Day 645: Serious Negotiations.

The man ... the myth ... the legend, as he was back in January of 2006.

I couldn't do the official weigh-in this morning (I had to be at work at nine), but the unofficial scale here at home, which is always two ounces above the Weight Watchers scale, tells me a mere pound has been lost this week.

I find this somewhat surprising since the dogs and I hoofed it up the trail not once, not twice, but three times this week (take that, "woof-woof").

Then again, it's not all that surprising ... I may have eaten just a tiny bit more than one would ideally want to in a diet week (damn you, Phillipes!!).


Anyway, I'm grateful for the pound, especially since the challenges are only going to get tougher from here on out.

First, the Big Event drops on Friday when Napoleon makes his way across the country for a visit. We'll spend a few days tearing up the city before we fly back East together to join the rest of the Marshall clan for a restful week at the Lake.

Good times? You bet.

Diet times?

I don't think I need to answer that one.

Fortunately, my Inner Negotiator is already on the scene, buttering up my brain for control of my mouth.

"Lighten up," my I.N. coos. "It's just an end-of-summer blowout. You'll get serious again as soon as Fall begins. You'll be lower than your lowest weight by Christmas."

I'm not sure how to respond to that. It all sounds so ... real. Finally, I manage a few random thoughts.

But ... my favorite clothes don't fit. I have to keep wearing the same crap over and over again because I'm 10 pounds past a manageable weight and I refuse to buy fat clothes.

"I know, I know" I.N. sighs. "But what are you supposed to do? Worry about every little thing you eat while Napoleon is here? That doesn't sound like much fun. And then what? Are you going to drag the poor kid to your weigh-in next week?"

I.N. can definitely sense my weakness.

"Just have a good time for the next two weeks and then deal with it when you get back. Besides, you'll be on the move a lot when you're with the Marshalls. It'll all balance out. Go have fun!"

Damn - that bastard's good.

Then again, the idea of Napoleon sitting in on the weekly Weight Watcher's meeting really is kinda priceless ...

Day 638: Of Deep Throat, Eggz, and Rooftops.

I'm not 14, I don't wear a bikini, I don't weigh 100 pounds and this is not my house. Who cares - you get the idea!

Unfortunately, just ditching the weed again has not been enough to make the pounds magically melt away.

Apparently, there needs to be dieting as well.

Even worse, I have learned (from a high-ranking government source I refuse to name, so don't even try) that there's been all kinds of research into this newfangled weight loss theory known as "egg-zer-size" (my source will only speak to me through a handkerchief over the phone, so I have no choice but to use phonetic spelling). I'm told this "eggzersizing" is required if one ever plans to: a) eat like a halfway normal person, and b) permanently keep weight off.

Don't you just hate the way government wastes our tax dollars? I mean, seriously, I could have told them this before they spent billions on research. You see, I've gained back half of the weight I lost by eating like a fool and sitting on my ass. There's your research, Uncle Sam!

On a more terrifying (and only slightly less obnoxious) note, I am returning to Weight Watchers this morning at 9:30 to face what will be unbearably bad music. I won't post the results because it will be far too demoralizing, but will definitely post next Monday morning's results. That way, if I can manage even a slight loss, I might not be tempted to throw myself off the roof.

Okay, so I live in a one-story house and there's plenty of uncut grass to break my fall. What's your point?

I'll hurl myself to the ground, I tell you!