Weight Loss That Works

Everyone knows I’m not an expert regarding nutrition and fitness.

The yearly promise to work out is just about on us. If you want to build strength, that’s great. If you’re going to lose weight, I would ask you to read this first. Then, decide to focus on your food choices, where you will save yourself time, trouble, and money. Skip the gym if you want to lose weight. You can walk anywhere.

As an adult, I have yo-yoed a few times. The lesson I learned makes people skeptical: if you want to lose weight, stop stressing so much about exercise. Just keep food out of your mouth as much as possible. And when you eat, eat foods that fall in the Venn diagram of what you like and what is healthier. Over time, that change alone will work miracles for you.

It’s equally valid that most of us suffer from a misunderstanding regarding the role exercise plays in the realm of weight loss. Our metabolic rate is set already. Most of the energy we expend isn’t variable. Activity is, of course, a portion, but not as significant as most of us believe. Most of our culture is immersed in the ‘exercise more’ mantra. Science demonstrates that weight loss occurs more efficiently through healthier diet choices – even if you don’t increase your activity level. We should focus much more on our public and private food policies.

Note: exercise yields impressive benefits to us physically and psychologically. Stop reading into my point. Exercise isn’t as important as diet, though, in weight maintenance. It is one of the biggest fundamental flaws that plague us. (I imagine Rob reading this and already arguing.)

People of the same body composition, sex, and other factors have markedly different metabolisms, which results in the one using a lot more calories than the other. Despite what some will preach, no one definitively knows why this is the case. Those same two people can engage in the same diet and physical activity – and one of them will weigh less than the other.

https://www.calculator.net/bmr-calculator.html

If you want to increase your basic metabolic rate, the science is settled: greater muscle mass requires much more energy to sustain. I’ll leave it to you to read the literature. Running will burn calories while building muscle mass will burn more calories even while you are resting. A word of caution, though: as you increase your muscle mass, your body will trick you into consuming more fuel to sustain it.

If you’ve tried diets, especially gimmicky ones, it’s not you who failed. They don’t address the science of human physiology and weight. Don’t start any program that you can’t do for the rest of your life! If you can’t imagine yourself making better food choices for the rest of your life, you will not succeed. All long-term weight management plans that work start and end with healthy food choices. It is that simple. Simple observation will remind you that it is EASY to lose weight. It is damn near impossible to keep it off.

We can all agree that our energy intake is based on the food we put into our mouths. If everything is equal, reducing how much you put into your mouth will inevitably cause you to lose. If you go on a starvation diet, you can expect your body to fight back by lowering your metabolic rate. You’ll need to adjust your plan of weight loss accordingly. Not that most people can do it, but the best way to lose weight is to do it on a very long, consistent schedule. I can’t say I didn’t fall victim to the all-or-nothing approach. It gives results. They don’t last, though. That is true for almost everyone who diets to lose weight.

You have to eat to lose weight.

This sounds ridiculously simple.

For a variety of reasons, people tend to eat more after intense exercise. They also tend to overestimate how many calories they’ve burned while exercising. Other behaviors undermine our exercise routines, as well. Regardless of how much you exercise, it takes a vastly disproportionate amount of activity to overcome overeating caloric intake.

I’m in no way saying that we shouldn’t exercise more. Exercise is vital for good health but not as crucial for weight loss and maintenance.

You can read the last paragraph as many times as you’d like.

Poor diet has a more significant impact on obesity and weight than exercise. Science says it. Not me.

I don’t remember where I read it, but someone said, “You can’t outrun a bad diet, no matter how much you run.”

I’ll remind you one more time that I am not saying exercise doesn’t offer benefits; they don’t compare to healthy eating where weight is involved.

This isn’t a justification for laziness. However, it is a bold statement to tell you that if you need to lose weight, whether for weight loss or better health, you will see a significantly greater result if you focus first on diet.

If you do it incrementally, you’ll have a greater chance to maintain the weight you achieve. Fighting your body’s set point comes with significant risk. Very few people can adapt to a new diet and regulate how they do it sufficiently to give their body time to adjust. The longer you were overweight, the greater this tendency will be. Our bodies don’t resist gaining weight nearly as much as they resist losing it, even to go to a normal weight naturally.

Less than 10% of people who commit to losing weight tend to keep it off long term. If you can think of obesity as a disease, you’ll likely adopt lifestyle changes that stick. Even though it isn’t rocket science, some of the changes include avoiding high-fat foods, avoiding needless sugar, some form of exercise, avoiding unnecessary snacking, regularly weighing, eating less for each meal, choosing more filling and healthy alternatives, and maintaining a record or awareness of what you’re eating.

Though it borders on stupidly obvious, most people do best when their activity is based on walking, free and always available. Everything that complicates your ability to exercise and eat healthily will be an impediment if you want to maintain your weight. For this reason, gyms, specialty exercises, and expensive supplements aren’t sustainable long-term for most people.

Please keep it simple.

Find healthy food. Eat it instead of the foods to which you are accustomed – as much as possible. Reduce snacking. If you can do that for six weeks, you will see a loss in weight. Find literature that is based on science, using some of the things I’ve mentioned here.

Here it is, for most people, boiled down to its essence: if you are overweight, you are overeating.

Nothing can change that.

Likewise, though, there is a way out if you are truly willing to look at what you eat and admit it’s a problem.

Right In The Eye

“Humor is in the eye of the beholder but in the craw of the begrudging.”

Underestimating the distance chasm between intent and receipt is one of my greatest weaknesses. But also one of my strengths. How much love, mirth, and creativity fail to shine because we suffer the illusion that we have any control over the manner in which anything is interpreted.

“That which can be adequately explained by stupidity should not be attributed to malice.” It’s a wise cliché for a reason. My version is better: “That which can be adequately explained by humor, stupidity, or simple oversight should not be attributed to malice unless the other guy is a real asshole; in which case, fire away.”

It’s not that we can’t spout malice with frequency.

The reality is that most of the people we allow in our lives just don’t behave that way, not really. And if they do, it’s our fault, not theirs, that we gave them room in our sumo ring.

For every angry word, a laugh is displaced. For every frown, a smile withers.
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“It’s always funny until someone gets hurt. Then it’s just hilarious.” -Bill Hicks
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“Keep your sense of humor. As General Joe Stillwell said, ‘The higher a monkey climbs, the more you see of his behind’.” -Donald Rumsfeld
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“I am as bad as the worst, but, thank God, I am as good as the best.” -Walt Whitman
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Here’s an old one: “I, for one, like Roman Numerals.”
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The Booth

Fletch sat restlessly in a booth near the back of Joe’s diner, a place with food that was close to inedible. He loved the owner, though, a small, wiry woman who seldom hesitated to remind everyone that she was from Alaska. She hurled insults like candy. Today, he was glad to see she wasn’t cooking. She ranked dead last in cooking ability compared to anyone.

“What will you have? Something on the light side? Your pudge is a bit pronounced, Fletch.” In case her words weren’t barbed enough, she pulled at her imaginary love handle on one side.

“I’m meeting someone, so just coffee for now, Ellie. Thanks.” He ignored her insult. He did smile and shake his head, though.

“You’re meeting someone? Didn’t the last girl show you up? I’m going to start charging you booth rental.” She walked away before he could reply. She was a terrible cook but amazingly fast and efficient. He assumed she went to bed at night fully clothed.

Fletch indeed had lousy luck with women. The last two women no-showed, and the last one didn’t call, email, or even pretend to explain. “Ghosted” was the phrase his co-worker offered. At least a ghost has the courtesy to haunt you, he thought. Over the last two years, Fletch lost most of his enthusiasm. At forty-five, love was a picture of a menu inside a window he couldn’t even reach. He endured several dates, horrified looks of surprise when he asked someone out, and empty inboxes and swipes on the two dating websites he foolishly attempted to use. He was outclassed at every turn. He joked that he lost his touch being married for twenty years. The truth was that he never had the touch. His wife asked him out, told him they were getting married, and then failed to tell him she was in love with her dentist. He found out the hard way by finding them on the picnic table in the back yard on July 4th. He hated that picnic table already. Seeing his wife on it in that position convinced him to make firewood out of it.

Ellie returned in five minutes. She put a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. Then, she put a plate of hashbrowns and a hamburger patty with grilled onions next to it. Before he could ask, she said, “Who are you kidding? She ain’t coming. And you’re like clockwork with the patty and onions. And I didn’t cook it!” She placed a finger against her lips to tell him to be quiet. As before, she pivoted, push the empty food tray next to her hip, and marched off. “Hopefully to Alaska,” Fletch whispered.

On a whim, Fletch decided he wanted to try Sriracha on his burger patty, so he got out of the booth and made his way around the “L” of the diner and went to the waitress alcove where most of the good extras were stored. As he passed the register, he heard the doorbell’s chime and the other waitress murmuring with the new customer.

Going back to his booth, he held up the Sriracha bottle to show Ellie, who rolled her eyes at him. “You better have insurance if you’re going to eat that, old man!”

As he neared his booth, he could see that a woman sat with her back toward him in the next booth. She wore an absurd purple hat. Her reddish-blond curly hair cascaded down past the collar of a bright blue jacket. She held a purple cellphone against her right ear. Scooting into his booth, he thankfully realized he could barely hear her soft voice.

He squeezed the Sriracha onto the plate in an optimistic tiny mountain. As he did, he realized he could make out the words of the woman in the booth behind him. “Remember to send a card to Raymund. And another to his Mom. Find the antique desk Joyce wanted tomorrow before you forget again.” Fletch guiltily tried not to listen. Her voice was soft and sweet, like someone who never raised her voice. She continued to murmur for another thirty seconds until Ellie approached.

“Hey, Sarah! Stole another hat, didn’t you?” Ellie was the same with all of her customers. “Do you want decaf this time? I know you get a bit nervous.” Fletch heard Sarah laugh softly. He tried to guess her appearance. He couldn’t imagine based on her voice.

He listened as Sarah and Ellie traded barbs back and forth like an elaborate tennis match. Sarah was getting the best of Ellie, something Fletch thought to be impossible. When Sarah asked her, “Can I buy you a gallon of Oil of Olay, Ellie? Those small bottles aren’t working out for you,” Fletch couldn’t help himself. He laughed loudly and involuntarily.

“Oops!” Sarah said behind him.

Ellie stepped forward a few steps and said, “Eavesdropping, huh? I would have never figured that being a peeping Tom wasn’t enough for you.” She went back to Sarah and apologized for the rude intrusion. They both laughed. Fletch felt his face get hot.

When Ellie marched off, he was surprised when Sarah asked from the other booth, “What’s your name? Is Ellie your mom or what?” Fletch laughed again.

“I wish,” he said. “I’d love to inherit this terrible diner when Ellie dies. It is my dream to serve terrible hashbrowns.” This time, Sarah laughed.

“Oh? How much does being a food critic pay? I’m interested in getting paid for doing what I already do.” She paused to give him a second to consider his reply. Fletch could tell she was accustomed to rapid-fire wit.

“What do you do? The message you left was all over the place.” Fletch instantly realized he admitted to hearing her entire phone call.

“Believe it or not, that message was for me. I’m a stern boss. I find hard-to-find items for people. And they pay me. Can you believe it?” He could hear the smile in her voice.

They continued to talk until Ellie returned with Sarah’s food.

Surprisingly, Ellie put the plate and cup of coffee down in front of Fletch. He arched an eyebrow. “Hold on, buster,” she told him.

She went to Sarah’s booth.

“Sarah, I’d like you to meet Fletch. He is a good guy but got showed up for another date. Besides being the world’s best cook, I am a renowned matchmaker. So, save all of us some trouble and sit and eat with Fletch. The food’s on me, especially since Fletch will try to duck the check anyway.” Sarah laughed loudly. Fletch already loved her laugh.

He felt her weight shift away from his back on the other side of the booth seat. In a couple of seconds, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Oops,” Sarah said and laughed nervously when she accidentally put her hand on his shoulder instead of the edge of the booth. Sarah smoothly swung herself into the booth.

Fletch looked across at her. She was smiling. He didn’t mean to stare, but her eyes seemed to be smiling at him, too. An awkward pause stretched into several seconds. Finally, Fletch looked away. “I don’t bite,” Sarah said. “Not at first.” Surprised by her joke, Fletch looked back up at Sarah’s face and laughed.

Ellie, who still stood there, said, “See? I told you. I’ll leave you to it.” She walked away. She turned and looked at Fletch. “But I expect to be invited to the wedding.” She cackled in glee as she marched off.

“Tell me about this awesome date you had lined up, Fletch,” Sarah said, still looking at him intensely.

Thirty minutes later, Ellie returned to see that their plates were cold and untouched.

Six months later, she laughed when she opened the envelope to find an invitation to the wedding.

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{Joe’s Diner was in another story I wrote. I wrote a novella about the owner and the place but couldn’t give it the life it deserved. Now, I visit it in my mind.}

The Hollow Place

The hollow place isn’t a place at all, even though it occupies space.

It isn’t a metaphor for an empty heart, nor a simile for what’s missing.

It is a place of comfort, joy, and reckoning.

It’s free – and freeing.

It’s simultaneous mindfulness and mindlessness.

I can’t wait to meet you there.
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Whether you read this as a metaphor or literally, it is your mind that gives it life and power. Almost all of our sexuality resides there.

The Scarf

Mikel sat in his car in front of the post office, staring out across the street and at the limbs of the trees blowing. The December bleakness that he usually loved felt like it invaded his skin. He watched two young men struggle to load the back of a utility van as they moved inventory from the store across the street. The virus claimed it, too. On previous visits to the post office, Mikel saw a constant stream of customers there. Over the last few months, the visitors dwindled. Like everyone else, Mikel fought against the waves of untimely news and reduced optimism that permeated his life.

Mikel went inside and put his key in the lock. Inside his box were a dozen Christmas flyers and an orange notification slip, one marked 12-18 and advising him he had a package he could pick up inside from one of the clerks. Mikel loved the moment between discovering he had a surprise and finding out what it might be. As he grew older, the likelihood of something noteworthy seemed to diminish, even as his optimism continued to trick him into believing something magical could be waiting.

He needed a surprise this year. As it had for many, 2020 continued to hit him with needless changes and shocks. He had the virus in early May. In June, he lost his dream job, the one he planned to keep for the rest of his life. In July, when he started the new job, he met someone who found him to be interesting, funny, and worth being around. She liked him to call her “Flan,” due to her ability to consume ten of the desserts in an afternoon. Several times they went out, she proved that her nickname was well-earned. She also demonstrated her incredible range of curse words in Spanish, which was both funny and endearing.

In October, Flan’s Mom had a mild stroke and needed medical care. Within a week, Flan moved a few hundred miles away. Just like that, Mikel earned another 2020 kick in the face.

In the last few weeks, Flan started calling him and writing as her Mom improved. They fell in love all over again. Three days ago, Flan called to tell him that her Mom had the virus but wasn’t critically symptomatic. “Be careful, Flan,” he told her. He knew Flan was exposed. “I am. I made you something, Mikel. I hope you like it,” she said devilishly. “Check your box every day!” Those words echoed in his head.

The clerk handed him a soft package. Mikel thanked him with a “Merry Christmas, Burt!” He laughed. “My name is John,” the clerk hollered back and laughed from the thick sheet of plastic hanging between them. Mikel walked back out into the lobby to open the package. For a second, Flan’s real name Marcy confused him when he saw it in the return address. His excitement growing, he placed his items on the long table in front of the window, Mikel started to tear open the package. His phone rang, surprising him. Distracted, he swiped the notification and answered.

“Is this Mikel?” A raspy voice uttered the question.

“Yes, this is Mikel. Who is this?” Mikel loathed calls from people he didn’t know.

“This is Angela. Angela Thompson. Flan’s Mom.” She spoke with no tone whatsoever in her voice. Mikel swallowed down a short gulp of apprehension.

“I hate to tell you this, Mikel. Flan passed away this morning.” Her voice cracked as she forced the words out.

“What? How? I just talked to her three days ago.’ Mikel’s voice became thin as he spoke. He could feel his head start to pound.

“We both had the virus. Flan was more or less okay until yesterday at noon. I called an Uber in the evening, and she went to the Urgent Clinic and then to the ER at the hospital. She went down fast. I’m so sorry.” She stopped talking. Mikel held the phone to his ear, trying to process that Flan was dead.

“Mikel? Are you there?” Angela asked.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“If you’ve not opened the surprise she sent you, it might be better if you don’t. Or wait a few days.” Angela told him.

“Okay… I won’t,” he said, looking at the package and knowing he would open it as soon as he got off the phone. “Thanks for calling me, Angela.” Mikel clicked the ‘end conversation’ button. Since he was in shock, it didn’t occur to him to ask about a funeral, arrangements, or to offer sympathy to Angela.

Mikel picked up his keys and wallet from the long counter, grabbed the unopened package from Flan, and walked outside. The wind hit him as he left the post office. He didn’t notice. Climbing inside his car, he sat with the engine idling. He used his keys to rip the liner of the package and tear it open. Inside, there was a long, soft scarf made of vibrant colors. He pulled it out of the package, laughing. Flan often teased him about his aversion to scarves. There were days she said she could wear four simultaneously. “You’ll love them, you’ll see!” she would say to tease him.

As the scarf came free of the package, a piece of paper fluttered to the passenger seat, face down. Mikel reached for it, knowing it was one of Flan’s infamous notes. She always had a flair for humor and saying the wrong thing in the most right way possible.

He turned the note over and held it above the steering wheel:

Dearest Mikel (spelling doubtful, though you claim it’s correct):
Christmas is here, whether your watch tells you it is the 25th or not. You can feel it in the air! I know 2020 interrupted what would have been a torrid love affair for the ages. Note: I’m talking about us! I know you didn’t have the nerve to ask me the question. So I’m going to do this right. Mikel, though you didn’t tell me, I know you love me. Here’s how to claim this offer. Put on the lovely scarf I made for you (even though you say it will itch) and take a picture with it on. Send it to me with a thumbs up. Once you do that, I will move back after New Year’s. Or you can move here. Either way, we’re going to be together. Whether it is proper or like two love-crazed lovers doesn’t matter. My answer to the question you didn’t ask is “Yes.” Love, Flan

P.S. I don’t know why you are still reading this stupid note. You should be taking a picture by now and saying “Yes” back to me! We’ve wasted enough life already.

Mikel re-read the note. He put it down on the passenger seat and then picked up the scarf and pushed his face into it. Within moments, he was sobbing.

When his eyes had no more tears to share, he sat up and looked out at the cold street in front of him. He imagined Flan sending him the note and scarf, excited by the idea of waiting for a “yes” from Mikel. She even shared her plan with her Mom. Now, she would never get her answer. They’d never share the joyful moment of acceptance. 2020 claimed another life and another love.

Mikel sat in the car in silence.

He would need a moment, maybe a lot of them. When the shock wore off, he would call Flan’s Mom back and tell her everything that needed to be said.

He knew that thousands of people, all across the world, were living moments just like this.
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For Flan. For you. For all of us.

Do You Have ICS?

“X has ICS,” she wrote.

She’s not wrong; Index Card Syndrome.

I might need medical attention for my affliction.

I am still surprised that most people’s minds aren’t cluttered with a million observations about the people and places in their days. There’s not enough time to consider them, repackage them, and appreciate them. Even with the virus, the one that supposedly slowed the world’s spin a bit, I find myself accelerating toward a crucible that I can’t quite define.

I don’t get writer’s block and I even find myself not understanding how a musician runs out of ideas, lyrics, and brilliance. While watching the new “Selena” series, I rolled my eyes at least 50 times as the musicians struggled to find ideas and inspiration. If we are blocked or stifled, all we have to do is open ourselves up to the great people we have around us. We all survive by collaboration; it’s worth your time to stop struggling and listen to people as they live their lives. There’s enough story here for a thousand books and a library of music.

There’s too much life out here with so many people inhabiting our world in a way that deserves recognition. Humor, love, tragedy, and even the moments when you find yourself organizing your kitchen cabinets on Saturday night all carry weight.

I wish y’all could get ICS too. We could flood the world with our stories.
Love, X
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Wednesday

Rarely do we get to see history and know it’s happening. I feel the irony of the pandemic as it creeps toward me. Even though I volunteered repeatedly to go first, I wasn’t offered the covid vaccine. Someone missed a PR opportunity.

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“When you’re young, they assume you know nothing. When you’re old, they assume you know better. Wisdom and knowledge are demonstrably independent of youth or age.” – x

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I walked a mile in her (high heel) shoes.

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I’m not supposed to admit to a low moment. Despite the pandemic and personal trouble, my optimism generally is higher than in a long time. For a time today, I got hit with a few waves of lonely anxiety. I walk in a strange, strange reality, in the region between who I am and who I used to be.

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An Anecdote About Hair

When I passed, I noted her crazy hair color. Because I’m not a barbarian, I didn’t turn and take a long, lingering look. Not because I didn’t want to, though. On my return, I approached and made eye contact, something that’s become essential to me in the last few months. Her hair was raucously orange, approximating what would be called “safety orange.”

“Ma’am, societal norms require me to not mention your hair color or to stare. But, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a look. Your hair is fabulous!” She laughed.

“Yeah, it’s okay. I know people look. I change the color frequently,” she said. “I expect people to look, yes.”

“Haven’t you noticed people trying to look without being obvious? It’s hard not to look.” I forgot all pretense about commenting on someone’s appearance.

She laughed again. “Do you think it’s too much?” she asked me. I could tell immediately she was asking for an honest opinion.

“Yes, it is. And it’s perfect.” I smiled at her. Even though she couldn’t see my smile through my mask, I know it reached my eyes. I could see the hidden smile on her face, too.

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The Closed Fitting Room

I would have done such a thing before, but weighing less has given me wings, much like when I was younger, and would damn near do anything if it didn’t really hurt anyone. I’ve written before about my cousin Jimmy fearing that I would streak naked around the Thorncrown Chapel during his wedding.

Many places closed their dressing rooms. At one retailer, you’d think it was because of coronavirus fears. They have a sign to let us know that the dressing rooms are closed so that staff can clean in other areas. (Not because the rooms will be dirty.)

Although I own size 34 pants already, I wanted to try another brand. Lee, if you’re curious. I found some in size 34/30. The fitting rooms were still closed. Because I was in a mood, I pulled a cart over by the fitting room area. I blocked the alcove with the cart and then took my work pants off and then tried on the new pair. They fit perfectly. As I pulled them up, an employee walked by, looked at me, and then rolled her eyes at me. I laughed.

I bought the pants.

More importantly, I amused myself doing so. It’s probable that the security cameras caught me trying on pants in the closed fitting room area. As I walked up to check myself out at the kiosk registers, I half-hoped someone would approach me and question me about not using a fitting room to try on my pants. While I didn’t know what I might say, I knew that I wouldn’t be embarrassed, even if footage of me got aired on the nightly news.

There’s a pandemic going on. I don’t think seeing Danny DeVito, albeit thinner, in underwear is any more shocking than seeing someone in a bikini. Now that I’m thinking about it, your local retailer is full of life-size posters of people half-dressed. Take a look next time if you’ve grown accustomed to seeing it, especially in the women’s section. Just don’t take pictures or they will definitely escort you out of the place.

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Dubious quotes by X: “If you can’t be kind, be kind of.”

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Odd is just another way of saying “Still a suspect in an ongoing investigation.”

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Nov. 24th

The universe blinked for me this morning. For the first time since the time change, I was running a little later than usual. I took a slightly different route to work as I often do. I found myself at a red light at Robinson and 71. As the cross traffic light turned yellow, I watched two cars speed up coming from the right. The first one was close. The second car fully ran the red light. At 4:13 a.m., I found myself waiting. As I lightly tapped the gas, another car approached going at least 70. Had I been going through instead of turning left, or had I not hesitated momentarily, the car would have t-boned me at 70mph. A bit further along 71, I amusedly noted that the car’s license plate had a vertical blue stripe across an Arkansas logo. Whoever was driving must have realized they almost killed all of us – because they drove 40 mph all the way to the Mall. And so, my Tuesday commenced.

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“We often find ourselves in a locked room, only to later realize we always had the key.*

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This morning everything was blanketed in a hard white frost. The fog set on top of it. As I crossed Old Missouri, a shooting star came overhead and streaked across. And the Mall looked like a massive hovering mothership, lights dimly blazing through the canopy of fog. I’m sorry y’all missed it. (Nov. 23rd)

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While I ain’t driven to the certainty of this quote, it makes me think. That’s all I ask of wisdom, even if the sideroads to it and away from it leave me wondering if we know anything at all sometimes. X*

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Though you may not like it, one of the best remix/mashups I’ve heard is “Buffalo MC – Stop And Bust a Move.” It’s funky and invasive. It also led me to hear the lyrics to Buffalo Springfield’s song “For What It’s Worth” with new ears. Anyone who reads the lyrics will surprise themselves. Adding the groove of “Bust A Move” is pure genius. I rarely post videos to my wall, in part because I didn’t create it. I challenge anyone to hear this remix/mashup and not feel a little more alive. Or old. You choose. Love and Lemons, X

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Warning: Joke Alert

I guess I shouldn’t teach children valuable life lessons. In my defense, the logic was 100% legit. I bear no responsibility for the joke being told on Joke Day at school.

“John, what can you share and always have the same amount?”

“I don’t know, X, what?”

“Herpes.”

I used that picture to get people’s attention. People like looking at attractive people so false advertising seemed fair. Also, this guy lives in the #hunkcloset. And I need humor to get through life. And yes, I laugh at some awfully suspect jokes.

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“Every zoo is a petting zoo if you have the audacity.” – a funny cliché. If you read that and think to yourself that you see the logic and the possibility of having a good story afterward, mauling or not, you are one of my people.

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“Sir, what did the robbers take?””Two TVs, a computer, my will to live, and a jewelry box.””Wait. What was that third thing?””Evidently something I can live without.”

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If it is suddenly cold, it’s my fault. I made hell freeze over. I actually said these words today: “I’d really like to hear that one song by Luke Bryan.”

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The Bill Qualls Rule: all dogs eventually bite – and especially corn dogs.

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Maniac’s Musing #5: I hope that the Venn Diagram depicting the relationship comparing serial killers to a love of ice skating is mostly overlap.

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Optimism is buying your first pair of 34″ pants in 12 years – without a fitting room.

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A comedian once said that the worst time to have a heart attack is during a game of Charades. I disagree. I think the worst time is during your job as a defibrillator quality check technician.*

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You know that the train is pulling into the station for you when you can stand in the laxative section of any pharmacy for 30 minutes without anyone thinking that you are acting suspiciously.

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Nov. 13th

At 3:30 a.m., I drove across Don Tyson Parkway. Despite being 40 degrees, my windows were down. “Rise Above This” was playing on the stereo. As I crossed Old Missouri, I saw something dart across. Hoping it was my infrequent friend the coyote, I slowed down. The coyote sat about 20 feet from the road, near the vertical church sign on the roadside. He watched me as I stopped. Despite the absurdity of doing so, I waved and said, “Hello, Mr. Coyote,” He watched as I drove away toward my day.

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Hilarious Method To End a Management Conversation (true story):Manager: “I don’t want a lot of people around. I don’t like crowds.Me: “Especially in the bedroom!”Hysterical laughing, followed by ensuing realization of the implications of my joke.

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All seesaws are catapults if you have the element of surprise.

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I thought they were selling the Gastroenterology Clinic. The sign said “Everything must go.”

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A few years ago, I wrote this for someone facing an insurmountable loss. I’ve found that it echoes around the internet sometimes. May you too hear your high bell as needed. *

This picture takes on a life of its own each time I post it. It was the same this time – and with added meaning.

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Yesterday, I took a Rorschach Test. If you can picture it.

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Re: Accident Report. In my defense, I thought the plaque indicated, “…you must be trained and certifiable to operate this machinery.”

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I might have worked in healthcare too long because I just accidentally said, “…he maketh me lie down beside distilled water.”

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This one always gets a lot of laughs at work.

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The old man card trick never fails to bring laughter.

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Erudite Insults, Part 13 ☆ It occurs to me that one principal advantage of a zombie apocalypse is that everyone with a discernible brain will be eaten, leaving only middle managers to roam the Earth.

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I consider it the highest praise that everyone except the perpetrator of the prank blamed me for the boss’ cell phone charger being in a Jell-O mold this morning.

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“X, do you believe in Bigfoot?”

“No.”.

“Then why did you take him out for dinner and a movie?”

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The woman in the last picture isn’t naked beneath the mosaic pattern.

Or is she? You get to choose the reality.

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I walked up to someone demonstrating how to NOT treat a fellow human being. Because my social filter remains askew, I coldly interrupted her needless and inhumane tirade. “Did I mention to you that I LOVED you in the titular role of “The Hobbit.” “

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Combination joke: I opted for an Orthographic Orthopedist for my knee, because I need him to spell out the course of treatment.

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“Life is what happens to us while we are busy cleaning other people’s pans.” – X

The original, by Allen Saunders: “Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans.”

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He’s a good friend: he agrees with me 100% and I agree with him 100 proof.

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Overheard at the covid screening station: “Have you lost your sense of taint or smell?”

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Aldi won again yesterday. With everything else going on, I found a new candy there, a sugar-free one that looked both hideous and compelling. They were delicious. I kept eating them, thinking how delicious they were, as I watched Die Hard for the 347th time. Sourly delicious, like lemons. About an hour later, I realized that I had eaten a dangerous amount of sorbitol. If you’re not familiar, sorbitol can cause Japanese-earthquake level disruptions to one’s digestive system. I already knew this but flavor rendered my ability to read clear warnings to be inactive. The good news is I think I lost 32 lbs. yesterday.

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If you didn’t want me to change the placard in the breakfast area from “Sausage” to “Reindeer Sausage,” you shouldn’t give me a job where I have access to magic markers. Also, I owe an apology to little Jimmy’s mom, who had to explain what happened to Rudolph.

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La Norma #1 De La VidaCuando te mandan a la mierda, casi nunca te consiguen un boleto de ida y vuelta. Lo unico que se puede hacer es sonreir y empezar a caminar. Espero que lo hagas con entusiasmo. Con amor, X

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I drove to work today with the windows down, in an unseasonably warm dark morning. Nothing says, “Happy” like someone joyriding at 4 a.m., and especially singing in Spanish in an absurdly high pitch. I got the vaccine yesterday and I experienced none of pain, headaches, hallucinations, or paranoia that others did. Although, I was bit irritated the CIA kept following me everywhere and using laser-armed cats to distract me. I parked my car in the pond and walked in to work. P.S. The mood at most medical facilities has perceptibly shifted since last week – and it has nothing to do with the fact that I am tripping balls. Love, X

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Unintentionally Inappropriate Quip: I never wear a jacket while at work, no matter who bitterly cold it is. I encountered her by the elevator. “Wow, X, how much weight are you going to lose? Isn’t it cold without the…,” she said, realizing she was going to need to say something acknowledging that I was fat before. “Blubber?” I said, finishing her sentence.”Ha! No. I would give you to coat off my back,” she said.”Well, I would rather have the shirt off your back,” I said, losing the race between my brain and mouth. …

P.S. While what I said certainly sounds dirty, I was commenting about her wild blouse. Given my change in fashion, I would totally rock her blouse.

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The Picture (A Romance in 185 Words)

She did not turn to acknowledge that he was about to snap a photo of her, nor did she tilt her head in disapproval. If she turned toward him, he would assume she disapproved and not take the picture. Instead, she walked slowly toward the sunrise-lit curtains. The part of her life controlled by fear or self-doubt would stay behind her, even if she had to choose an “as if” to propel her.

He gifted her the ability to see herself as imperfectly perfect. In her previous life, she would have hidden herself, stepped behind a door, or refused to be in light sufficient to draw attention. Such refusals inevitably lead to apathy, the architect of so much unhappiness.

Today, though, she crawled from the unfamiliar bed and walked toward the balcony. She knew that the light shone around her in a gauzy corona, giving him an unvarnished view of her. Letting the sheet fall away, she turned toward him. She smiled, one born of genuine acceptance.

Instead of snapping another picture, he tossed the camera on the floor. The camera was no longer necessary. Confidence was its own illumination.