Good Times, Bad Times

I've been avoiding the weight scale in my bathroom until today. I finally decided to see what a sloppy pig I've become. I stood there, in my underwear, taking off my glasses and setting them on the side (as though that would make a difference). I looked straight ahead at the wall, afraid of what the scale might say. Finally, it beeped. It was ready to call me fat and offer me a plate of donuts, which I would gladly scarf down.

I pulled my glasses back on, stepped back, and looked down.

167.4 lbs.

Shit.

The most I've ever weighed my entire life. Since senior year of high school, I've hovered around the 150-155 range. When we got the scale a couple of months back, I was devastated to learn I had gained 7-12 pounds (I weighed in at 162 back in October/November). But really? 12-17 pounds, now? That's a bit much.

I always knew my tranny lifestyle would be my demise. So much partying, booze, cake, food, indulgence - the recent arrival of Manny and Olga's in my neighborhood hasn't helped, either, I'm sure. That, paired with the bad weather which makes it impossible for me to want to trudge to the gym has left me two babies heavier. Gross.

I'm going to Miami next month and really don't want to be the gross fat guy at the beach. I mean, I know I'm far from it, I still look like I'm in shape and healthy, but I don't feel good about it. I need to make some serious life changes to get back on track. I just need to figure out where I can cut out some of my indulgences to really make a difference.

Goodbye, double bacon cheeseburgers and 4am 5-topping pizzas. Hello, Paleolithic diet.