken (to round out our diet of chicken and chicken and chicken) my aforementioned shark, some onions, cherry tomatoes, and cucumbers for salad. And I am going to try a whole grain english muffin and see what my blood sugar thinks, since I am supposed to eat the occasional grain. Moo.

Oh! There are baby wipes. For me, hopefully. We’ve been trying to potty train all month.

I am unashamed of any of it. I love eating “around the middle”, a technique of grocery shopping where you rarely if ever set foot in the center aisles. I only forage there for insulin-boosting beans and legumes. By sticking to the borderlands, you are more likely to encounter fresh meat, seafood, vegetables, and fruit. You are less likely to encounter frozen foods, sugary snacks, and soda. You will still have to make choices near the dairy and juice sections, and I wish you luck there.

Do not try this shopping method at the warehouse clubs, or you will have soda, frozen pizza rolls, and enough paper plates to reform Pangaea.

Care to show me your conveyer? jaffesalad@yahoo.com

Missing Ross
Harry Potter is not in 3-D
Play chess
Check your boobs
Pics of your kid on the internet
School is worthless
Renaming SomaCow “Chubby People”
Perez Hilton
Profanity

I have never been much for organization. The world of lists, cubbies, and a place for everything, everything in its place has always been a bit of rigmarole to me. There are people who excel at it, surely, but I am clueless.

As a kid, if a class required a folder, mine would be three inches thick, crammed up with every crinkly, yellowed leaf of notebook paper I ever came within three feet of, requiring hours of forensic analysis to sift through the mess and retrieve anything useful. Or, my notebook would be completely empty, Spartan, devoid of even a smear of penmark, worthy of its giant capital red F in every way.

Now, it’s much the same. My house is an amalgamation of books, dog hair tumbleweeds, books, electronic equipment both defunct and obscure, books, children’s plastic things, and whatever detritus was left here by the many podcasts who come here to do their show.

I should be able to compartmentalize it all. I should be able to put this pile in this tupperware, and those doodads onto this shelf. You want thingamabobs? I got twenty! But I am helpless. If I clean one thing, it requires I dirty the next, and by the time I make the round, clearing the mess in one room, it has piled up into the next, because, in the end, there is just too much stuff in too little space. And no, we do NOT need more space!

I look at these piles of books and nooks and things with my ever-changing eyes and I want to burn it all to the ground. Not just because Bank of America continues to quietly try to steal my house, no matter the fact that we’ve always paid on time (oh, we see you coming, BoA… SATAN! You act like United Healthcare… have some decency!)

But I want it all gone. The books represent a life of quiet loneliness, studious hours spent reading and crapping, crapping and reading, laying in bed until dawn turning pages, living other people’s lives, drinking their dusty wines, bedding their weary wives.

No more. Reading has a purpose, but I have read quite a bit. Why do I need this arrogance, these shelves burgeoning with books, dusting up my home, providing nothing of value to my family, and silently reminding me of all the years I wasted, growing ever fatter each day, sedentary, but with a remarkable grasp of pop fiction English?

Books can go into mp3 files, and come with me as I take my fat ass on an exploratory excursion.

I live a mile from a great trail, never walked or rode it.

I live 10 miles from some of the best canoeing available in Florida, I never go.

I live by lakes, rivers, ponds, paths, woods, beaches, brooks, gullies, gulches, copses, clearings, and god knows how much State Mandated Parks and Recreationary…

And I have not been taking advantage of it.

Out and about, is what I’m about. Proof to follow here, as we continue to answer No! to the question…

Really, Diabetes is a weak name. It sounds like something little girls would sell door to door or standing out in front of a Publix.

“Good evening, sir, would you like to try some Samoas, Tagalongs, or maybe some Diabetes?”

Diabetes needs a new name, something that indicates just how sinister and quiet and evil it really is; something that clearly communicates that it wants to kill you,that it will straight up kill you, and you are probably going to die when it is done killing you.

We could just call diabetes “United Healthcare”, and be done with it, but that gets into legal issues, and no one wants United Healthcare mad at them. Just look at how they operate when you pay them!

What about Sugar-AIDS? Probably takes away from the advanced HIV folks, but it certainly leaps off the page. How about for Type II, we call it Suicide via Excess? I know that no one wants this disease, and genetics force our hand in its inception, but the reality is that many sufferers of diabetes also drink, smoke, eat too much, sleep too little, refuse to floss, and rarely exercise.

I know what I want to call it.

The Unfair Fucked-Up Wasting Disease.

Erosion Through Friction.

Crystallized Consumption, burning through my organs One. Granulated. Carbohydrate. At. A. Time.

What You Eat, Eats You. What?

Yes, I said floss. It seems that the sugary blood I had before was also working on my gums and teeth. When I was a kid, One of my teeth never came in, so I had a temporary tooth all my life, on the bottom row, center stage.

Out of nowhere, a few months ago, it wiggled right out of my head. Since then, I have looked like an obese hockey player whenever I smile.

I now know it probably fell out due to high blood sugar. I also know that I must (gently) brush and floss religiously now, because my gums are way more likely to fail now.

Not a pretty image, the pinks retracting, showing more and more of the smoker-yellowed enamel, until finally, one by one, the roots let go and you go get fitted with a set of wooden chompers that will never sit right and probably get eaten by a dog, and you won’t be able to afford new ones, so you will just have to follow that dog around…

It can happen, dude. Happened to a friend of mine http://www.theexp.net

The point is, fuck no. I will opt for hygiene. Stupid Diabetes. Every day it hits you with a new, shitty gift.Good thing my life kicks ass!

Huntington Girl
Facebook regrouping
Newsbomb
Ghostbusters remake
Rub your tits
Do you compare penis size
Urinals
Toilet termites
Spit

It’s going to require a filing system, and perhaps a Secretary, which is difficult, as I am already employing a Nurse, who also works as my Scribe, and spends a good amount of time working as my Shrink.

She excels as a Personal Assistant, but I think she’d be insulted if I were to ever say that out loud. She is a remarkably capable Sous Chef, and a pretty hawt Courtesan. When my eyes get too blurry, she doubles as a competent Chauffeur, mind that car on the left, would you?

She has skills in so many job sets – Bouncer, Doorwoman, Station Manager, Veterinarian, Agricultural Botanist, Lawyer, Lab Technician, Author, Graphic Artist, Personal Shopper, Day Care Operator, Teacher, Animal Husbandry Expert, Marine Biologist, Mediator, and Masseuse (or is it Masseur? I never remember… She is the one that isn’t a seven foot blond dude named Hampus).

Above it all, she is an amazing Wife, and Mother to our child(ren, in case we have more and they go back and read this. Kids, if you are reading this, stop doing whatever it is that you are doing that annoys your father.)

I am so happy she is mine. I have no idea how I would have gotten through these last two weeks without her, and I am thankful none of us had to find out.

Thank you, Jen.Happy Anniversary to you, I hope for many years to come. I could win the lottery once a week and not have enough to recompense you for all that you do, for me and our family.

But if I DID employ you, I would never pick a shitty, murderous insurance plan like United Healthcare. Seriously… What the fuck is wrong with those people? Is the organization run by a ghoul, lusting for dead human flesh?

My mother (she’s often down in the comments, wave “hi” if you see her) has Type II diabetes. Before I was diagnosed, I had been complaining about my overall health, bemoaning the thirst, and urination, and exhaustion… She would patiently listen, and tell me to hit the doctor, or let her hit it with the finger stab one time, and I would say. “no.” She’d shrug, and say the offer was there.

See, I knew something was wrong. It wasn’t Chantix, or quitting smoking, or the unseasonably hot summer that was eating me from the inside. It was CANCER, or DIABETES, or BOTH, or SOMETHING EVEN MORE HORRIBLE.

And I did not want to hear that, because that meant serious change, or unchangeable seriousness.

It was only when my reality continued to spiral down into juice addiction – sometimes 3 bottles of Simply-brand in one day… anything, apple, orange, lemonade, or a Sam’s Club sized jug of grape juice, or 6 cans of Dr. Pepper, or a gallon of sweet tea… and spent a week constipated, then a week diarrhetic, then a week constipated, all the while aching…

When I finally did allow her to test my finger, a few visits later, I maybe did not expect such a definite answer. I would not look at the numbers, but I heard them quietly spoken from across the room. 478, hole-punched.

My mind swam, and still does, when I consider the enormity. But I’m handling it.

If you DO see my Mom, tell her thanks for saving my life. Because without her quiet, patient insistence, I might have swam on down the chocolate factory river, drinking deep, and rotting my organs with sugary poison.

Thanks, Mom.

Crabocalypse
Whore Friends
Bakugan
Rice Cakes
Mini-Gnomes
Gay Bashing
Facebook Eats the World
Orlando Smiley Face
J Loses $500
Kid Books
Chico Shorts
Drunk Puking

Humorous, then, that I have a condition requiring twice, thrice, maybe even fourice poking, stabbing, nailing, spiking, and sharpy-shanking myself with a needle.

Granted, it’s not that much of a needle. But man… I’ll try to explain.

When I was a kid, we went to the local water park, a blue and white pee and chlorine affair known as “Wet ‘N Wild”. Along with all the standard water park fare, your lazy rivers, your slippy slides, your tunnel of stuck fat German tourist, there was a ride called “The Der Stuka”, which roughly translates to “The The Fisting” in German.

The name made sense after you rode the ride, consisting of a near 90 degree drop down a washboard , gradually planing down into a vibratory thunkathunka head-pounding flume. Only then could you began the slow, eventual process of removing your bathing suit from your nether and supernal regions.

This ride was terrifying, and usually riders had to be “helped” into committing to the Plunge.

So the powers that be built a second “The Der Stuka”, equipped with a bomb bay. A cylindrical tube you stepped into, shut the door behind you, and stood in the dark… Waiting.

At some point, maybe now, or now… or now… or right NOW! A technician would hit the button, and the bottom of the cylinder would open, dropping you to your watery up the butt grave below. Great times!

If you are a masochist.

Each time I (or Nurse) aims the stabby needle at my finger, I am again in that dark tube, looking out that filthy plexiglass window, wondering when t-

OW!

…and then the greedy vampire glucose testing strip must be fed. At least it has the decency not to sparkle.

Suck it up, Geoffrey!

I know. I am.

And today is another day between the fences of 70 and 120 for my blood sugar. Little high, I will attribute it to a lack of exercise, since I worked late.

Have a great one, you guys. Those of you with suggestions, encouragement, or admonishment, I really appreciate the support. It means a lot!

After the phone call today, talking with the people at Florida Hospital Diabetes Care, no part of me can now feel that Health Care needs no reform. That’s a convoluted series of double negative twaddle. Allow me to elucidate.

We. Need. New. Health. Care.

I was informed that my “class” was not covered under any existing fees or deductibles previously paid, and I would need to pay $513.00 for the twelve hour course.

Five HUNDRED dollars? That’s enough money to buy Trigonometry and Calculus at UCF. That is enough money to learn to bartend, two and a half times! That is enough money to buy 360 something chicken sandwiches (Mondays and Thursdays, Only)!

So, how BADLY do I not want to die? I was willing just a half a year ago to spend 5 to 10 dollars a day for the pleasure of smoking, killing myself at $500 dollars every couple of months.

But the devil on my left shoulder patiently says, “Dude. The internet. Seriously. It’s got a bunch of words on it, and some of those words are about diabetes.”

If I lived in some remote Nanookian Village, there would be no class. I would be forced to learn by mail, or phone.

Man, I should offer diabetes classes via my studio. Stream information to the masses! I would totally do that.

But first I need to get informed. I know a lot, but I need to know everything there is to know about my disease.

Some of you are looking at me, shaking your head. You are saying, “Geoff, you need to pay the money and take the class.”

I have a hard time doing that, guys. It has a lot to do with the people on the phone. The people who say things like, “We don’t got no weekend classes in Altamonte.”

I am justifying my case, but only because I believe my case is justified. I am trying to fully extract this family from credit card debt, buy healthy food, maintain two cars, maintain This Old House, and keep Nurse Lush in her white wine. I am hard pressed to dump half a grand on a workshop when I know the actual information is no secret.

So, what do you think? Should I learn on my own? I would be willing to let you craft the test to prove I know it.

Or should I dip us deeper into debt, so this shell game douchebag money machine can work over yet another sugar baby?

By the way, United Healthcare… Why do you want me dead so much?

Still, I know some naughtiness has been sneaking in. Somehow, there are eggs showing up pretty frequently in my diet, along with more protein than is necessary, and at some meals, I am eschewing (that means shunning, or avoiding, for those of you “reading” from Tampa. Just think of what you do with education, or soap) carbs altogether.

Which is a no-no. I may have yet to go to “diabetes education”, but I know I AM supposed to eat some carbs. Diabetes is not equal to Atkins, forsooth.

Incidentally, I am somewhat concerned about “diabetes education”. It sounds like “defective citizen reprogramming” or “12 hour snooze fest” or “Department of Motor Vehicles times 1,000″. It sure is taking a long time to get scheduled. I will probably need to start calling people. I am learning the truth about modern medicine and doctors – the squeaky but polite patient gets to live.

Anyway, in an effort to eat a carb, today I had a slice of whole wheat bread, a 1/4 cup of brown rice, and a tray of raspberries. The raspberries were delicious, and I feel pretty balanced. I have been enjoying back to back days in the 100s on my blood sugar, which is right within that magical 70-120 range.

Today it occurred to me that I am a different person than I was. I am angrier than I used to be. I really need to work on that. The whole idea of this blog is that I supposedly do NOT want to die, but it’s obvious that anger leads to ragey blood, and ragey blood leads to heart snap, and heart snap leads to pine box. I cannot help that I get pissed, but I can learn to redirect that anger to something useful.

But along with that, I now have… I am not sure what the word is for it… Drive? Ambition? People, I had a break today and chose to use it to walk.

To walk??!?!? WTFBBQ?

If you have known me for, oh, any length of time, you know that I am the kind of guy that will circle a business for a half an hour (or force dear nurse to do so) waiting for a parking space in the “cush” zones.

Now I park anywhere. Now I offer to double back in the grocery store to pick up nurse’s hoo-hoo products. Now I… walk a mile and a half on my lunch break? And it’s not even like I argued in my head. Saw park, pulled over, took walk. Pretty neat!

As I walked, I felt my inadequacies cavorting, trying to talk me out of it.

“You’re wearing jeans – Fatboy gonna chafe!”

“Your shoe tongue keeps popping forward of your pant leg – People will stare!”

“There’s a school – Bet the teachers are calling the police on you right now!”

“Your poor knees – You must hate them so to do this!”

…and on and on and on. If you have ever been fat, you know how loud and somehow persuasive the “voices” get.

But I was in no mood for the negativity, and just kept walking. It was a good day to live!

My eyes were still good today, but around nightfall I started to notice some slight blurring around the edges. Much of this blog is fuzzy, and I have been up since 4:30, so I am going to take a break.

Bread Substitutes
Cheese
BOWL FTW (as per Ross)
Prescription Crab
SomaCow Story Boards
Hoors
Sex Toys
Heart Donor
DYWTD Blog

Since I discovered I had diabetes, I have been taking my meds and eating right. Sure, slip in three lbs of delicious crab, but otherwise, I have been pretty good.

But all weekend long, my eyes were troubling me. Menus, iPhone screens; if I looked at text, it blurred. If I looked at backlit text, my eyes actually wiggled in their sockets, aching and generally feeling uncomfortable. I ended up going to the park and napping, because I couldn’t bring myself to even look at the computer screen.

I wear glasses and a powerful prescription it be at that. 20-500, 20-400, essentially legally blind, and with astigmatism to boot. All day, I was straining my eyes, and I started to wonder if the latest prescription was bad.

I fell asleep with my glasses on, and they were pretty spotty when I woke up, so I asked Nurse if she could use some lens cleaner on them while I dressed. She brought them back and I slipped them onto my face.

I looked at the clock. 55::5588. It was like she had Vasolined my glasses.

“Hey, Nurse, did you happen to use the fat of an unbaptized sea lion to clean these?”

“Um, no?”

I held them up to the light, peering through them. They were pristine. My eyes must have somehow gotten worse?

I looked at the clock. 5:59.

I looked at the TV Screen. “Eddie Izzard: Circle – Actor-comedian Eddie Izzard stops in at…”

I looked at the books on my shelf. Every textbook, fictional novel, and children’s book’s title leapt from the bindings, their tiny author’s print shouting nomenclature mightily at me.

I can see! Without glasses!

All the way to work, I cautiously allowed my soul to sing, as I felt the wind sting my usually protected eyes. Tears formed, as I realized I could see even small print, logos on trucks, road signs, phone numbers on bus benches. My vision was better than even glasses could make them!

After I got to work and calmed down, I started searching terms like “diabetes vision change”. Lots of stuff about how blindness and diabetes go hand in hand, but nothing about my…

Ah.

On a diabetes forum, it seems several people had experienced my condition.

Poor eyesight is typically caused by overly squished or squashed eyeball. I normally have myopia, or near-sightedness. The meds, diet, and exercise have removed enough sugar from my surrounding eye tissue to allow me to see, perfectly.

But it’s temporary. More swelling, and unswelling, will occur. I will possibly experience far-sightedness, and struggle to read newspapers. I might yo-yo around for as long as the next three months. All of the testimonials I read stated that their eyes eventually went back to “normal”, or got much worse, usually from additional degeneration of the eyes.

Scary, when you think about driving. Hell, computer work, too. Pause for a second and think of how often you use your eyes, and then imagine if you could not rely on them from day to day.

So I type this, my glasses nearby, but for now, useless.

You always turn a bit devout at times when you are afraid, or don’t want to lose something.

What I have been asking God, the Creator, or whatever strange and un-understandable entity that has more power over these situations than I do all day is simply -

Please, don’t take my sight back away? Or if you do, don’t take more than I was already used to not having?

Excuse me, while I go cry using my momentarily perfect eyes.

Foreclosure Fail
SomaCow: The Movie
MacGRUBER!
Britcoms!
Steve Seagal
bOObs
2g1c
Taliban Game
Silent S
Mickey’s Nubbins
RIP Greg Giraldo
Sense of Humor = Hot?
Matthew Perry, good?
Geoff vs Jen Calorie App
No. Bread.

I learned today that Diabetes is way more complicated than it first seemed. It’s not just “eat no sugar, eat no grain”. It’s multiple layers of difficult choices; it’s incessant label-reading, and fact-checking, and net-verifying. It requires sage, patient examination.

So, I will continue to learn what that means, but for now, I am trying to stick to what I know is right. A small amount of protein, a large amount of vegetable, and some very coarse grain, like a wheaty english muffin or some oats.

But how the hell do you eat a barley? Or a rye? I am pretty sure i cannot go get a loaf of rye bread and gnosh down. I have got to figure that out. Hopefully the classes I am taking will better explain glycemic indices and what not.

Got a bunch of chicken, lean pork cutlets, shrimp, a few lbs of whole tilapia (with heads!), and some decent frozen veg at Sams Club today. Also threw in some weiners, in case I get the screaming hungries, I can at least fend off the need with a brace of protein. I know, fucking hotdogs? Maybe that was a bad choice.

As you can see, I broke out most of the meat into large dinner bags, so I can cook for us without cooking 36 lbs of meat. Now all we need to buy during the week is light salad fixings when needed. Plenty of leafy green, if you know what I mean. When I find a good local fish market (there is supposed to be one north of us up in Sanford) I will be in heaven. If you know any Smelt recipes, let me know.

I also nabbed a crock pot cookbook for diabetes. I am leery of it already, because it seems to allow straight up flour, but it is endorsed by the American Diabetes Association. Are they, like, Susan G. Komen? An alleged scam? Or am I just misunderstanding diabetes, yet again? I really dislike contradictory information.

Crabocalypse was amazing, and my blood sugar was a 167 AFTER dinner this evening. Very happy to see I am finding balance with this thing. I used to pee 20-30 times a day, and now it’s more like 4-5. I used to drink constantly, and I’ve had a glass of unsweetened tea sitting here for an hour that I had one sip off of thus far.

Love it!

I have always hated needles.

Not in a scream like a banshee, run around the clinic knocking over wastebaskets sort of hate.

More of a slow, building fear. When I was a kid, I learned, maybe from a movie, about what an air bubble could do in your veins. Horrifying.

So, every time I get punctured, I picture the air bubble forcing into my bloodstream, happily aiming for my heart and brain, and I quietly go insane with fear.

Verbally, I say, “Ah.”

I find “Ah.” to sum up the horror without calling my manhood into question.

The lab technician was a 40-something black woman with a kind smile and tired eyes. After I sat down in the wrong chair (twice), she slapped down the arm bar for the blood drawing seat and began rummaging through piles and piles of empty vials, looking for the ones I needed.

She laid out tube after tube, and my fearwheel began cranking at about 4200 rpm.

We talked about the needle for a bit, her joking about its size, me completely serious, but pretending to joke.

It’s a strange intimacy, when a person straps rubber around your arm, asks you to make a fist, and begins swabbing your skin. I imagine junkies form a bond with one another, the more they inject each other, or even themselves. I wonder that I could ever give myself a shot.

There are people who have this disease that have to inject themselves all the time. My heart goes out to you all, Diabetes Type I brethren and sistren. You guys get a raw deal.

So, I am prepped for stabbing. I look at the clock. It says 6:18:05, analog-style.

I feel a blur on my arm. Like a moth landed there.

I will not look, but in my peripheral vision, I see clear becoming red, as my veins release their (sugary?) scarlet claret. It’s almost pretty, and so I look away again.

6:18:32.

I feel wiggling, as a new vial is added.

6:18:58.

I feel a sickening yaw, as a heavy vial is added.

6:19:30

I believe a small elephant has been stuck onto the needle in my arm. He is VERY dense, and I consider naming him Gimli. It’s the only dwarf name I know, and he has the weight of a white dwarf star.

I am being silly. The needle is out of my arm now. I am amazed at how little pain there was. Has needle-technology advanced? Have I just gotten to be less of a p*ssy?

I stared at my arm’s plunder. They were almost beautiful, but I knew inside each vial was a time bomb. Will this one tell me I have cancer? Will this one confirm heart disease? Will this one confirm what we all already knew, that my testosterone is like, a 2?

We’ll know more soon. I hope diabetes is all I have to deal with.

She asks me if I need to pee.

Was my fear that obvious? No. She hands me a vial. I need to give a urinalysis. Now THIS, I am good at!

More on that later.

Frolf!
http://www.englishforums.com/content/humour/paraprosdokians.htm
Bad Mother Pants
Hoarding vs Collectibles
Sigs
Pee Wee on Broadway
Martha vs House Party

I stumbled across an interesting physiological feature, namely, anger issues are common in pre-diabetic individuals. It seems the topsy-turvy blood sugar game gets irritating to the body, constantly stemming the flow of glucose and vainly summoning insulin that cannot be bothered to show up. Typical Pancrean passive-aggressive behavior.

So, your body, in a pinch, summons that juicy-tasty morsel, adrenalin. The power flows through your veins, and you begin to crush heads, everywhere, ripping out stanchions, tearing off car doors, flinging passers-by into the river.

Or, you yell at your friends and act unreasonable about things.

I am not trying to say my disease caused all of the bad things I have done to others. I am not trying to say pre-diabetes rage made me verbally abuse every service personnel I encountered. I am certainly not trying to say diabetes put that hole in my door.

I am simply trying to put together the facts, pick up the pieces of the puzzle I kicked across the room, and get back to living on the straight and narrow.

And by narrow, I mean sexxxy skinny britches.

Had some stomach pain and nausea today, presumably from the meds. As a good friend on Twitter pointed out, sleeping through the night is fantastic, and I have slept through the night twice.

More on that another time.

Nurse went to bat for me today, and got $40.00 back from the Evil Red Circle. They were gypping me. Here’s a weird thing – My test strips are MSRP around 60 bucks for 50 strips. When you are stabbing your finger sometimes three times a day, that gets pricy, quick.

My insurance will not pay for them, because my insurance wants me to die. Seriously, United Healthcare… how can I pay your outrageous premiums when I am dead?

Nevertheless… IN the package of the test strips thingy, there was a credit card. Nurse called the number, and they activated a “Never pay more than $15.00″ policy. How is THAT? Why even sell them for $60.00? What a bizarre policy.

Earlier, I was insulting to gypsies. My bad. Show me your deviled eggs and dice games, and your wheel of destiny. I will play along.

I must fast for some bloodwork tomorrow, and I am looking forward to it. As the pounds come off my body, I relish the loose clothes, the light step, and the almost smug, self-righteous feeling weight loss gives me.

So much about fat is worthless and strange to me. It physically binds you, constricting around your body and muscles so you cannot move. It clogs your arteries, so you cannot pump blood properly. It makes you less appealing to the opposite sex, limiting your procreation opportunities. It makes you sweat, and thus stink, more. It leads to more zits.

While it once might have indicated wealth and position, fat is now a sign of a troubled organism.

When I quit smoking, I often had to physically restrain myself from beating the shit out of other smokers. Not just because the smell makes me want to throw up, but because they were killing themselves. They were playing with poison, and forcing it in, slow and sure.

Do THEY Want To Die?

I bet they do, most of them.

Maybe that is why I want to grab them, and slap them, and force them to stop. Every time I see a smoker, and now, a fatter, I see a man or woman on a ledge, inching themselves toward oblivion. I wish they would step back from that ledge, my friend.

But they won’t. Not unless they decide to for themselves.

I keep looking for a picture at my “worst”. Fattest, whatever. This is a shot from March of this year. Please, do not show this to children:

Note the eyelids, weeping pus, starved of sleep. At this weight, I could not even pick up my daughter without wheezing. Check out the cheek skin, swollen and thick, asymmetrical and frightening. The greasy hair, the stinking clothes… Well, you probably cannot SMELL the clothes, but they smelled of sour sweat and stank ass cigarettes. This was me, locked into Chantix, and dying a quick death.

I want to hit him. He disgusts me. But I know he made the right decision.

Eventually.

Spock Pic
Chinese Gift Exchange
Viral Ad
Sqwauk
Brits
Netflix
TV/DVD
Fleshlights & Lube
BeastMaster
Toaster!

“It’s a new dawn! It’s a new day! It’s a new life!”

This morning, I awoke to some pretty low energy. Wasn’t sure if that was brought on by staying up too late watching Samurai movies on Netflix, or if I was experiencing Day One Sucrose Morose. I climbed into the shower, asking nurse to come stab me in the finger. Every day, until I die or defeat diabetes, I will be stabbing myself in some way, it seems.

The readout declared to my blurry eyes, in inarguable liquid crystal – 303

The night before, prior to bed, it was 270?! I asked nurse how this could be?

She said my body could be turning fat into sugar and burning it to stay at the high octane it had come to know and love. Treachery in my own camp! Would this explain my 75 lb weight loss, then? Would I now stop losing weight? Gain it back? I will not stand for it!

I was slightly inwardly happy to see myself out of the 478 and 430 ranges I had been seeing, unmedicated no less.

Speaking of medication, I now understand why people with this disease get so frustrated. Once you have familiarized yourself with your lancet, and its cartridges, which come in packs of six, not one, and your test strips, which ring in at 60 bucks for fifty strips, because your health care provider does not actually want people with diabetes to take care of themselves, and your sugar fighting pills and your insulin boosting pills and your omega bananarama fatty block rocking beat blockers, and you must stab yourself just so, or your fat finger won’t bleed enough, and you will have to stab again, and again, and again, and oops, the blood symbol wasn’t flashing,  so that test strip is no good, another $1.39 down the drain! OUCH! That one was on a nerve. I may be dying. NURSE?!? N U R S E !?!?

Plus I think there is something horrible that will eventually happen to my feet, because at Target they have all these gel insole inserts and tube socks straight outta the Book of Mormon.

Stayed under my caloric intake today. It’s expensive to eat Diabetesish. I had some healthy jerky, some lean pork, some cheese, salad, and some cut up grilled chicken. I did not have the Popeyes, Free Chicken Sandwich (World Tour), or 64 plates of sushi, as I desired.

It’s the thinking about it that maddens me. The constant pills, testing, scheduling of diabetes education classes, label reading, discussion, back and forth, meal planning. Diabetes is a death sentence… To spontaneity.

But I Do Not Want To Die.

You know how I feel. Onward.

A while back, I was driving around with my wife and newborn baby girl, when a car cut me off, forcing me to brake suddenly. I was so upset, I saw red. I floored our car, causing all six cylinders of fury to respond with glee. I pulled alongside the offending vehicle, rolled down my wife’s window, and yelled across to the hapless driver, “DO YOU WANT TO DIE? ‘CAUSE I WILL F%#*ING END YOU!”

The other driver did not respond; who would? But after ten minutes of chasing and parking lot switchbacks and swerving, I realized that I was being a psycho, and calmed down. The other vehicle fled, presumably happy the fat monster had let them live.

In the somber retrospect that comes with an internet radio show, I later realized I had put my wife and child at risk of death from exploding engine, erratic tire pop, a sideswipe or rear-end collision, a bullet/weapon assault from the car that cut us off, sudden loss of driver due to heart attack, and on and on and on.

When I was asking my question, I was answering it as well with my actions. That answer was a resounding, “YES I DO, APPARENTLY!” I was haphazard with my life… And yet… I have always been like this.

For the last 20 years, I have been struggling with weight. I have yo-yoed in so many unhealthy directions, but mostly up. Standing 6′ 2″ or 3″, depending on the slouch, at my best adult weight, I was 220 lbs, and at my worst, 420 lbs.

That’s two hundred pounds of variance, for those of you reading from Tampa. Quite the load. In fact, that was what my last performance appraisal should have read: “Quite the Load.”

I began to realize something was seriously, medically, wrong with me a few years ago. I slept less every night, I needed more caffeine to start each day, I struggled to draw breath, and I lost a significant amount of sex drive. The weaker I got, the more I stayed inside, and ate, and ate, and ate.

None of this was killing me fast enough, but I had thankfully had the wherewithall to start smoking cigarettes when I was eleven years old. After twenty years of steady gaining, I was closing in on two packs a day enjoying my wheezing, stinking, self-destructive hobby.

Where does a person go wrong like this? That’s the point of this blog.

Do I Want To Die?

No. I think. Let’s find out, together.

Jay and Silent Bob podcast
The Internet
Colbert
Hair Part
OPD
Primetimegeek.com

Norman = Kicked
Ask. Tell.
Hazing
The Pink Berets
Con Chat
Withholding
Heck Cursive
Economy = Getting Better
Stewart/Colbert Rallies
Geoff Will Eat Your Dog
Sensory Deprivation Tanks

Mickey’s Vacation
Beefs
The Brothers Wright
Newsbomb
Shit My Dad Says
Restless Leg Syndrome
Glenn Webber = Older
Rip, Ride, Rockit, Redo
Jarate
Raw Fish, On the Cheap. Quick.
The Raw Dog Diet
Boardwalk Empire
Custom Agent Shunned

Drew Garabo in Studio
Comedy by Decades
Drug Movies
Adam Lambert = Tough
Radio = Dead
Music Alternatives….NOT Alternative Music
SBC = Freddy
Workin’ Out
Drew on BTLS
Acid Attack = Fake
Masseuse Assisted Suicide (5 X Fast)

Headphones
Bose Scam
Dr Dre Scam
Sleeeeeep, Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep
Orlando Home Prices
Tight Shoes
Restless Retrovirus
Closet Full of Notes
Yo, Teach
3D 4Real
Legend of Neal
Stephen King Steals The Dome

Trying to be Human
Fat and Naked at 2 AM
Eatin’ Out
Pants
Life Coaching with Cassandra
Worms in Your Virus
Happy Birthday Amanda!!!
Family Feud
Kei$ha Is White???
Lily Allen Is White!
Cheese Chat

9/11 Intro
Bloom Is Off the Rose
Book Burnin’
Newsbomb
.999=1
Meth
Kenny Fucking Powers = J
50 Nuggets
23 Inches of Ass
Newhart
On A Plane

Your Ad Here
Kiss the Cheese, Fire
SomaCow Chat Room Can’t Grill
Geoff Wants to Baptize You
Already Invented
TOWED!
The Lottery
Guess the Google
http://grant.robinson.name/projects/guess-the-google/

Kiwi-Quake
Don’t Mess With SomaCow
Mickey Fixes the Economy
Microwaves Suck
The Varsity, Again
Jeff Peak Found Art
Grape Vodka
The Economy Is Getting Better
Geoff Needs More Toilet!!!
Traditions
Netflix Pwns
Watch “The Road”

Jazzy Intro
Lawless Pwns
Sammiches
Horseradish
Fridge Cam
Green Tea Ginger Ale
UStream
Geoff = Hipster
Let Grandma Smoke
Newsbomb
J’s Bits
Brazillian Arrow Smuggling
Gay Publix
Happy Birthday Mathyaet
1/3s Make No Sense
THERE IS NO PIZZA!!!

Happy Birthday, Pollo Rojo!
Mobiles
Movie Chat
Facebook & Old People
Food Stations
Tortilla Debate
J Does Sight Gags
Dippin’
Back to Back to the Future
Bieber!!!! (I’m sure Ross didn’t mean to put that many exclamation marks after that without a wink or something)

Geoff Wants Houseguests
Trapped Miners
Columbia and Neck-Ties
Geoff’s Watching TV
Funnel Cake
Buffeated
SomaCommune
Rumor of the Month: Things Are Getting Better!
Somavilation

Six. Hun. Dred.
New Hope for Kids
Cure for the Run
$5,303.90 x 2
Newsbomb
ELROSS Beat You
Geoff Don’t Eat
BeeeEEEEEEP!
Buy Canadian(s)

Jeff Carson & SoundGuy Live In Studio
myspace.com/joshcarsonmusic
Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/pages/Jeff-Carson/108245655863689?ref=ts)
Cure for the Run Eve

Poster by Jeff Peak at PeakArts.com

MCO
Cure for the Run
All About Canada with Glenn Webber
FooFa Gets a Job
Life Coaching- Karma is a Bitch
Rick Mercer’s Talking To Americans
Geo Trivia
Choosy J’s Dis Jif
Dr. LaNura
Inside Out Chicken

Ground Zero Mosque
Newsbomb
Pakistan
Oldest Joke Ever
Pledge Stiff
Brokded Skools
Workation
Little Johnny is Screwed
Racism

Two Words: Mascots
Episode 600
Flea Market
Elvis Impersonators
We Need a Cop
United Way
Flea Margaritas
Geoff’s Bonsai Scheme
Robots vs Mummies
Penis Spreadsheet
Wal-Mart Brand
RSilva vs Hot Dogs
Geoff vs Chicken Cordon Bleu
Polish Yelp
Lifecoaching- No Shit on the Wall
ELROSS = Buff

TV Talk
Geoff’s 2nd Head
Home Remedies
Hal Turner Goes to Jail
Night Court
Crooners
Shittiest Movie Ever (2012)
Dexter
Gag Reels
Star Wars Con
J vs Meatballs
Fan Fic
Jropracty
Mickey’s Book
www.curefortherun.com
www.newhopeforkids.org

Gay Marriage
UNO Court
Chinese Breast Powder
Pain Reliever
‘Toons
News Bomb
AT&T Not That Bad
Fuzzy Things You Eat
CFTR MMX www.curefortherun.com
20Q WEBMD Tradenarked
Rubix Cube Solved
CFTR Prizes
Prime Time Geek Time Change

The Keys
J = Robbed
Car Alarmists
Intruder!
Snoring
Bruce Lee vs The World
Chop Socky Flicks
Ligers
Fighting Tube Dot TV

Use the Beak
7 Minute Hamlet
J’s Monologue
Shakespeare???
So Solly
Geoff’s Fetishes
Daycare Death
Shark Week
Shitty Voiceovers
Cable = Dead

CFTR MMX
Cory from http://www.newhopeforkids.org/
Fabulous Weddings
Musical Chairs
Steak Out
Gross Out

Bliz- TRADENARKED!!!
Arizona Long Shorts Law
Beer Payments
The Office
CFTR MMX- We Need A Gimmick!
Tailbuster Challenge
Dog Murder
Shit Chat
Podcastin’
NDSF

Chico vs The Toilet….Again
Apple Apologists
Newsbomb!!!
Kool Aid Tab Challenge
Last Meal
The Noid???
All You Can Eat

The Experience dot FM
The Experience Backstory
The Best Experience Present Ever
iPhone for Tail?
Experience = Bug Eaters
Bus Chat

If anyone has any problems downloading or listening to this my apologies… I’ll blame Ross, or Mickey… Maybe it’s J’s fault that the file size is twice normal…yeah, that’s it.

Thanks for listening!

-Jen