Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same, when temptation calls, we just look away

I was at the mall on Tuesday, walking around trying to find an oversized movie poster for above my television in the living room. It has now become an obsession with me, and I know how I want to display the poster…I just need to figure out which poster I want to hang up there. It is all very annoying, to be honest, as I had one I thought would work, but then decided that both from a design & content aspect of the poster I didn’t want to have it be the first thing people see when they walked in to my living room. And I want to see the poster in person before I buy it, and that is making buying it over the internet a bit difficult.

I’m walking into Macy’s, as I have given up on finding an oversized movie poster at the Monroeville Mall, and decide to check out some of the new colognes. I don’t buy too many as I have an obscure scent that I use that fits me and isn’t overpowering (my older sister has this strange thought that I bathed myself in Polo when we were in high school, but I don’t remember it that way, so I am paranoid about strong colognes. I used Polo, and it was, at the time, a unique scent, therefore I think people thought I used it excessively, but I didn’t. Or maybe I, just being a poor teenage boy and having just enough excess money to buy Polo cologne wanted to put a lot of it on to let people know that I could actually afford the expensive cologne. Whatever.)

At the counter were two teenage boys. Bland, white and non offensive looking as most teenagers at Monroeville Mall are. One was probably about 5’4” with some lip ring thing in, and the other was taller, probably 5’10”, and lean and had a slight acne problem. I was thinking about how I wished I’d bought stock in Clearsil back in the 80’s, right before MTV exploded and acne was something teenagers were supposed to fight against, not just except and try to keep their faces clean.

These boys were checking out several different colognes at the counter (this Macy’s actually has a small men’s cologne counter, only one counter, unlike others I’ve seen that encompass several different counters) and had a bunch of those strips used to spray the different samples for testing in front of them. And then, as they were crouched down looking at prices, I saw the smaller one take the hand of the other boy while using his other hand to point at a specific price on the list behind the glass.

It was very subtle, and a very small gesture, but there it was. And it wasn’t some accidental hand holding, if that makes sense. It was the hand holding of two people who are dating. I was frozen a few feet away, as it was so unexpected, so unseen, that it took me a few extra moments to register that it was just two teenagers holding hands. You don’t see two boys in the Monroeville Mall holding hands, but they were discreet about it: the section of the counter they were at was facing the inside of the store, and pretty much I was the only person who could see it. However, they didn’t even look around to see if anyone was around when they did it as they looked too intent on checking out the prices and the different colognes to pay attention to anyone else. The actual act of hand holding was, I don’t know, natural for them. It didn’t seem like they were making a statement. They were two teenagers who were dating and holding hands.

I didn’t move for the longest time. I didn’t just stand there and stare at them, but I was aware where they were as they walked around and continued to hold hands. I expected when they got to the other side of the counter that they would separate their hands and go back to being two non-descript teenage boys. I mean, we aren’t in West Hollywood or The Village or even North Halstead Street. Fuck, we weren’t even in Shadyside, they gayest part of Pittsburgh. We were in the suburbs of Pittsburgh. We were in the Monroeville Mall. If you just casually glanced around at the other teenagers walking around the mall, you could see what would be referred to in my day as either “Yo! MTV Raps” or “Headbangers Ball,” (and yes, I do know that by using these two shows as a pop culture reference clearly shows that I am not currently a teenage boy trying to hold hands anywhere in public with any other boy – hey, at least the previous sentences included three references to actual “gay ghettos” I’ve been to in bigger cities) not the open society where two teenage boys could shop while holding hands.

They stopped holding hands when they leave, without buying any cologne. I go back to checking the new Jean Paul Gaultier cologne (cleverly known as Gaultier 2), pricing it. It smells good and comes in a nice package (you can buy one bottle for $55 or two bottle, that actually stick together by magnets, for $75 at Macy’s.) When I look out, the two boys are getting onto the escalator going down and are holding hands again. I am again stupefied. I find their actions actually brave, as they seem to want to hold hands and let people know they are holding hands, but I think it is also stupid and dangerous. So I decide I will be their savior and fallow them to help defend them when they are attacked.

I will point out that each of these boys had on regular jeans and non-descript t-shirts, nothing that would suggest they were part of some clique or group in particular. Each of them had short haircuts, but not buzzed. Just regular. One did have that lip ring thing, but that was the most distinguishing feature on either of them. No “Dashboard Confessional” t-shirts to show they were “emo boys.” No ripped jeans and chained wallets and Converses showing they were into heavier metal music . No over sized basketball team jerseys with a baseball cap advertising some out of town sports team with the laser 3-D stickers still attached and the brim of the hat impossibly straight (instead of impossibly curved as was the style about 10 minutes ago) to show they liked rap. So there was no specific clique or group which they could readily be identified based on their appearance, so I didn’t think they would have any other back up in case there was trouble.

And there was no trouble. There were a few snickers from the rap clique (the one boy was wearing a GINORMOUS Tupac t-shirt – this thing, I swear, had to be a life size depiction of the dead rapper, and it went from his neck down past his knees – what is up with that?) And some looks from some preppy boys and their girlfriends, but no one approached them or even made a move to walk closer to them. Or away from them for that matter. They were just two teenage boys, holding hands, walking through a mall on a Tuesday evening. In the food court, they met up with other friends, whom I noted were some girls some boys but none that looked like they were stereotypical effeminate boys, and sat down to eat some leftover fries with the group. I figured they had back up now, so they didn’t need this creepy 37 year old stalking them anymore, so I left.

But I am still kind of amazed that 2 boys can do that at the Monroeville Mall, hold hands and not make it look like they were trying to make some statement, not look like they were frightened of being beat up while making this statement. They looked like two teenagers who were dating and shopping or just hanging out at the mall and holding hands.

And that might have been the coolest thing I’ve seen in a long time. I don’t think it is something that I am going to see again for a long time. But for some reason, they were confident enough to do it, and just did it. And it looked so normal. Fuckin A!

Top coat, top hat, I don't worry coz my wallets fat.

Running has been going quite well the last two weeks. Always past 3 miles, and no problem doing it.

I have been watching the Steelers amazing run at the Super Bowl last season while running. They came out with all 4 complete games on DVD with the radio feed from Bill & Tunch synched up. It is actually fun to run to it, especially when you know how it is going to end. I’ve tried to run while the game is live, and it isn’t as fun. Or maybe it’s just not good to run to when you are invested in the game and might have certain reactions to good/bad plays (or calls from the referee).

I ran 5 times last week, and Monday & Tuesday so far this week. There are times when it becomes boring to just run, but I’ve managed to persevere. Persevere is a strong word, as it hasn’t been something hard to do, but there have been times where I’ve been running, and at like 1.2 miles I think “That’s it, can’t run anymore. Bored shitless. If I stop now, at least I’ve run one mile.” And I just keep running while I think these things.

This morning I was down to 215.5 lbs. I am actually trying to lose a few more pounds before I get to the softball tournament next weekend. I know that the key to losing a few more pounds is food, and yet I keep eating extra calories on the weekends. Every weekend for the last 4 weekends I’ve done under 1600 calories Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and sometimes good on Thursday…and then Friday, Saturday & Sunday have been free-for-alls. I need to work really, really hard this weekend not to do that, and that won’t be easy as it is my last Pirates games for the season. I don’t know if 2 days in a row, Friday & Saturday, I can go without a hot dog at the ball park. That is just asking for super human strength I don’t think I have. But I shall see this weekend.

Nothing else terribly interesting going on at the moment. Life is just chugging along. I can’t believe that it is almost October. I will have been running a year at the end of October. And part of me can’t believe that I’ve done it for 11 months so far, and part of me can’t believe that I’ve “only” lost 45 pounds. Strange how that works out, eh?

I do need to look into buying new clothes now that I’ve lost the weight. I am wearing what used to be a pair of my “thin” pants today, and they are much too baggy for me. I noticed this week that when I wear my newer clothes that are what my size is now, I get more compliments and actually feel better about myself, whereas today, when I am wearing nice shirt and pants but they are baggy, I don’t get the compliments and don’t feel as good about myself. I don’t think it is that I don’t feel good about myself, maybe it is just that I know the clothes make me look bigger than I am. Or maybe my Body Dismorphic Disorder is so bad that I can’t see myself for how I actually look. Or maybe I am still a huge fat bastard!

And there's one who might teach you everything

When are you just tired of all the bullshit that goes with a job? Especially a shitty little part time job.

Friday I’m working at the movie theater, and my major job is to stop the little kids from sneaking into “Jackass 2 – Electric Boogaloo.” At 10 pm, the theater let’s the ticket takers go home, so I am assigned to tear everyone’s tickets who has bought one but hasn’t gone into one of the two sides to go to a movie and therefore had their tickets torn. For a accounting purposes, we have to keep the torn half of the ticket; we keep all tickets for each showing of each movie together (staple/rubber band/paper clip) for 3 years. I don’t know why, but again, they don’t pay me to think; they pay me to do what they tell me to do, and I’m OK with that – actually, it is what I insist on this job.

There I am, asking people if their tickets have been torn, and many of the kids there have already seen the movie, so they have to leave the lobby or buy a new ticket. After tearing about 15 tickets and herding about 30 other kids out the door, I go to a man sitting at a table by himself. He is a 60 year old black man. I ask if his ticket is torn, and he looks startled at me, like I have 3 eyeballs all starting directly into his soul, and says “What?” I ask him if his ticket is torn. And he says “I don’t know what you mean.” I have a torn ticket in my hand, so I ask him again “Is your ticket torn.” He looks at me again without saying anything. I say “Your ticket – is it torn?” While I use the international symbol for ticket tearing, air-ripping my hands in opposite directions.

“Why are you asking me this?” he questions, looking at me quite suspiciously.

“Sir,” I say, “we have moved the ticket takers out and have to make sure everyone in the lobby has had their tickets torn.”

“I don’t know where my ticket is, my wife had it and might have left it in the theater.”

Just as he says this, his friend comes up to me, a tall white man, again in his 60’s, and, while showing me his TORN TICKET, asks “Why are you asking this?”

I resist the urge to point to my shirt which clearly shows I WORK AT THIS FUCKING THEATER, and say “The ticket takers have gone home and we have to make sure they the tickets are torn prior to anyone going into the movie.”

“Oh, OK,” he says, and he shows by his expression that he clearly understands what I just said to him.

This isn’t enough for his friend. “I’m the only person in this place that you ask if their ticket is torn?” And then I find out what this is all about, as he loudly says “I am a 60 year old black man sitting here, and I’m the only one you ask to see their ticket!”

“Sir,” I say, not even testily according to my manager who was 10 feet away, “I asked every person in this lobby before I asked you. I am sorry that you didn’t notice me asking everyone else if their tickets were torn, but I did.”

And this little fuck stain of a human looks at me and says “You didn’t ask my WHITE friend!”

“Sir, I would have asked him next, but after I asked you, he walked up to my and showed me his ticket.”

His friend walks up to this man and, as helping him up his feet from the chair as their wives/dates have come out of the bathroom, and says “Barney, no problem here, they just wanted to make sure that your ticket was torn.”

Barney says “But why, as the only 60 year old black man, do they have to pick on me to show his ticket.”

And as they walk away, I hear the friend saying “See how they have that young man who tore our ticket there anymore, they just want to make sure…”

I asked my manager if I’d said anything wrong, and she didn’t think I had.

I don’t understand how now, within the space of 3 week, I have twice now been accused of being a racist. I don’t think in my previous 37 years I’d been called a racist. I don’t think I am a racist. I just don’t know what all this bullshit is.

Well, I didn't know what to think. Was my mind playing tricks? Was there more to this Karen then realized?

3 miles. Always 3 miles. Actually, last few days, to give myself a bit of a cushion while running, I’ve actually made it to 3.08 miles. Last week, there were times I wasn’t making the 3 miles in 30 minutes, so I ran extra to make it, but we’re talking about running for an extra 20-30 seconds to make it to 3 miles exactly, so I decided to run faster earlier on, and have a little leeway to make it past 3 miles.

It is strange how perception can become reality. This morning I was at 217 lbs. And yet…and yet, when I looked in the mirror, all I saw a big old fat belly. I just stared at it for a moment realizing that it isn’t possible for my stomach to look as distended as it does, I’ve lost too much weight for that to be a possibility, but that is all I could see. I put on my size 38 jeans, walk to the computer and they started falling down. I pull on my blue Polo Sport shirt, and it looks normal on me, doesn’t look stretched out around the stomach as many shirts have looked on me for years, and yet, and yet, AND YET when I look in the mirror, it looks like a pregnant woman’s stomach to me (granted, a very hairy pregnant woman’s stomach).

I recognize it is all part of a mild body dysmorphic disorder (BDD). I don’t think it is anything extreme (if you read up on BDD, it can be quite brutal and paralyzing mentally) but it is strange how I can’t seem to see myself as having lost weight. I mean, I can go to the grocery store and hold up 40+ pounds of sugar and see the tremendous amount of weight I have lost. But, many times in my head when I see myself in a mirror, I still see a complete fatso. Like Orca-fat. Marlon Brando from like “Apocalypse Now” fat, not the hot Marlon Brando from “A Streetcar Named Desire.”

The weird part is that, on the evening before I left for Amsterdam, when I was actually one pound heavier than I weighed this morning, I felt much thinner than I feel today. I felt much better about how I looked in the clothes I was wearing on the flight over to Amsterdam than I do about anything I own today.

I don’t want to be one of those people who are so insanely unhappy with their looks that they are miserable all the time. I want to actually get to some point where I am quite happy with myself, at least how I look. I guess “happy” is the wrong word. More like “comfortable.” And I know it is possible.

Or I hope it is.

I guess all I really know is that tonight, I’ll be running, another 3.08 miles, give or take a hundreth.

How do you plan for a bank full of nuns?

Wow – I must have really been in a stressed out frame of mind when I wrote that last update, as it is awful writing. Just dreadful. I was reading it again today and almost embarrassed by it. I will have to work harder on making my entries sounds better when read.

I need to become more passionate about my work-out, my exercise, and my eating. And I run quite well, that isn’t the problem, I don’t think, it is just getting focused. That lazer-like focus I had earlier this year that I seemed to have lost.

I ran every day last week except Wednesday. That included Sunday. 6 days I ran, 3 miles each day in 30 minutes. And I gained weight last week. I know I will lose it by Wednesday, but the problem for me is thinking about how I will have to eat this amount of food for the rest of my life.

I have shown anytime this summer that I have eaten more calories for any small amount of time I will gain weight. I know I will lose it, but I don’t want to have to watch everything I eat for the rest of my life.

I guess that thought is just bothering me right now. Just tired of having to be fucking vigilant about this on such of a regular basis. I just know too many people who stay the same weight more or less and have for years without the struggle of writing down everything they eat or even if they exercise on a regular basis or not.

It’s just the way I am feeling today. Tired of it all, to be honest.

The episode of the cartoon “American Dad” last night really hit home for me. (And my first sad thought is "Great, I'm getting inspiration from a second rate cartoon now - pathetic!) Stan, the father, went through half the episode and he looked in the mirror and was huge, sweatpants bulging from his fat, and he thought even his work even placed him on medical leave because he was so fat…and then they show you from his family’s point of view, and he is incredibly skinny, emaciated, to the point of being ill and weak, and this is why he was placed on medical leave. And the second they switched views from his to his family, I know how Stan felt (I realize it is a cartoon character, but it was what the story was saying at that moment, right when I was feeling whale-like, that hit home for me.)

I sat around from about Saturday afternoon feeling enormous, feeling like I was so over the top fat that I couldn’t believe humans would even look directly at me for fear that if they made eye contact with them, I’d eat them. Today, I sit here wearing my size 38 jeans that I know are baggy on me, knowing I am over 40 pounds lighter than I was a year ago, and yet I feel HUGE! My self image is bad today.

I wonder what that is all about?

She moves in mysterious ways

Big day yesterday. Went to Pirates game (day double header) and got phone call in the middle of the two games that nephew flipped his car on the parkway. An off duty sheriff’s deputy happened to be following him at that time and said he wasn’t speeding or driving erratically. He walked away with two small scratches. He even said today that he isn’t sore. Nothing physically from the accident and we couldn’t be happier.

I live for my nieces and nephews. I know that sounds stupid, considering I don’t mention them a lot on here, but I think my favorite way to describe myself is uncle. I know it is all schmaltzy and crap, but I have always enjoyed being around the little ones, but I know I don’t want one of my own. I take each niece and nephew on an international trip when they graduate from high school (with a stipulation on grades, of course.)

I have taken oldest niece to Paris, and then one of her younger brothers also decided to go to Paris. The twin brother of the nephew I took to Paris was the one in the accident yesterday, and I am taking him to Thailand next February, as long as he doesn’t keep having accidents (I was originally supposed to bring him to Thailand in November, but he broke his leg and his school was pushed back a semester and the trip was pushed back to February.)

And so, when I was at the Pirates game, and I got the phone call that one of them had flipped his car on the parkway, I was extremely distraught. And when I finally talked to him and he was ok, I was so relieved that I think I know why I don’t want to be a parent. I cried too much just listening to him, realizing that we came so close to losing him. The accident was horrendous, with glass and car parts everywhere, which we can’t believe he walked away with small scratches.

Turn the clock to zero, boss; the river's wide, we'll swim across; started up a brand new day

When I started to run, one of my goals/reasons for the weight loss (I’m sure I’ve mentioned it somewhere on here) was to become a better softball player.

Yesterday at the softball banquet, my team got our team award for being champions of the league. And then I was given the team MVP award. I would like to tell you what my manager said about me before announcing me as the winner, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was bored by that point in time, and I was tired. It had been a long weekend anyway, and this had been a long banquet as it was the monumental 25th anniversary of our league so they had person after person speak continuously about the old days, the middle days and how we all need to fight to make the future days better.

So, when the managers all went up to present the team MVP awards, my head was barely above the table. We each had already been given our little trophy as the champions and I wasn’t expecting anything else. I know he mentioned that he was presenting the award to a “stalwart in the outfield,” but nothing else. And then I heard my name. It was pretty cool, to be honest, as I’ve never won an individual award in any sport I’ve ever played. Even in baseball, when I was in the 12-13 y/o team (it was my last year on that team, so I must have been 13; I do know it was right after 8th grade) on the field we played I broke the record for most home runs hit in one season. But my team didn’t win the season championship so the MVP award was given to Scotty Barbarella, who was a pitcher for the team that did win.

Oh yeah, and playing first base, I had like 10 errors in 22 games that year. I could hit anything thrown at me, and usually with good power, but my fielding was atrocious. Abysmal, even. They tried to hide me in right field, but that was even more of a disaster. But when I hit 2 or 3 home runs every game (the outfield ended with the woods, and I usually put it in the trees) they couldn’t take my bat out of the lineup.

I now figure that my exercise/weight loss program has worked better than I thought. I am the MVP of the championship team. Ergo…I am the best player in the league. Arrogance is a bad thing, but let me have this one little day of it before I get bitch slapped back into reality.

So how do I top that? I guess getting better news from my doctor next spring on my cholesterol level being lower would be better news, as health was listed as priority #1 of losing the weight. But this is a pretty good day for me.

There's a midget standing tall and the giant beside him about to fall

It seems like once every few weeks I have trouble running. I don’t know why, and it usually isn’t on Monday, the first run of the week for me. It is usually on like a Tuesday or Wednesday, and no matter how much I try to get into it, I just can’t. Last night was the example, though I ended up having a good excuse by the end. I'd run Monday & Tuesday up to 3 miles, very good runs.

I rented the movie “Brick.” Read good reviews, was all excited. Got on the treadmill and after about 5 minutes, I started looking at the time. This is a bad sign. I usually start looking at the timer when it is at 23 ½ minutes, when I only have a few minutes to go. And I didn’t stop looking at the timer, or, more accurately, I started looking at it every 30 seconds. I even covered it up with my towel, and then kept using the towel to wipe my brow and sneak looks at the timer.

And then the belt started squeaking again. This is probably the most annoying thing, as it squeaks into a high pitched squeal that drowns out almost all the sound from the TV (I watch most movies with subtitles on as I can barely hear anything as it is when running with the regular sound of the treadmill and a 215 lb guy running on it [by the way, as of this morning – 215 lbs!]). So now I’m running, looking at the timer and hearing only a loud squeal and the pounding of my feet on the treadmill.

And then my new running shoes, using them for the third time ever, started rubbing and formed a small blister on the ball of my right foot. So I am there running, staring at the timer slowly ticking away with my ears hurting from the shrieking noise coming from the engine with my right foot hurt and I’m trying to run a little different to relieve pressure from the ball of my right foot and my right thigh muscle starts to hurt because it is unnatural to run this way.

And then 30 minutes FINALLY came. Only 2.68 miles after a week of hitting 3 miles, but really, who cares at this point? I just wanted to get off that wretched treadmill and spray some belt dressing on the squeaking belt and take of those damn shoes and listen to sweet, sweet quiet.

And smoke.

I really wanted a cigarette. But my heart has been racing for some reason when I'm at rest. Just strange little flutters that make me feel unnatrual.

I flushed the final 4 down the toilet, so no more of that nastiness.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T Find out what it means to me

At the movie theater I work on the weekends, I sometimes am the usher that cleans up after the movie. We sometimes get into the movie before it ends, watch the last few minutes and start cleaning.

On Sunday, I was working the noon-5 pm shift, and it was 4:35 pm, only 25 minutes left. I went to one theater showing the end of “Step Up,” the hip hop dancing movie with smoking hot Channing Tatum. In the front row is 4 young teenage girls and one parent. The movie ends, they walk by me, and I clean up the few scraps of popcorn and empty drink cups.

I leave the theater and see the parent and one child going into theater 19, the next theater I have to go clean. No problem, though we usually try to clean the empty theater, but these people can sit in trash for all I care. I know I am supposed to stop the theater jumping, but I only had about 20 minutes to go and didn’t care that much. As I walked up to the theater, the other 3 girls came from the lobby on my right and, upon seeing me, starting walking faster towards theater 19. I said “Excuse me,” and they ignored me, walking faster, so I said “Excuse me,” 3 more times. Then, as I was partially annoyed at this point, I said “STOP!” loudly, but again, not rudely. Unfortunately, just as I said that last word is when the last one had opened the door wide to theater 19.

I asked them to stop outside while I cleaned the theater, and as I walked in, the parent stuck her head over the railing (this is a stadium seating theater, and they had walked about half way to the top already) and said “What are you saying to my daughters?”

I point out to her, in a very nice way to be honest, that I need to clean the theater and they need to step out of the theater while I finish. She mumbles something as I walk up the steps next her about not talking to her daughters like that, and when we are about 10 rows from each other, she says clearly “You don’t have to be a fucking asshole about it.” This does annoy me, so I said “I now see where they get it from.” We did some minor bickering while I cleaned and she walked out. At no point did I use vulgar language towards her or even in her presence.

Just as I’m finishing up, I hear the squeak of the door and a deep, bellowing voice “Whatchoo saying to my family?” I ignore this and try to finish my job, purposely not even acknowledging this man. “Whatchoo doin’ talkin’ to my family likes dat? You can’t be disrespectin’ dem like dat.” I turn and see a 65-ish man with silver hair and about 3 teeth, though is large and about my height, 6’2”, closer to 300 lbs, in a maroon valor jump suit. He reminded me of a fat Huggy Bear. And he looked familiar because he and two younger boys were in the movie “Crank” just about 15 minutes prior to this when I went in there to clean that theater.

“I was asking them to wait outside while I clean the theater,” I say to him, hoping he will understand that I am just doing a job and he can wait until I am finished to sit. Sadly, he is not interested in leaving me alone, he is interested in the perceived lack of respect for his children, while ignoring the disrespect his wife and children showed me.

“You cants be talkin’ to my family likes dat,” he bellows again. I shake my head and go back to cleaning. “I sees you is a coward,” he then says.

This angered me, so I jump over the railing (I was in the front row of the stadium seating, so no big drop here) and get into his face, nose to nose with him (and that is how I know how tall he is.) and started tell him “I asked them to wait outside, and they wouldn’t stop at all.”

Huggy Bear, however, was having none of actual talking. He wanted to continually accuse me of “disrespectin’” his family, which seemed, from his reaction, to be on par with murdering them. I asked if he was going to calm down to talk rationally, and he answered in some incoherent scream and then exaggeratedly tried to get something out of the pocket of this valor jumps suit. I was certain that he was getting out some weapon and I remember thinking “$6/hour is not worth this at all!”

I walked out of the theater and radioed for a manager in front of theater 19. Huggy Bear kept yelling at me that I was disrespectin’ his family, and that I was a coward. When the manager came around the corner, she immediately went into damage control: “How can we settle this dispute?”

He said that his family spend lots of money at the theater and “We ain’t never been treated like dis.” Then he points to me and says “If we’s was white, he wouldn’t talk to them all like ‘Step outside.”

All of my senses were being attacked by this fucking idiot. I point at his wife and say “She is the one who was disrespecting me.” At which point he said “Don’tchoo be pointin’ at my wife!”

So I point to him with both index fingers, very purposely, and said “And then you come into the theater and disrespecting me! So don’t talk to me about disrespecting.” My poor manager was trying to stay in the middle of us, as she later told me she didn’t think he would swing at her. I pointed out to her that, at that point, I mostly wanted him to swing at me. I was ready to take him down.

He leans in to me, pointing at me, and says quite clearly “I don’t gots to respect you!” Then I think part of him heard what he said and tried to justify it “I gots kids older than you.” I was befuddled by that remark. I still think he meant that he didn’t have to respect a low income theater cleaner.

Before I could say anything, his wife says “I just told you that you don’t gots to talk to my kids like that,”

I look at her with probably the only time I came close to and said “But you were the one who used foul language at me,” and she starts denying it, but then admits that she called me a fucking asshole.

Sadly, there is no resolution to this type of insanity. They walk back into theater 19, and my manager is happy that there were no fists thrown and that the shouting has stopped. I will point out that I didn’t raise my voice at any time, I talked rationally the whole time, and I never swore at them. We check and there was no one who had paid to be in theater 19 at that point in time, proving they jumped from movie to movie.

I will also say that for all his grandstanding about respect and being angry with me, he didn’t actually ever touch me.

And I attribute his entire attitude to the fact that him and his family were caught stealing movies. I know we all think that going from one theater to another when you’ve only paid for one is no big deal, but it still is a form of stealing. And most people, when caught, are just sheepish.

And clearly, if he isn’t going to respect anyone else, I don’t need to be respecting him.

I think this time around, I am gonna do it

217 lbs 2 days in a row. Yeah me.

It is Saturday morning, and I've eaten quite well the past 2 days, no binging. Probably ate about 2000 calories each day, but that is what an adult male should eat to maintain weight, so I have no problem with that amount. Tonight might be a bit tough as I'm going to a party, but I will work hard to be good. The hostess promised fresh veggies. I can munch on that all night, right?

I made this wonderful meal yesterday, and I am going to finish it off today. I took lamb shoulder and put it in the slow cooker for 5 hours with minced garlic and onions. I drained the fat, onions and garlic, cubed the lamb meat, and put it back in the slow cooker with chopped mango, green peppers, onions and tomatoes and just a bit of curry sauce with tandoori spices. Let me tell you, that hit the spot perfectly. With my house not having gas, I don’t cook as much outside of the microwave, so it felt good to actually cook something myself. And it tasted so good.

I ran yesterday and today, 3 miles each day. I think it was the movie on Wednesday, cause the last 30 minutes of “Dirty Harry” are so much better than the middle 30, and I wasn’t bored at all. Today I started watching “The History of Violence,” and the first 32 minutes (I did fast forward through the much too graphic for me cunnilingus scene) seem pretty good, but the meat of the movie is just beginning.

Oh, and can you believe that cigarettes cost $4.54/pack?