Good morning, campers! We’ve hit Week Thirty-One in the Big Skeezy Challenge and Skeezy keeps on rolling along. He’s had a couple of solid weeks and seems to be over his case of the 290’s. Would it be another winning week for The Skeeze or would he start the climb back up the scale? Let’s break it down:
It never ceases to amaze me when I look at the title of this piece. Thirty-one weeks. I’ve been at this for thirty-one weeks. I don’t remember much of anything I’ve done for thirty-one consecutive weeks, let alone this kind of weight-loss thing. It’s really pretty amazing to me that I’ve held on for this long. I guess it’s easy when you realize it’s just the way your life is now, but it’s still pretty crazy.
So, thirty-first verse, same as the first thirty. The week started solidly, really. My usual partner in crime returned from his vacation on Tuesday so we did have a couple of welcome home drinks that night but nothing too bad, as I had to make another run to the airport that same night at 11:30 to fetch another friend returning from another trip. It seems my friends are always off somewhere and here I am, going to the gym like a chump.
The week progressed normally and eventually, like every week does, it hit Friday. That night we were getting the band back together, the old Monday Funday crew, to celebrate my pal’s birthday albeit a week late. We ventured down to one of our favorite watering holes and started in. I haven’t hit the century mark in weight loss yet so I’m still not having beer, which means it’s normal cocktails for me. Vodka soda is my drink of choice these days and I had my share of them that night. In fact, my buddy Kyle learned the difference between well booze and shelf booze. This, for example, is well booze at this particular bar:
I ended up heading over to another bar later, where I may or may not have been asked to leave. Only the night knows or sure. I mean, yeah, I know for sure but I’m not telling you.
Saturday night, after dinner at Paco’s Tacos, was a trip to a Hollywood icon – Jumbo’s Clown Room. For those of you not from here or not familiar with it, it was once one of the greatest strip clubs of all time. Located on Hollywood Boulevard, it’s a small gentlemen’s club where strippers went to die. Once those talented ladies hit a certain age that kept them from dancing at a “normal” club, they would invariably end up at Jumbo’s. Jumbo’s has changed a bit recently, as it’s now the sort of place hipsters go because of the name alone. The dancers are all young and pretty. They still have to play their own music via the jukebox and I’m very curious to know if Bon Jovi gets royalties from strippers, because they sure use him a lot. Despite the new vibe of the place it was a hell of a great time that night. There’s no nudity these days – it’s simply a burleque show – but the dancers are really good. One of them is a contortionist, able to bend herself in all sorts of directions. Amazing show, hell of a lot of fun.
Sunday was pretty relaxing, having a need to rest after the events of the weekend. Monday, as per usual, was back to basics.
Then, of course, Tuesday came ’round again and it was time to face the scale. I did so and discovered that…
…I’d lost one more pound. That brings me down to 283 with a total weight loss on the year of 88 pounds.
Okay, not bad. I did eat and drink like an asshole this weekend so that didn’t help, but everything is moving in the right direction. Twelve more pounds and I get some frost brewed Rocky Mountain cold Coors Light, too, and that’s going to be delicious.
Hustle your muscle. See you next week.
