Nifty Fifty

It's official!

I saw Dr. X on Monday for my monthly follow up. I have hit the the 50 pound loss mark. If you really think about it ... that's a whole big bucket of blubber. Fifty pounds is definitely life changing. Just about every aspect of my life has changed. My complete wardrobe (all three levels) are obsolete. My sleep habits have changed ... no more snoring. My exercise went from zero to above moderate. My eating habits have greatly changed for the better. My overall activity level has improved. My blood pressure went down and my resting heart rate is at the GOOD level. I'm only a couple of beats per minute over EXCELLENT and not far from ATHLETE. That's a hoot! So you can probably say that I had a complete makeover. Both in outside appearance and inside my head.  It's the head part that's the hardest to change. I will have to struggle with this for the rest of my life. If I ever give in, it'll be back to the level 3 wardbrobe and I can't afford that. 

Well I think it's time to get a real grip on what 50 pounds of fat ass real is.  We reviewed it at the 40 level and that was kinda fun. And very eye opening. So let's look at fifty.

1) $200 in quarters ( that would be 800 coins) weighs fifty pounds. This begs the question:  What would you rather have? 200 bucks or my ass full of quarters?

2) An average 7 year old child weighs fifty pounds. My kid is growing up right before my eyes. Remember?  He was only 3 at the 40 pound level

3) A bale of hay weighs 50 pounds. My ass weighed about 10 bushells full.

4) A baby pygmy hippo weighs 50 pounds. We can all think of something wittty to say here. Let's leave at this: A few months ago, hanging out with me would be like hanging out with 5 baby hippos.  Less the cuteness. 

5) 2 big sacks of potatos weigh fifty pounds. Formerly easily consumed by me either fried, baked, sauteed, mashed, boiled.  It didn't matter. Also, A potato is the Father of the Chip. Forever whorshipped.

6) A medium pit bull terrier. 50 pounds of sheer muscle. Can't say that about 50 pounds of ass.

7) 5 bowling balls. Yep. Strap 'em on and go up and down the stairs a few times.

It never gets old!  If we had time, I would go around the house and weigh all the appliances.  I know my ass was at least as heavy as your average microwave oven. Or maybe even your refrigerator.  It was big and it was heavy. Now, not so much. Yes, I am still of large ass. But not of fat ass. Hopefully soon, I will be of normal ass. Fret not my friends, I will always be YOUR horse's ass.

Hasta la vista, baby!

Johnny!

P.S. I'm in the game for real now.  Dr. X gave me another full c.c. in the band. I'm at 35% restriction.  I will report any changes soon.

The Brief on Briefs

What's new you ask? 

Quick answer.... underwear! Yup.  I had to replenish my entire supply of unmentionables, even the new ones I got last Christmas. They just weren't doing the job anymore. The always dependable waist bands were stretched beyond repair and my incredible shrinking ass left the backsides saggy and mis-shaped. Not to mention, all security for the family jewels had completely evaporated. I was dealing with an uncomfortable jail break every hour or so. This caused more than a few strange stares from others during what I thought was a private adjusting period. Good thing I wasn't near a Kinder Kare. That would have been hard to explain. So I solved the crisis. I went out and bought some new skivvies.

While this may not seem like a big deal to most of you. It was to me. Reason... I don't think I have bought my own underwear for twenty or so years. Why? Because every year when I am asked what I want for Christmas, I give the standard man-swer. "Underwear". So I get underwear. Every Christmas morning, I march up to my dresser with my new present stack and clean out last years Jockeys for this years models. I guess models is an overstatement. Other than a few new colors, the basic design hasn't changed since I was a kid. I mean, really. What can you do to improve underwear? And why do you need to?

Well imagine my amazement when I came upon the shorts section of my local department store. I was flabbergasted to see rows and rows and racks and racks of man-derwear! So many brands! So many styles! So little time. And the advertisements, oh my! Here I am, fresh off an embarrassing, not so private reorganizing incident, staring at a life size cut-out of a buffed teen lad with come hither eyes hiding nothing but his schvaanzen behind a scanty pair of man-ties. Honestly, I had to look around and make sure some cop wasn't following me. Or some hidden camera from one of those second rate TV shows.

As overwhelmed as I was, I was on a mission! I had to replenish my underwear supply. Two racks over, I spied the familiar Jockey logo. Thank God. I sauntered over thinking I'd pick up my shorts and be on my way. Wrong again. I guess Jockey, in an effort to keep up with times, has totally expanded their product line. Boxer briefs, sports shorts, low rise, high rise, full coverage or tiny pecker pouches. Ugh. After walking around three racks, I finally found the Classic style. Whew. My new size offers me a plethora of color choices. Sure beats the color selection at the old fat man's shop. There used to be three sizes ... FAT, REAL FAT and YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING. And there was only two color choices ... Santa Red and Your Wives's Gonna Kill You White. I always wondered why they would want to see a fat man in red briefs.

Without further adieu, I chose the multi colored 6 pack. Six pairs for the price of three, awesome. I took them to the checkout counter and pulled out a ten spot and expected some change. Wrong again. This paltry pack of panties was over $30! I had to double check the pack and see if there was some kind of vibrating device included. Nope. I pulled out a couple double sawbucks and through those down with the ten spot. I got my poor excuse of change and headed out the door.

I sure have been out of the man shopping game for a long time. And I am about to get a real education about shopping in the new millennium. My current wardrobe is completely nonfunctional. I had hoped to get through to next spring with some heavy alterations and cheap pants. But that ain't gonna happen. It's gonna cost me. I need to buy a functioning intermediate wardrobe. You know it would be nice if the current men's fashion were of the Fred Flintstone variety. Then I would only need one all purpose tunic.

That's all for now.

Johnny

P.S. I see Dr. X today for a weigh in and another fill. Let's hope I get a GOLD STAR again.

A look at the Numb3rs

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Welcome back all you fat ass fanatics! 

The blog is picking up a little steam.  We have over 7,000 visitors from points across the globe. Invite your family and friends to join in this fat ass fun fair! We have room for all. Also, if you know of anybody currently struggling with fat-ass-i-tit-is or considering weight loss surgery, have them stop by as well.  I'm proud to say that my story so far, wacky as it may be, has actually motivated others to start their own flab fight.  Hey, if I can help one person lose one pound, that will be far more than I ever expected to do with a corny weight loss blog. So "CHEERS" to all you new wobbly warriors!

On to this weeks observations.  Let's start with wight loss vs. waist size.  I have noticed that these two do not appear at the same time. During any given week, I may struggle to show a weight loss on the scale. This PO's me something fierce.  Then I put on a pair of new pants and they are too big. I'm perplexed. I didn't lose any poundage yet my pants are looser. Hmmm. And the vice-versa is also true. I can't fit into a new pair of shorts I bought, but I'm losing weight this week. It just never happens on the same day.  But I ain't bitchin! It will all work out in the end.  The rear end.

I've also been playing with numbers in my head.  I wanted to share a few with you.

0- The number / amount of any of my everyday Level 1 wardrobe that fits.  I can only wear my old ties.

1- The number that will be in front of my weight in a couple of weeks for the first time since the 80's.

3- The number of new pants I have that kind of fit.

5- The number of days I have had vodka since April 9. Personal record.

6- The number of inches I have removed from my waistline. Note: I didn't even know I had a waist. Or a neck for that matter.

40.63 - The number of miles I walked last week. A few rounds of golf and a couple airports trips really adds up.

50- The number of pounds lost I will be at in a matter of days.

97,011 - The number of my steps in 40.63 miles.

20,159 - The number of calories I burned last week

(7,173) - The differential of calories in vs, calories out.  According to my friend Dr. S, this should have resulted in about 2-1/2 lb weight loss.  Guess what? It did.

That's just a quick look at the friendly numbers of my journey so far. I think it's pretty good for only

4-1/2 months of calorie counting. I'm pleased. I know I can't get overconfident.  I've already noticed every pound comes off slower than before. I guess my body is adjusting to the new lower fuel intake. That probably means I have to ramp up the calorie burning process. And I hate the "W" word. W as is workout. I know it's part of the process and I'm determined to accelerate my activity level and defeat my inner lazybug. Maybe I'll start tomorrow. Or maybe not.

Weigh-in day next Monday and a fill from Dr. X!  I will certainly be irritated if I don't hit the 50 level by then.  You'll have to come back and see.

Bye now!

Johnny 



Half way to Thindom

It is said that a journey of 1000 miles begins with the first step. I began my journey on April 9, 2013.  That's the day it finally hit me. I was sitting on a plane.  I was an Oreo away from the ultra-embarrassing plea for the belt extender. I could barely fit in the last of my emergency wardrobe. I was tired. Tired of trying to accommodate my fat life style. Because that's what you do. You accommodate your fatness. I just couldn't go on like this. I was ready for a change. I was already through all my hoops for the Lap Band surgery.  I was in limbo waiting for my insurance company to green light me. But I couldn’t wait any longer. I decided .. that minute.. that tomorrow I would start my quest  for Thindom.

Thindom is a mystical place. It’s the fat ass version of Vallhalla, Atlantis and the Lost City of Gold all rolled up in to one. For a fat person, Thindom is a legend. It is a utopian place that the over -girthed can only dream about. No fat ass has ever been to Thindom and come back to talk about it.  Many expanded explorers have tried, but all have failed.  It is said that those that enter Thindom, are blessed with a new life filled with hope and joy. Everyone smiles and beams with optimism. It is a place where one size really does fit all. It’s heaven for the hefty.




The mystical city of Thindom

 

But beware you of fatness! The trail to Thindom is wrought with danger.  There are obstacles at every turn. Unknown creatures and mythical beings lurk in the shadows; their only goal is your defeat. To get to Thindom, you must soldier through these adversities. You must plan your adventure carefully. And you can NEVER look back. You can NEVER give up. There is no yellow brick road.  There is only nachos and cheese.

I have made it half way to Thindom. I’m currently navigating my way through the evil forest of fat. I can see the magical mountains of Munchies in the distance. Once I cross their jagged peaks, I hope to spy the valley of Thindom. I know it is there. I can feel it.

Alas, my journey has had its ups and downs. I have danced with the Devil. I have succumbed to the liquid offerings of Al C. Hall. I have fought the beautiful temptress and her sultry offers of  cheeseburger and fries. I have dueled with the Duke of Doughnuts. Yes friends, there have been pitfalls. But every time I fell, I got up. The demons in my mind have not deterred me from my goal.

I have managed to shed 45 pounds of unsightly blubber.  I have 41 to go to hit my goal. If my present pace continues, I will have a 1 in the front of my weight in a few weeks for the first time since Reagan was president. Yes, I know. The road to Thindom gets harder as you get closer to the gate.  I hope it’s not just fat ass folklore. When I get there, I will try to contact you from the other side. I wonder if Thindom has wi-fi?

Until we meet again….

Johnny T

Gold Star / Rock Star

Thursday, July 31, 2013

Hello readers from all across the globe!  It's great to see that we have fat fans growing in numbers by the week! Folks from China, Russia, Latvia, Netherlands, Canada, the UK, France and a few other far away countries have stopped by the blog to catch up on my fight against flab. When it comes to the battle of the bulge, it seems the world shares in our morbid obsession with thinness. We all speak the same language ... Fat-lish.

On to the news of the week.  I went for second post-op doctor visit on Monday.  As usual, I checked in right on time knowing full well that I would be lingering in the lobby of the Center for Fatassiness well past my scheduled appointment time. So I settled in to one of the fat ass chairs in the waiting room. I immediately noticed that I occupied far less space in this overly ample seat. Yes, my ass has shrunk.  I'm guessing by about a half a foot. I kinda feel like a little kid sitting in grandpa's chair.

If you recall, Mondays are Dr. X's office days.  He sees both pre-op and post-op patients during this time. That is why I just can't help myself but to look around the waiting area and see what the doctor has scheduled for today. Over to the far left, I spy an elephantine teen boy nervously sitting next to who I presume to be his mom. Obvious pre-op material. I'm thinking "Don't fret dude. It will be worth it. I wish they had this when I was your age." Looking far right I see a fleshy female with her nose buried in a book. Hmmmm. I'm guessing follow up. Then the extra wide doors fly open and a smiling 30 something man in clothes at least two sizes to big saunters out. Definitely a post-opper!

I was called in a few minutes after a Rascal bound lady. When I went in and sat at the first nurses’ station, I saw no sight of the scooter.  She must be in the pre-op room waiting for the sales pitch from Dr. X. On cue, he walks towards the closed door with his plastic stomach model. The same one he used for my initiation.
"Close that deal Doc!" I quipped.
He didn't say anything.  He didn't need to.  He gave me a wry smile, a thumb up and went in to the room with a nervously awaiting prospect and a Rascal. Easy sale.

It was now time for me to get my vitals. No temperature. BP 117/77 (That went down about  6 or 7 points on both ends. The nurse asked me if I was 18!) Now to the scale.  Off with the loafers, step on to the massive industrial scale ..... AND..... 97.2 Kilos! It kinda kills the drama when the kilo measure comes up. Especially because I can't do the math that fast in my head.
"How much have I lost since my first visit?" I asked.
"Oh, I don’t have that file here." she answers.
"How many files do I have?" I inquired.
"I'm not sure. Ask the doctor." she tells me.
Must be some kind of union thing.  Maybe she's only allowed to carry one file to avoid a workplace injury.

After my vitals check, I was deposited in another room.  I know the drill now. First a visit from the bubbly Ms. K, my nutritionist, then the syringe wielding Dr. X will make his appearance. This room has both a fat ass chair and a fat ass recliner in addition to the exam table. Wonder why? Maybe it's for the portly patient and his pleasingly plump pal. Whatever ... just seems strange to me.

The door bursts open and an extra bubbly Ms. K enters and has a seat at the desk next me.

"Wow. You look like you're doing great!" she spouts.
"I think I'm doing Ok." I reply sheepishly.
"Let's look at your progress." she says. "Awesome! You have lost 8 pounds since last visit and 41 pounds total! You get a gold star!"

That made my day. I thought I was doing OK. But what do I know? I think I'm 22 and gorgeous. Just because I think it doesn't make it so. So her validation was excitedly welcomed. We proceeded to go over my average daily food intake.  I told her I was doing the 1200 calorie a day deal. I showed her my FitBit Flex and the MyFitnessPal app and how they sync up. She was impressed and green lighted me to continue what I'm doing because it's working. That's cool with me. We exchanged the usual farewell pleasantries and I was back to waiting for the main attraction.

Without further ado, Dr. X gregariously enters.
"I hear you’re a rock star." He opens up with.
"I'm just trying to stay focused." I say.
"Well, you're doing great. 8 pounds since last month is great."

I think I was beaming like a new father. People rarely get this kind of validation from others, especially from their fatoligist.

We discussed my progress, my hunger level and my ability to get food down and keep it down.
"So you're not really felling any restriction?" he asks.
"Nope. I think I could swallow a live fish if I had to.” I replied.

“We don’t want it to come to that. Let’s give you a little tune up.”

I laid down and a few seconds later I had one more c.c. of saline restriction.  Dr. X gave me a few warnings about staying on liquids that night and pureed foods the next.  After a few more words of encouragement, he was off to the next case.

Needless to say, my second fill appointment was a success. I’m glad the bubbly Ms. K and Dr. X are pleased with my progress. As great as all the back slaps and accolades are, I can’t lose sight of the fact that I am not even half way home yet. There is still a lot of work to be done. I have definitely noticed that every pound is harder to lose than when I started.  And I know they will be even harder as I lose more. So, yea, I’m happy with the visit. But no, I am in now overconfident in my success.

As I was leaving the exam room, I spotted that Rascal sitting unguarded in the hall. For a fleeting second I had thought of nabbing it, throwing on a fat ass chair and making a break for the parking lot. But my new reality set in. I don’t need the fat ass chair anymore, But I sure could have a blast on that Rascal!

Bye for now.

Johnny