South Beach Blues.

So I'm finishing my first week on the South Beach diet. For my tender, uninitiated readers, phase one of the South Beach diet requires the intake of almost no carbs. None. Nada. No fruit. No fruit juice. No potatoes, bread, legumes, carrots, beets, or butter. No ice cream or other sweets. Nothing. Also... wait for it... no alcohol.

Yes, I said it. No alcohol.

I knew this would be a challenge. I love cocktails. I don't love them because I'm a fucking alcoholic. I love them because I love the taste, and the relaxation that accompanies that taste. I take them in moderation, and love them. I've had three pints of Ben and Jerry's in the freezer and haven't been tempted by them at all really... but my craving for Hendrick's martinis is strong. In the entire past week, I have cheated three times... one martini on Tuesday night (we went to Lombardino's for a work dinner, so I was unduly tempted), two martinis at dinner Saturday night, and a little bitty bit of barbecue sauce with a pork chop I made yesterday. That's it... I've been carb-free otherwise, and have been feeling a bit lighter lately. So I weighed myself at work today.

Bad move. Shouldn't have done that.

At my fattest, while living in Columbus and subsisting on macaroni and cheese with tuna mixed in, chili casserole with crunched up Doritos on top, and take-out Chinese from Mark Pi's, I weighted 188 pounds. Now, after working out, eating better, and a week of South Beach (phase one, I might add), I weigh... wait for it... 193.

Holy fuckballs. 193? Really? I know I've put on probably 20 pounds of muscle over the past two years according to my trainer's estimates, but I can't blame it on that. And while I was clothed, I wasn't wearing a medieval suit of armor or anything. No. Just fat. Not obese fat, of course... this is Wisconsin, so I'm surrounded by people who have legitimate fattitude... but gay fat for SURE.

Sigh. I'm going to redouble my efforts, and get rid of the cheating and quit getting all lazy about the trips to the gym to do cardio. I'm giving it until the end of the month, and then will re-weigh myself. I will do my best to refrain from cutting a bitch this week and next. However, if you notice a news item from Madison that doesn't have anything to do with our douchebag governor with his asymmetrical face stuffed up David Koch's sweaty, pasty ass, it's probably going to be about me mowing down a bunch of people with my car.

In defense of silliness.

Here we see some fun-loving bears enjoying a bit of mirth. (The clip to which they're lip-synching is from the fabulous TV show Glee.)

And of course some folks on the interwebs have clogged up the series of tubes by vomiting up some hateful-ass twaddle... in a nutshell, they think that our tribe shouldn't be acting silly and singing along to bouncy songs. Apparently we should all be sitting across cold tables in brightly-lit coffee houses and processing things.

To paraphrase the words of a Dallas drag queen walking through a crosswalk circa 1992... Kittens, this world is a harsh place. You could get your britches bunched all up in your tookie if you wanted to... there are plenty of injustices out there that would justifiably result in dyspepsia. The real winners in our struggle are those who can laugh heartily in the face of injustice.

Remember, my delicate little petals... anything that provides a little joy and laughter in our lives adds to the measure of good in this world.