Trip Down Memory Lane Pt. 3 - The Sleep Over!!!

Okay.  Enough poo and fart topics for a little while because quite frankly, it's starting to stink around here.  (Ba Dum Dum).  But really, with a name like Mental Vomiting, did you REALLY expect to read social commentaries on politics and social awareness?  I sure hope not, because I'm not THAT kind of guy.  I prefer to call myself an ostrich when it comes to politics.  I just hide my head in the sand and try to think up ways to make people laugh, because life is serious enough and you don't need me to ruin your day too.  So if you want intelligent topics on stuff like that,  go read the Wall Street Journal.  You won't see it here because I'm a bit of an idiot. 

As you can see by the name of the topic, I'm hopping back into my DeLorean and taking that bad boy up to 88 m.p.h. and going back to my childhood, and maybe some of yours depending on your age.  I've discussed the whole Street Light phenomenon in pt. 1, http://scottsweitzer.blogspot.com/2011/02/trip-down-memory-lane-pt-1.html, and I talked about the concept of playing pretend as kids, http://scottsweitzer.blogspot.com/2011/02/childhood-memories-pt-2-two-magic-words.html, so now I'm going to head on back and talk about a wonderful pastime as a child that has also seemed to go by the wayside for some reason or another.  This was usually a weekend activity that involved several stages of planning and manipulation, on the kids' parts, but if done correctly, you would end up with either you spending the night at your friends house, or your friend staying over at your home.

Now before I get into the whole institution of the sleep over, let me say that this topic came into my targets after watching my step daughter have friends stay over.  I guess it's the teenager in them coming out, but the whole time her friend was over, they were either on the computer watching videos on You Tube, talking on the phone, or texting someone.  It's like they didn't even bother to talk to each other, they just communicated electronically to others.  Such a weird thing.   "Come on over and spend the night.  We will not talk to each other for most of the evening and IT WILL BE A BLAST!!!!!"   *Sigh*. . . . I guess that's the old person coming out of me.  "Back in the day", we didn't have all the electronics to distract us from reality.  Nope, we had to entertain ourselves by either conversation, games, playing pretend, eating, prank phone calls, and late night scary movies.  We didn't have enough time in the night to accomplish everything we wanted to, but we were going to try.

The first major decision that us kids had to figure out was just whose house we were going to stay over at? That major decision had a lot to do with whose house was the funnest and whose house could you get away with the most.  These were important things to take into consideration.  "Can we pull off prank calls at Billy's house?"  "Will Tim's parents let us go outside in the dark?"  "Will Matt's parents let us stay up all night watching scary movies?"  These were ALL questions that needed going over before the house was decided on. It was like being in an important cabinet meeting in the White House because we were deciding on the fun factor of OUR nation.

Once we figured out who the number 1 choice was, it was time for the next step.  Getting at least ONE of the parents to agree to it.  That's all it took, hit Mom in the middle of cooking or hit Dad in the middle of "piddling" and you were raising your success odds by 50%.  The FIRST rule though was that you ALWAYS went to Dad first.  Mom was going to be the one that had to pay some form of attention to you and your guest while Dad just did good to remember my name, so you didn't want her to have first crack at shooting down the idea.  If you could get a yes from your Dad, then you had the whole, "Dad said it was okay if Matt stayed over." opening statement ready for Mom when you had to let her know. So all you would do was wait until your Dad just starts the lawn mower and get his attention.  He will look at you with that confused look that only a father can give you, shut the mower off quickly, then ask you what you want with a tone between anger and confusion.  Then you just cut right to the chase.   "Can Matt stay over tonight?" or even better, "Matt's going to stay the night tonight, okay?"  Being that he probably didn't care one way or the other, he would rather get back to mowing rather than really think the whole thing out, so he would usually say, "Fine."   That's all you needed at that point.  Your evening was good as gold unless Mom really had some real excuse not to let it happen.  In the game of the sleep over, Playing the Parents was your strongest skill needed.

With that yes in the air, you would then move on to step three.  Laying out the plans for the evening and getting your friend to start bringing over their stuff right away so your parents couldn't talk to each other and renige on the deal.   Get that sleeping bag into your living room, his pajamas, his retainer, ANYTHING that belonged to him.  Once it was in the house, it was too late for your parents to back out because he was already there.  Then you would start to plan the evening.  What was going to be the snacks of the evening? How much longer after the street light came on can we convince the folks to let us outside?  Could we try to sneak in a couple of prank phone calls between snack time and scary movie time without getting caught?  How late were we planning on staying up?  If you planned all these important matters out before hand, you would be able to concentrate on the fun instead of looking for things to do.  Fail to plan. . . . Plan to fail. . . .and in the ways of the sleep over, FAILURE WAS NOT AN OPTION!!!!

Finally. . . . Let the sleep over begin!!!!!!  You could usually count on a couple of things on sleep over night.  #1 was that dinner was going to be something that didn't take long to prepare for your Mother, meaning that it was going to be good.  Like hot dogs, grilled cheese, mac & cheese, or some other form of non-nutritional meal.  What a great way to start!!!   #2. The rules would be a little looser around the house so your parents wouldn't come off looking like the ogre's that you have made them out to be.  So instead of having to stay in after the street light came on, they might let you go out back and play around in the dark.  Being a step parent, I now understand the reasoning for this.  They were able to keep the kids out of their house longer and it also let them burn up any energy they had which would save their nerves when we would finally come in.  SNEAKY SNEAKY SNEAKY!!!!!   Playing out in the dark was such a wonderful thing to a couple of kids back then.  You could swat the lightening bugs with tennis rackets,  play hide and seek, and just roam around in the dark waiting for the monsters you knew were out there to grab you.  There was a certain balance between fear, excitement, terror, and fun that was achieved perfectly.

Once inside, things would take a more tactical mission.  We would try our best to find that spot in the house that no other siblings or parents would be.  If you grew up in the north, that would be the basement.  You would go down there so you could try to pull off maybe a couple of prank phone calls before it was time to set up shop as to where you were sleeping.  If you were able to pull it off, and not get caught with the phone, some real fun could be had by all parties involved.  Prank phone calls could range from the simple hang up to a more involved interaction with the victim.  It all depended whatever the mood was in the room.  I was not very original back then, so I would go with the classic fart noise and then hang up.  Yeah, I know.  STUPID.  I just couldn't master the art of the prank phone call back then.  I wasn't the quick witted idiot I am now.  I will say that in high school I had one classic prank call that will ALWAYS go down as my best. 

*Story bunny trail alert*

My parents had gone out of town for the night and instead of leaving me home alone, they figured that I should have a friend come over and spend the night with me.  Lol.  Oh the foolishness of parenthood!!!!
So I had a good friend of mine come over and after watching about every rated R movies we could get our hands on, we decided to pull out the old prank phone call card.  Thanks to there being no Caller ID at the time, this was still a viable form of entertainment.  We took turns making the calls and were having some luck on getting victims hacked off at us.

I then got an idea.  Which for those that know me, know that when I have an idea, something bad is about to happen to someone, and in this case, it was my friend.  I grabbed the handset to the phone and handed it to him.  For you younger readers out there, we didn't have cordless phones back then, so the handset was attached to the base of the phone.  I handed him the phone and dialed the number for him and told him to "talk dirty" to whoever answered. He didn't see me dial but his face turned red as he tried to figure out what to say. The other person answered and my friend said in his most seductive voice, "Um . . . hello".  A female answered on the other end and said, "Hello" Then my friend asked how they were doing trying to figure out where to go with this.   I kept waiting for him to catch on that something was wrong, but he wasn't.

I immediately busted out laughing because I knew what was really happening.  My friend just thought he was the master prank caller because of my reaction.

He was making a few warm up comments for the bomb he was about to drop on her and then this is what happened next.   He decided to cut right to the chase and hit her with his best line.  "What color panties are you wearing?" (Which drove me off the couch and on to the floor from laughing so hard.  Why?  Keep reading).  No sooner does he get that line out of his mouth, his eyes pop open so large that I would swear that Kermit the Frog just took over his body in some weird Muppet paranormal activity.  He turned white as a ghost and couldn't slam the phone down fast enough.

"Why did he slam the phone down and crap himself?", you might ask.  Well unknown to him, the number I dialed for this prank call was his own home number.  I was expecting his sister to answer the phone, but the planets must have been smiling down on me that night, because it was his MOTHER that answered!!!!!  So to sum it up for you, he just asked his own Mother what color panties she was wearing.  How is that for mental trauma?  Well after he said those words to her, she must have done something that he wasn't able to do. . . She RECOGNIZED his voice!!!!   When his eyes popped open it was when she said his name and asked if that was him.  He was now in shock.

I just layed there on the floor while it hit him what he had just done.  He had just asked his mother what color panties she was wearing.  PRICELESS!!!!!

*Story Bunny Trail Over*

After all the fun was done, you still had the best part of the night to come.  You still had a good old fashioned horror movie to watch.  Where I grew up, there was a show out of Cleveland called the Hoolihan and Big Chuck Show, later changed to the Big Chuck and Little John Show, that came on at 11:30 if I remember right.  This show was the greatest thing to ever come along in a childs life.  They would play some cheesy grade B horror movie and also have skits before or after the commercials.  It was the perfect balance of comedy and horror.  I can remember many of times being so terrified by the movie that I would have nightmares all night.  The worst one ever was the movie, Count Yorga, Vampire.   This movie scared the living CRAP out of me.  I couldn't get to sleep without waking up every 10 minutes screaming because this cheesy vampire and his women were coming for me.  I ended up seeing it on TV a couple years back and was all excited to be scared again.  Let me say what a let down that was.  I have NO IDEA what scared me.  It was HORRIBLE!!!  It's like remembering that huge hill you used to bike down as a child but when you see it now, it looks more like a bump.  But at the time, good old Count Yorga left me traumatized to the point that I just wanted my Mommy and wasn't afraid to say it.

The sleep over used to be such a magical time.  It was full of adventure, fun, and horror and I have a lot of great memories from it.  I wish the kids today could understand the simplicity of it all.  Just one or two friends getting together and hanging out.  No texting, no computer, no cell phones, no You Tube.  Just your imagination and a great horror movie was all we needed.   We would wake up tired and exhausted, but it was so worth it in the end, because we had FUN.  True innocent fun.

Except of course my perverted friend that asked his mother what color panties she was wearing!  SICKO!

Smile!!!

Lighten up folks. . . .Farts are Funny!!!!

***Disclaimer from Blogspot*** 
If you are one of those uptight people that can't stand talking about a normal bodily function like farting, you might not want to continue.  Even though Scott is a genius when it comes to making even the grossest, nastiest, unrefined things funny, you have been warned.  In fact, We think Scott might have farted a couple times while writing this, because we smelt something that smelled like Chicken and poo a couple of times.  You might want to spray some air freshener before you continue.  It's going to be "That kind of blog" today, so you have been warned.  Turn back now if you don't want to laugh.  We at Blogspot are NOT responsible for any of the crap that comes out of this idiots mind.  Now enjoy!

Flatulence. . . . That's right.  That "home grown" gift to the world.  That "Air from Down There", that "Screaming Sphincter", that "Brown Cloud of Doom",  you know it, you hate it, but deep down most of us love to laugh about it,  Ladies and Gentlemen. . . . . I give you. . . . . . . the FART!!!! 

Now let me start this off by saying that the Fart and me has been friends for a very, very long time.  In fact, on my Adoption paperwork it states, Fretful Times - When he has gas.   My mother has told me that when I was a baby, I mean. . . . when I was the CUTEST BABY on the planet, I would be crying my eyes out.  She would try to feed me, she would check my "butt filter"(diaper), and nothing would be obviously wrong.  She would be ready to take me to the doctor to see what was wrong, and then she would pick me up and while she was holding me, I would let out a loud "Baby Air Bomb" and immediately I would stop crying and get a smile on my face.  (It's not so different now.  Ask my wife.) So there is living proof that farts are therapeutic!!!!   Having a bad day and feeling cranky???  Hike that leg and let the tension out!!!!  Go ahead and FART!!!!!  Brilliant New campaign ad.  Brad Pitt is standing there with his face all scrunched up and his leg hiked.  Instead of a white mustache, there is a green cloud forming around him.  The simple catch phrase is written above him.   FART. . . . It does the body good.  That's it.  I'm heading to Hollywood! 

Which brings me back to that word Fart. It's been around since the 13th Century and comes from the High German word ferzan, which means to break wind. (Didn't know I was so smart did you?) It's such a simple one syllable word that almost sounds like what it's describing, but it's also a hated word by many.  If you want to rile my mother up, just say the word FART!  She will cringe like I just said the other famous four letter F word and will tell me not to say it.  She will say "Toot" or "Gas" or "Stinker", which mean the same thing, but never will the word FART come shooting out of her mouth. (I intended that pun) I have tried over and over to get her to say it, but to no avail. I think it has a lot to do with her age, 80, and that "back in the day", you just didn't address that wonderfully, hilarious bodily function.  By the way most elderly people act, they just didn't "pass gas" back then.  It's like Farting didn't come along until I was born.  I will say however, that after smelling a few of my Grandmother's "Poop Ghosts", I might start to believe that they DIDN'T fart back then, but held it all in until they hit their 70's and then decided to let it all out one step at a time.  I'm sorry, but there is NOTHING funnier than the walking "Toots".  You can hear it plain as day, but the elderly person in question either doesn't hear or doesn't care.  "Here comes Grandpa."

*TOOT*. . . . Step. . . . .*TOOT*. . . . .Step. . . . .*TOOT*. . . . Step. . . . etc.

It's as if they need the "Turbo Boost" to help them on their way.  I just always worry about being there when they stop and all that "Lonesome Cry of a Trapped Turd" air that they have been trailing, catches up to them.  It's a wonder that we just don't see a ton of elderly people passed out along the road from being "gassed" by the funk of like 32 farts at one time hitting them in the back of the head.  Talk about the Black Plague.  That's the Brown Plague.

 So before we get into "story time with Uncle Scott", lets talk about all the great names that we have come up with for this one bodily function. I think the only one that anyone finds offensive is the word FART.  I don't understand why, maybe it has something to do with the other four letter F word, but I have no idea what the deal is with that word.  I find it to be the perfect word for that just by the way it seeps out of your mouth. (Yep.  Intended Pun)   Go ahead and say it. . . . . . out loud . . . . . I'll wait. . . . . .

FART!!!!!!!

It's just such a simple word that instantly makes you chuckle.  If you are NOT chuckling, stop reading now because it's only going to get worse from here.

Here's some of the names I've seen used:

Poot         Fluff      Pooter     (all used by women, because we all know that women don't FART)
Barking Spider
Butt Muffin
Cheese  (This is my sisters favorite)
Poop Ghost (my personal favorite)
Lonesome Cry of a Trapped Turd  (Come on.  You HAVE to laugh at that)
Butt Burp
Rim Shot
Flatulence  (The boring word)

And that is just the tip of the "fartberg" at how many different names we have for them.

Not only do we have many terms for them, but we also have many names for the situation in which you expel that "butt vapor".

S.B.V. (Silent but Violent)  or S.B.D. (Silent but Deadly)- This is when you let one slip out that has no sound, but smells like you just butchered a cow.  This is effective in elevators and amusement park lines.
Drive by -  This is when you walk past a buddy of yours and let it fly so it catches them dead on.  It's usually best if they are sitting when you do this so they get a face full.
Dutch Oven - This is when laying in bed with your spouse, you let one rip and then pull the covers up over your spouses head so they can enjoy your "gift from down below"
Blue Bomber - This is when you light your "Bomb" with either a match or a lighter.  For those of you that don't think this is possible. . . . . . .

Scout Fart -  This happens usually when you are out on a date with someone you just aren't comfortable enough with yet.  You have to "Chum the Waters" so bad, but you are not sure if it's going to stink real bad.  So you let out a little "Scout fart" to test the waters to see if you can smell it.

I'm sure you can think of more than that and you might have your very own nicknames for farting events which I would love to hear in the comments section below.

I think the laughter comes from when we were children.  There was NOTHING, and I mean NOTHING, funnier than you or one of your friends letting it rip.  If it was lucky enough to be you, you would silence the room by saying, "Hold on. . . . Hold on. . . .I got to Fart".  Then you would hike your leg, which is the universal language for "Something Wicked This Way Comes".  Then you would scrunch your face and let fly the gas that was trapped in the "Land Down Under".  Your friends would all let out a loud groan in unison, and then you would wait for the smell that was soon to follow.   Then once the "Anus Air" would hit you, you would start waiving the air like a fan in order to spread the joy as far as you possibly could.   Your friends would scream, run, and even cry depending on what you had for lunch that day.  It was the perfect activity.  Free, Fun, and Funny.  I guess I'm talking from a boy's point of view, but I'm willing to bet you girls laughed just as hard when you "Fluffed" in front of your friends.

I guess I never grew up though, because like most men, and women if they would just admit it, FARTS are still funny.  The leg hike is still used, the waving of the "Sphincter Smell" can still be employed, and the laughs are still just as hard.  It's a normal bodily activity that EVERYONE has to deal with it.  We don't freak out when someone coughs do we?  Well think of a Fart as a "Butt Cough".  We don't condemn someone when they sneeze do we?  Well think of a Fart as a "Rump Sneeze".  It's just part of the way God created us.  We FART, CHEESE, TOOT, POOF, RIP!!!!!   No matter what you call it, we expel gas out of our bodies either through a burp or a fart.   I'm sure I'm not the only one that laughs at this. 

So gather round "pukesters".  Uncle Scott has a few of his favorite FART stories to tell you. 

#1.  One of my favorite things I got as a present one year was my Electronic Fart Machine.  Talk about Heaven in a Box, this was it.  It was such a electronic masterpiece.  If you have never seen one, it's a box that's about the size of a small speaker and it comes with a remote.  So you would hide the speaker part, press the remote button, and one of 6 different sounding farts bellows out of the speaker.  The best part is that you can hit the remote from about 50 - 100 feet away and it will work.  This leads someone like me into trouble.  You could do so many things with this device, like either put it in your own back pocket and walk around hitting the button periodically or you could hide the box somewhere that people would walk by and let it rip from a safe distance.  Either way it was a great way to entertain yourself. 

I was a manager at a retail store for a long time and I decided to have a little fun at my employee's expense one day.  Probably the best one was that I had a pregnant girl in my store that was like 7 months along. So I hid the box under the cash drawer one morning before anyone else got there.  The best thing was that I could sit in the back room and watch the monitors because the remote would work from my desk.  So I waited until she had finished waiting on two gentlemen and was ringing them up.  After she rung it up, she turned and bent over to grab a bag for their purchase and that's when I hit the button.  I could see the two gentlemen give each other a look and I could see the employee panic.  I mean, here was a pregnant girl ready to pop, so certainly she couldn't control her "Baby Yells" could she?  She finished with the customers as best as she could without breaking up and once they were gone, she looked up at the camera and with a smile she told me I was #1 only using a finger that is not normally used for that.

#2.  This one happened back in High School when I was really just getting into weight lifting.  A friend of mine happened to be over at my house and we both decided to see what each of us could bench press.  So being that neither one of us were Hercules, we started off with 170 lbs. on the bar.  We both were good with that and we slowly worked our way up.  He dropped out at 225 lbs. but I did it and wanted to show him up by going to 235 lbs.  I layed down on the bench and told him to spot me. 

For those of you that don't know what spotting is, it's when the person stands behind you at the bench and if needed, he will reach down and help you get the weight up if you can't do it on your own.  It's for your safety.

So there I was, laying on the bench, my hands grasping the bar, and getting ready to lift the heaviest that I ever had done.  My friend was in position to help in case something went wrong.  "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey was blaring on the radio and I was in the zone. Looking back now, I should have been playing "Don't Start Breathing" by Scott Sweitzer.  I took a deep breath and pushed up on the weight to get it off the hooks.  It felt heavy, but I was sure I could do this.  I lowered the bar to my chest and started the lift.  About halfway up, my strength gave out.  I couldn't lift it any further so I did what I was supposed to do.  I said, "Help me".  That was the code word for the spotter to reach over from the back and grab the bar helping you lift it back up to the hooks.

Well.  If you are picturing this correctly.  I am lying on my back with my head sticking out the top of the bench.  The spotter is standing close to my head and is facing my feet.  So when he bent over to grab the bar, I was pretty dang close to his "Under Carriage".  He immediately jumped to help and reached over and grabbed the bar.  At the same time he was lifting the weight up to save my life, he let out a huge "pants puffer".  Remember where my face was????   I was right in the line of fire.  In fact, I'm pretty sure not only did I hear the wind, but I felt it as well.

Being that farts are funny, we both busted out laughing so hard at that moment.  You remember the moment don't you?  I was the one with 235 lbs. on top of me?  I don't know if you have ever tried to lift something heavy while you are laughing real hard AND have a face full of butt, but let me tell you, IT'S NOT POSSIBLE!!!!  The two of us couldn't stop laughing over his "gift" and so I was stuck with 235 lbs. stuck on my chest.  My friend never recovered from the laughing and I had to roll the bar down me until I could sit up and get it off my legs.  Let's just say that I NEVER asked him to be my spotter again.

And now my personal favorite  (drum roll please)

#3.  This one happened at church.  This also happened around high school age. 

Me and a friend of mine were sitting in the pew listening intently to the sermon.  Let me rephrase that.  I was the only one listening because upon looking over at my friend, he had his head dropped down and it wasn't because he was deep in prayer.  He was fast asleep.  I went back to being the good one and paid attention.

I know probably each and everyone of us has had a "bed fart" before.  It's where you are asleep and your body is so relaxed that it decides to go ahead and release the tension itself.  Of course, it releases it out of your tushy and you usually end up hearing it like it happened in some far away place until you realize that it wasn't a dream and you just farted in your sleep.  

SOOOOOOO. . . . about halfway through the sermon, I heard a perfect fart come from my sleeping friend beside me.  By perfect, I mean the tone was like a C flat on a trumpet and was just long enough to make it's presence known.  I jerked because quite frankly it scared me and then after realizing what that sound was, I started laughing.  I was trying to keep it under control because after all, we were in church.  My friend kept his head dropped down and then slowly leaned over to me to utter these words to me in a whisper. . . .

"Was that me?", careful not to make eye contact with anyone.  I let him know that yes indeed it was him that just made the term "Pew" literal.  He whispered a  "Oh man" and then he slowly leaned back to his original spot and went back to acting like he was asleep. Knowing full well that the "Smell Train" was a coming.  

Now we had a couple of girls in front of us and they were giggling because they heard the "Thunder from Down Under" and they OBVIOUSLY thought FARTS WERE FUNNY!  I wanted to kill my friend  because I was sure they were blaming me because I was the only one awake.  But what could I do?  I couldn't announce to the congregation that it wasn't me even though I wanted to.

"Um. . . . . . Excuse me Pastor?  Sorry for interrupting you, but I really need to point out that that sound you might have heard that sounded like a Walrus playing a trumpet wasn't me.  It was my sleeping friend here that is now awake because he knows what he did.  Thank you.  Now on with the sermon."

Nope, I just had to sit there and enjoy the smell and wonder how much longer I was going to laugh about it.  Well according to my watch, I've been laughing about it for the past 24 years and I don't see anytime in the near future that it isn't still going to be funny.

So all I'm saying here people is that please don't be so uptight.  I will agree that there is a time and a place for everything and I know where that line is.  Don't stress over the "Air from down there" because it really is just the human body doing what it's supposed to.  You know it's funny, so . . . . . . . . . Lighten up folks. . . . . FARTS ARE FUNNY!!!!  LAUGH!!!!

Smile!!!

*Burp* . . . . . Did someone say diet?

First off, I would like to take this moment to say thank you for having such a great time laughing at my expense on my last blog. That blog has quickly become the #2 most read blog just under the one "Be Kind with Your Behind".  Look at that!   "Potty humor" = RATINGS!!!!   It's nice to know that me sneezing out of both ends could reach out and touch each and every one of your hearts in a way that made it a "feel good moment" for all of you.  In fact, I found out from Linda, that an entire drug reps office had an impromptu "story time" in the office as they read that blog out loud to the entire office.    So I guess the key to getting my "puke" read more is to tell stories of just how stupid, gross, and idiotic I am.  Trust me, I'm all those things and so much more, so feel free to enjoy the ride at my expense.  After all, if you know me, I will do just about ANYTHING for a laugh.  If you doubt me, watch this shameless plug below:

I was going to try to keep this "puke" from having ANYTHING to do with the gluteus maximus, but when I figured out what topic I was going to tackle, I threw that right out of the window because once again I'm talking about my butt. My big fat butt. 

When looking around in my head for a topic, by pure luck it came to me.  Of course it took some "good 'ol" Facebook drama to make me think in this direction, but after this event, I had to tackle this large topic head, and butt (ratings), on.   If you still have a metabolism, then this one probably isn't for you.  I'm talking to the "older" folks out there that their metabolism has packed its bags and is just sitting there looking out the window waiting for the bus to come pick it up and take it to Florida.  I'm talking to the ones that woke up one morning, took a shower, looked in the mirror and said, "HOLY CRAP!!!  WHO'S THAT TUB OF LARD IN THE MIRROR???"  I'm talking to the men and women that if they drop something on the floor, they REALLY have to decide the importance of that item and wonder if it's worth bending over for to pick it up.  "Do I really NEED that baby?  I can always make another one." 

If some of you are like me, once you hit your 30's, an odd thing began to happen.  You would eat exactly like you always have, but all of a sudden, you would look down and notice your feet were shorter.  In reality though, it was just your stomach sticking out farther and blocking your feet, but I liked to think that my feet TRULY WERE SHRINKING.  I had myself convinced that I had contracted some rare disease from some far away land that caused my appendages to shrink.  So after a trip to the shoe store and finding out I was still my size 11 1/2, I had to slowly face another Realitree!!!  (No.  I didn't misspell that.  I created that term back two "pukes" ago in Life as a Step Parent.  I liked it so much, I'm going to start using it.)   I WAS STARTING TO GROW!!!!  AGHHHHHHHHH

Unfortunately, we all have to come to the realization that we truly ARE getting bigger.  We have to face the facts that sitting on the couch watching TV and devouring an entire half gallon, well now it's NOT a half gallon because of communism, is just not in our rumps best interest.  That fifth slice of pizza is now something that we are going to HAVE to deal with later.  The walk to the kitchen to get the cookies ISN'T going to burn enough calories to wipe out that Snickers Bar, bag of microwave popcorn, and those Ritz Crackers with peanut butter ALREADY in them, (because we all know what a pain it is to have to put the peanut butter on the crackers ourselves.  I mean, crumbs and peanut butter goo everywhere, YUCK!), that we just devoured while watching Modern Family.   Face it, we can't act like the Hobbits from the "Lord of the Rings" and  have our second breakfast, elevensees, and so on and so forth because our bodies are just getting older and our metabolism just can't keep up anymore.  "Stupid Metabolism.  Way to stick with us through thin and thick."

So what do we do, besides getting fatter friends than us so we look like the skinny one in the group? We end up doing ALL kinds of different things once we realize things MIGHT be getting out of control.  The internal psychology is great during this time and can be quite funny.  I am SO guilty of all of these, and more, and will still probably be guilty of these in the future.  Here is a few of my favorite steps that I have taken over the years. 

1.  Ignore it.  After all, it's not like I'm ready to call Guiness Book of Records to take the fatest person alive from anyone.   We get to have so many internal conversations with yourself during this time.  "I'm just a little bigger.  It's normal."  "Who am I trying to impress?  I'm married and he/she said, 'For Better or Worse' so that should also include For BIGGER or Worse shouldn't it?"  "I still fit in my clothes, they just fit a little tighter.  Who needs to sit down in these jeans anyways?  I'll just stand the entire time I'm at the party.  I just hope I don't pass out from sucking in my gut so long." (and my favorite)  "I look better with a little more weight on me.  I was way too skinny before."  It's funny just how much we can justify to ourselves with just a little internal conversation.  But then, once the clothes start cutting off circulation, we go to the next step.

2.  Buy Bigger Clothes.  This is the easiest, and quickest way to feel better about yourself.  If you are wearing one size, just hop up a size.  No one needs to know right?  You slide that new size on and guess what?  It fits like a dream!!!   You now have plenty of room in those jeans.  You can stand, sit, bend, and move freely in your new size.  So you congratulate yourself on working SMART, not hard.  Of course, this comes with a risk, what do you do when you start to grow out of THAT size?  YOU BUY THE NEXT SIZE UP!!!!!   DUH!   This is my favorite of all the solutions.  That is, until you find out that you have to now go to "larger sized stores", or as I call them, "Fat Butt Boutiques", to buy your clothes.  You can no longer walk into ANY name brand clothing store and find a single thing that would fit you.  In fact, you walk in and that anorexic clerk looks at you like you HAVE to be in there to ask directions to the food court.  They don't EVEN bother to ask you if they can help, because they ALREADY know the answer to that.  Stupid overly skinny people!!!  It makes me want to just EAT them and be done with them.  You don't know how many times I have wanted to walk into Abercrombie & Fitch store and grab one of their Large graphic Tees.  Then, as the clerk watches me, I waddle right into the dressing room and put that puppy on.  Only to walk out looking like a tube of croissant rolls that you just popped and asking them, "How do I look?"  Just so I can see that little person faint, because that's just funny to see.   BUT after the size thing runs its course, we have to move on to the next step.  The D word!

3. We Go on a Diet.  Those dreaded four letters. Some say DIET is just DIE with a T on the end of it because that's how you feel when you are doing it.  LIKE YOU WANT TO DIE!!!   I tend to think of it this way:

D = Doing

I  = Idiotic

E = Eating

T = Tests

(copyrighted by me)

That's all it is in its most basic form.  How little can we eat to survive?  How much can I get away with and still lose pounds?  Can I eat a chocolate cake in the morning and STILL lose weight?  If I don't eat lunch, does that mean I can eat twice as much at dinner time and it will still equal out?  I've been good all day so I should be able to eat one bowl of ice cream . . .a mixing bowl, but just one bowl RIGHT?  We just start acting like little scientists and start playing with what we eat to see what will happen.  We all go to the grocery store and do the "label look".  You know, where we act like the food is a library book as we slide it off the shelf.  We turn it over like we are reading the books summary.    We then nod our heads as we read the label acting like we actually understand it, well that and just in case someone is watching us, because we want them to know that we are "watching what we eat".  I think, however, it's pretty obvious by my elastic on the side of my jeans that I don't. 

I'm weird in that I'm the type of person that diets based on events that are coming up in my life.  Like last year, I found out that we were going to have our very first High School reunion right around July 4th.  I knew I would be seeing people that I haven't seen for over 20 years and I didn't want them to ask me who I was because instead of looking like Scott . . . I looked like I ATE Scott.  So I crammed it into gear and lost roughly 40 pounds in a two month period.  I watched what I ate, I walked roughly 4-8 miles a day,  I didn't cheat at all up until the time to go to the reunion.  Did I look good?  Not in the least, but most people recognized me, so that was good, and I didn't look like a tick ready to pop.  

Of course, what happened once that reunion was over?  I went right back to walking and watching what I ate.  Of course, my walking consisted of me walking into the kitchen and watching that container of cookies as I pulled them off the shelf to take them into the living room.  I had achieved my goal, so it was treat time for Scotty!!!   Well treat time turned into "eating everything in sight" time and slowly I gained it all back. 

Then I had to plan for my next event.  Halloween Horror Nights at the end of September, (trust me, I will blog about Halloween Horror Nights soon if you don't know what I'm talking about) and since I was such a loser and waited until the beginning of September to do something about my weight, I decided to do something called The Master Cleanse.  If you are not familiar with this, let me sum it up.  It's basically starvation all in the name of "cleansing".  You don't eat anything.  That's right. . . .ANYTHING.  You just drink this water, lemon juice, maple syrup, and cayenne pepper concoction instead of meals.  I did the cleanse for 14 days straight and managed to have lost 30 pounds over 18 days.  It was tough, but it was worth it.  I was able to do what took me four months to do for the reunion and do it in just 18 days.  Whoo Hoo!!!  Doing Idiotic Eating Tests. . . . DIET!!!  I now have this in my back pocket to pull out whenever I need to lose it quick.  So if I haven't seen you in a while and you are planning to come see me, at least give me an 18 day notice. 

Halloween Horror Night Weekend finished, and guess who went right back to their bad habits?  Me.  Back to the couch and back to the snacks.  Which brought me to a revelation that I had awhile back.  I LIKE TO EAT!!!   I like the way food tastes, smells, looks, tastes, feels, tastes. . . etc.  I love to snack, I love to go out for a good meal, I love a bacon cheeseburger, I love pizza, I love FOOD. . . DANG IT!!!!  I just have to learn how to control it.  That's the sucky part. 

We have spent most of our lives being able to do what we want with really no form of restraint needed.  I think from college to 30 I gained like 20 pounds max, and that was needed weight so I could look good.  (Remember step 1.?)   I think we also get to a point where we say, "Why Bother!!!"  I'm now in my 40's, so I'm supposed to get bigger and bigger after all.  What is it they say?  "I'd rather be fat and happy, than skinny and miserable."  I kind of buy into this creed.  I see some people that are in shape and they don't enjoy ANYTHING except the ability to say that they are in shape.  They wake up early in the morning and run, they work all day,  eating their steamed broccoli and tofu, then get home, make a chicken breast flavored with a pinch of arrogance, and then work out one more time before they go to bed at 8 p.m.  Not only do I loathe these people, but guess what folks?

I DON'T WANT THIS KIND OF LIFE!!!!!

I LIKE TO EAT.  There is nothing better then spending a day out with the family and finding an out of the way place where I can have a deep fried hot dog.  That's right, I said it, A DEEP FRIED HOT DOG.  It was glorious if you are curious, but it would have caused one of those "smug skinny folks" to drop over dead on the spot.  I love to munch, I love to crunch, I love to slurp, I love to lick, I love to chow.  I love all those things and I hate to say this, but I have wonderful memories from some of the meals that I have eaten.  Just mention Emeril's desserts at Universal Studio's and I turn into one of Pavlov's drooling dogs. 

So what in the world was this whole "puke" about?  What are you asking me for? I just work here. 

I guess I just want to let those of you that are like me, that you are NOT the only one that struggles with size.  Right now, I'm bigger than I need to be and I know it.  I just spent a day at the beach with my step-son and me standing beside him looks like a muscle fitness ad.  Me = Before  and Him = After.  Talk about wanting to keep my shirt on, which I did by the way because I am polite to others.  I'm lucky that I am 6'3" and I can hold more than most before it gets gross, but I can only lie to myself so much and so I'm going to get back out there and hit the streets walking and start watching what I eat again.  My next event is at the beginning of June and this one is a biggy.  I can't go to this event looking like Shrek!!!!  So I will get on it.  Sigh.  I hate it though.  Why can't I just have my metabolism back?  I wonder if E-Bay has one cheap?

In closing, If you have ever thanked the Good Lord above for the creation of Flip Flops because you don't have to bend over to put them on.  If you have found yourself wearing a shirt to the ocean or pool because you feel that there must be laws preventing you from taking it off.  If you have had to change the way you wipe your tushy several times because you are starting to feel like a T-Rex with little arms.  If you almost pass out each and every time you bend over to pick up anything.  If you are sitting on your couch and you swear you can hear Darth Vader breathing only to find out it's you.  If your blood type is Gravy.       I have news for you.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE!!!!   I'm right there with ya so we might as well laugh about it, and maybe, JUST MAYBE, do something about it.  Wish me luck and if you decide to do anything, I wish you luck too. 

Now does anyone have a deep fried hot dog I can borrow for a minute????

Smile!!!