tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28989768157943897142024-03-05T06:40:58.606-06:001509 Mondaysjpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-91521204577768986112012-06-12T14:36:00.001-05:002012-06-12T14:38:14.045-05:00Summer UpdateHowdy strangers! Sorry I didn't start the post with a "how many Mondays I've been alive" number, but it has been so long since I last posted that the math cheat sheet I used to have no longer goes this high. I've decided enough has happened to me in the past couple of months that it was probably time for me to purge a little and get some words on paper. Some of the stuff is linked together, but most of it is completely random, so I'm opting into a Three Updates Post.<br />
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1) Weight update! Sooooo, the real reason I came on here is because I'm getting ready to start another summer weight loss goal. A brief history of where I've been the past couple of months: lost weight, gained weight, lost a bunch of weight, gained even more weight. I think that pretty much sums it up. I entered a weight loss challenge with the boys at work, and I decided to take the strategy of waiting until the challenge was almost over to kick it into high gear. Back in January I was pushing 255 with the March end date looming, so I decided it was time. For those of you scoring at home, 255 was a 13 pound gain from my October celebration weight. Not something I was proud of, but something I was willing to live with post-holidays. I discovered a little something called the 17-Day Diet. I read outside reviews and resources, tore through the book, and decided that it was something that I could handle. For the most part, it involved giving up red meat (which I rarely eat anyway) and carbs (which I lived on). The diet is broke down into 17-day stages that allow you to add new foods at the end of each stage. For instance, after the first 17 days I introduced pork and some less complex carbs. Because the diet is broke down into 17 days, the end always seems to be in sight and makes it seem more doable, plus there is a plethora of recipes for this diet out there that turned out to be pretty darned good. I had still been playing basketball everyday, so even though the scale went up, my fitness level was still sitting pretty and I thought I had a legitimate shot at making a run at the weight loss total. Two months later and with a lot of patience from Molly, I managed to get to 227 lbs by the second week in March, a weight loss of almost 30 lbs. And then....</div>
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Here's a quick stream of consciousness filled with lame excuses for why I stopped being healthy: our gym closed for construction at school so I couldn't work out everyday and I really hate non-competitive workouts like running but I really don't know enough people nor am I confident enough in my sports abilities to join a random league and Molly and I were looking at apartments but we still didn't live together and so fast food was just easier than cooking for one person and it helped ease my stress and then I found out that Ben and Jerry's is the best thing in the world and started eating it more and more often because I needed something sweet to balance out the large pizza in my stomach and then Molly and I found an apartment in April and decided to rededicate ourselves to being healthy only we were still so busy with the getting settled in that it became really easy to keep eating out and loving ice cream turned out to be one the things we really have in common so I turned her from Dairy Queen, which is kind of inconvenient to have to go get because once I'm home and in my underwear I don't feel like leaving again because I work such long hours, towards Ben and Jerry, who are always waiting at home for me in the freezer, and then summer started and there were a lot of hot days and it turns out I really, really like beer on hot days, especially non-lite beers, which always seem to taste really good when mixed with pizza which gives me heartburn that can only be put out by Ben and Jerry's.......gaaaaaaaaaaasp!</div>
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I knew there was a problem. I've been aware of the problem and prepping myself for a bottom out that was inevitably coming. Sunday night, Molly and I sat down and mapped out all of food for the next 17 days, but I was still wary that I wouldn't make it that long. I stepped on the scale, but blamed the artificial inflation on a weekend bachelor party. Yesterday, the impetus for change finally came through. I walked by about 10 mirrors at work and couldn't figure out what was going on with my shirt. For some reason it was all blousey in the front and I couldn't get it tucked quite right so that my belt was visible. Then it hit me...it wasn't the shirt that was hanging over the belt. It looked something like this:</div>
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<img src="http://nyc.3432.voxcdn.com/files/2010/11/fupa-480x360.jpg" />
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I started yesterday at 264, a whopping 27 pound gain since mid-March. I promised myself I would never see 250 again. Then I promised myself I would never, ever, ever, see 260 again. I lost control. Now I'm gaining it back. Luckily, the 264 really did have to do with the bachelor party because I was back down to 257 this morning after a day of eating better yesterday. Still, the 30 lbs I've gained in the last three months isn't something I'm patting myself on the back for. I had already thrown away a good chunk of my fat clothes, and I'm not going shopping again. I need to get back to where I know I can be, and I need to do it fast. I hope to keep you updated along the way because it really does help me to know that I'm accountable to people who are supportive. We'll see how it goes.</div>
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2) In case you stopped reading my long rant up above, Molly and I are living together! As of next week, we've been dating for a year, and I honestly couldn't be happier. I wish I could put into proper words just how "right" it has all felt. It is almost scary how effortless the past 11 months have been (it took her the bulk of the first one to realize how amazing I am). We found an apartment in Edina that we got a great deal on, I've started a garden on the deck (more on that in a future post), we rarely fight over the remote, and for the past two months we've co-habitated without me having to sleep on the couch a single time. I love her family, she seems to tolerate mine (just kidding!), and I've got a good feeling about the path we're following. Speaking of paths and sleeping on couches, there are many, many roads leading in and out of Edina and we have an extra bedroom, two comfy couches, a cot, and two air mattresses. Consider this an open invitation to come say hello. </div>
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3) Besides just the need to be accountable and to blab about my life, there's another reason I needed to blog again. Today I'm losing to a new job one of my best friends who just so happens to have been one of my biggest supporters in all things blog/health. We really started bonding back in my first few months at Anoka-Ramsey. I think we found in each other a common passion for higher education, and we recognized a flicker of energy for innovation within our field. Or maybe it was because we shared a love of distance running. Or maybe not. Whatever the reason, Kacey took me under her wing and made sure that my transition to a new job (and eventually a new campus) went smoothly. She and her husband Aaron were the first of new co-workers to invite me into their home for a night of great food, great wine, and great laughs. It wasn't until the whole Jenna debacle took place that our friendship really took a turn from the work buddy to the real friend. Kacey was one of the first people to e-mail me to make sure I was okay. She let me use her office when I needed to shed a quick tear. She sat and listened to my false sense of emotional security until it became a real one. She was one of the most avid readers of the blog in its original form, and if a new post hadn't shown up by mid-afternoon, she would send me an e-mail or stop down to tell me, "I haven't seen your blog post today..." There were times where I wasn't sure I was writing them for anyone but her, but that's the exact reason I started this blog. If nothing else, I was accountable to Kacey, and hearing her big laugh every time she recited a line I wrote or talked about the Thanksgiving posts made them all worthwhile. </div>
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Unfortunately, even though our name tags both read "Advisor", we didn't get to work together nearly as often as I would have liked. Instead, we used each other as a sounding board when we had new ideas. We helped each other find solutions when we ran into professional frustrations. We pointed each other towards new articles or new ideas in our field to make sure we were offering the best services we could offer. Even though we didn't log a lot of time in the trenches standing next to each other, I admired her work ethic, her organization, her drive, her ability to think way outside the box, and most of all, her ability to care about students. In my line of work, there's no higher compliment I can give someone than to say that I genuinely believe that they care. A lot of my frustrations as a professional have come from dealing with people who I didn't feel embodied that one basic principle. You can be fat, skinny, tall, short, black, white, green, have a stutter...whatever. As long as the people around you know that you care, they'll continue to come back to you for help in the future. Kacey cares and inspires those around her to do the same. </div>
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I really, really hope that Kacey is able to continue her quest to be the best at the University of Minnesota and that the Golden Gophers realize just how ridiculously lucky they are to have her in their midst. ARCC is losing a great innovator, but the world of higher education is gaining a future rockstar. I'm losing a work confidant, but I'm keeping a great friend. There will always be headaches and hurdles, and she's the kind of teammate you want next to you when they come your way. I tried to tell her in my own clumsy way the other day that it is people like her that inspire people like me. That won't change when her school mascot does.</div>
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Lots of love,</div>
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Jeff</div>
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<br /></div>jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-33266293782864252872011-11-28T22:20:00.001-06:002011-11-29T06:52:17.272-06:00Monday 1565: Jeff@30On this, the 30th anniversary of the day my mother expelled me from her uterus, I would like to stray from my usual blog stylings and instead take some time to jump into the time machine that 7-year old Jeff knew would exist in 2011 and hand deliver some postcards of advice to myself through the years. We'll start where it all started...<br />
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Dear newborn baby Jeff:<br />
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Goo-goo-ga-ga! Just kidding. We all know that you have a highly developed brain for an infant and can secretly already read. Don't tip your hand just yet. You don't want to get put into a special school. By the way, do you realize how close you were to being Austin Trevor?! I know you don't understand this reference just yet, but I'm pretty sure I would be handing you this letter in Wranglers and boots instead of this kickin' cardigan had our dad not wanted a name that was easier to spell. You know, like Jeff Lee Pool. Anyway, welcome to the rat race! Don't worry, there aren't literally rodents running marathons covering the world. Instead it is filled with overweight humans doing almost everything but running. Sorry to break it to you, but you'll someday become one. In your lifetime you'll see spaceships blow up, walls fall down, two George Bush's try to take down Saddam, the birth of the Internet, the death of VCR and LaserDisc, two towers fall from the sky, and something called Lady GaGa. And that's all in the first 30 years! I also thought I'd give you a heads up that you hit the parent lottery. They are young now and might take a couple of years to pull it together, but you will never go without and never be unhappy (except for when you choose to be, which is too heavy of a concept for baby Jeff). Be prepared for a lifetime of unconditional love, partly because you're amazing and adorable and kind of sort of look like one of them, but mostly because they really are just that fond of you. They'll always be there with a bottle when you're hungry, a hug when you're sad, a ride to all of your crazy activities (and trust me, there are a lot), some money when you can't afford to put gas in your car, another hug when you're happy, the opportunity to experience the best life has to offer (even when it means they have to go without), the best learning opportunities around, and another hug just because we're a huggy type of family. Besides having the best parents around, you also hit the grandparent and aunt/uncle jackpot. These people seem a little crazy now and in thirty years will seem even a little crazier, but they are your foundation and the reason you are who you are. Enjoy the next five years when you'll have everyone's undivided attention because being cute eventually wears off and you're going to have to start earning that positive attention. <br />
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Keep rockin',<br />
Jeff@30<br />
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Dear Jeff at 5,<br />
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Hey buddy! Congrats on living through such harrowing events as being poisoned after swallowing spit out chewing tobacco, nearly drowning under a teenager's floatie on the Missouri River, and falling from the top of a 15-foot slide. On this, your fifth birthday, none of that really seems to phase you as you're dealing with the biggest challenge life has handed you thus far: your new baby sister! I know you're used to the spotlight, but don't worry, she's not that bad. If fact, before it is all said and done she'll end up being your best friend. Plus, she makes for a pretty cool show and tell in kindergarten. If you find yourself not liking her, just read Mercer Mayers' "The New Baby" again. She's going to follow you everywhere you go, constantly be in your stuff, always want whatever you have, and do her best to cause you constant frustration. In exchange for that, you'll be blessed with a bobsled partner who will gladly put on the ice cream bucket helmet on her head and steer the red wagon bobsled down the driveway, a fellow Olympian who will run the rain spout hurdles and grade your jungle gym high-bar routines, a wrestling/boxing/American Gladiator tackling dummy who will let you and your friends beat the living hell out of her just so she can spend more time with you, and a giggle box who will be the only other person in the world who will laugh as hard as you do at stupid movies like Dirty Work and Step Brothers. Speaking of all those things, keep up the good work on the imagination front. I'm still convinced that any and all academic success that you encounter through the rest of your life is because you thought grandma's carpet was made out of lava and that the swings were jet fighters. You see the extraordinary in the ordinary, and I'm jealous of you for that. Still, you should be proud to know that I still have all the Masters of the Universe and GI Joe figures you're playing with right now and that, even at 30, I could easily bust them out and be entertained for hours. Also, high five ourselves because we own all the Garfield and Fraggle Rock episodes on DVD (DVD is like the new VCR, only way cooler (but not as cool as BluRay, which I don't have time to explain to a 5-year old)). So, keep doing what you're doing, love your sister even when she's a brat, and stop pretending that imaginary lines will ever separate the backseat. Just keep your hands on your own side and save yourself some ass-chewings.<br />
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Keep pretending,<br />
Jeff@30<br />
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Dear Jeff at 13,<br />
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Boy, aren't you an awkward fella? I'm sorry, but in hindsight there was no way that I could have known that an overweight teenager with a bad haircut shouldn't have become the band major and carried a whistle and baton. In 2011, that becomes really cool and that yearbook photo will be something you look back on with pride, not complete embarrassment. Look, right now is a tough time in which some of our deepest insecurities are being born. You're afraid of girls and rejection, you're ashamed of being a smart kid, you hate your body, and you want to quit band, even though you're talented, because it just isn't the cool thing to do. If you do nothing else in your pubescent insanity, please...DON'T QUIT BAND! On the last day of 8th grade, one of the bigger kids is going to want to kick your ass because you're a "pussy" and the band teacher, Mrs. Alberty, is going to sneak you out the back door and give you a ride back to your house so that you can avoid getting beat up. You can quit band next year. Also, even though you are scared out of your mind to enter high school, be ready for an absolutely amazing time. Somehow you manage to flip a lot of things that you consider to be negatives into positives. You'll finally get that growth spurt you've been hearing so much about and that 180 lbs won't look as goofy on your new 5'11" frame as it did on your 4'11" one. Your face is going to start breaking out, but we eventually grow a pretty cool beard to cover all that up. With that said, don't try to get all Tom Selleck (that's a relevant reference, right?) and start to try growing something now. The beard needs another 15 or so years to fully come in right. Also, I know this isn't the best time to bring up stuff, but you don't become a doctor or a lawyer (or at least not by 30). You've got a lot on your plate as it is, so I don't want to burden you with anything else. Just know that this isn't a bad thing and that I'll explain it in a couple of years. Anyway, hang in there and when Mrs. Guse's husband approaches you in high school and makes you try out for basketball, do it. It changes your whole life. <br />
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It gets better,<br />
Jeff@30<br />
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PS - Stop spending so much money on pogs, troll dolls, slap bracelets, wacky wall climbers, and sports cards. It is useless shit that I'm getting really tired of moving around. I know it seems like a good investment in 1994, but that OJ Simpson Pog Slammer lost value quickly and didn't end up paying for college. Neither did your 10,000 sports cards, which humans now use as toilet paper in 2011. <br />
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Dear Jeff at 18,<br />
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I've got to admit, you've put together a nice little life for yourself. Student class president, student of the year 4 years running, newspaper editor, 32 ACT, Y-Ball Champion, Horatio Alger scholar, actor of the year three years running, smokin' hot girlfriend. I'm not ashamed to brag a little for you. Life has come pretty easily for you and there's absolutely no reason to think it will end anytime soon, right? Hell, you job shadowed a US Congressman! You're on the path to glory. Except for the fact that you're not. In your bravado, you said as your senior quote, "West Central may not have given me the best book education, but I definitely feel prepared for life." Twelve years later that's something I'm incredibly ashamed for having said. The reason you are who you are isn't because you were born with natural gifts. It was because someone saw something in you and not once in your 18 years were you denied an opportunity to build on that. Your teachers pushed you to be better, your coaches demanded the best from you, and your parents expected you to reach your potential. Without any of those other people in your life, you're a complete slacker who is content working at a movie theater the rest of his life. Trust me, in a few years you'll start ignoring your support and get to see first hand what the bottom feels like. I don't want to put a damper on your experiences right now. You really have done some great things, and I want you to enjoy every one of them. Just know that they aren't the end of your journey, nor are they the peak. Your first love doesn't last forever, but your other friendships have. You don't become a politician or lawyer or a famous journalist, but you'll discover something even more amazing and fulfilling in higher education. You won't be married and have kids by the time you're 30, but you will have milked every second of enjoyment out of being single in your 20's and come out on the other end without any addictions or diseases. You won't live in Sioux Falls and get to see your buddies every day like you swore you would, but you find much needed independence chasing the dream in the big city. I guess my point is this: nothing goes as planned, so stop trying to control everything. Roll with the punches, keep living life to the fullest, and humble yourself a little before life decides to do it for you.<br />
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Chase the dream but keep your feet on the ground,<br />
Jeff@30<br />
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Dear Jeff at 22,<br />
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I wish you would have existed in the same world that Jeff at 18 did because you would have read my letter to him and avoided a lot of your problems. Instead, we need to face the reality: You have some problems. The biggest problem is that you're an alcoholic. I'm not sure if you remember that when you came to college, you did so on a nice scholarship that took care of almost everything. Just a few short years and a few tall beers later and you've got so much student loan and credit card debt that you've made life at 30 very difficult. Just because Frank Lloyd Wright said, "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">Give me the luxuries of life and I will willingly do without the necessities," it doesn't mean that it is a religion you should be living by and that you should substitute fruits and vegetables for Peach Schnapps and Bloody Mary's. The guy wrote about flying monkeys, for Pete's sake. Hey, </span>I know you're afraid to leave your new support system with all of your great new friends, but that's what growing up is all about. Trust me, they all do it and have turned out fine. And guess what? Just like you're high school friends, you're still as close with them and their families. Just so you know, you piss around with not getting yourself in a good mental situation and end up not graduating on time. You'll walk across the stage with all of your friends and smile for all the pictures, but it takes you a few more years and a lot of stress before you finally get your name inked on that diploma. Look, Jennifer isn't coming back. You've completely missed dating through college and become a depressed lunatic because of it. Seriously, take out a pen and keep a running journal on your day. Here, I'll help you. "Woke up at noon. Made frozen pizza. Played Madden. Nick and Jared came home from class, played Madden. Went to Hardee's for a Monster Burger and decided to stop at Subway on the way home for a foot long. Decided that wasn't enough and went to Dairy Queen for a Blizzard. Came home. Played Madden. Called in sick to work. Drank a bottle of vodka and a 12-pack of beer. Played Madden. Passed out at 3:30 am." Really impressive! Both 18 year old and 30 year old Jeff want to kick you sooooo hard. Still, I know you had to hit bottom to finally get that wake up call. You're going to stumble through the next two or three years, but you'll always remember the darkness of those days and work hard to make sure they never happen again. You'll finish your degree and start on your Master's. You'll get a good job that is patient as you finish your degree and that let's you realize how great working in higher education is. You'll eventually get a second job a year later that is even better than the first, and while I'm reluctant to tell you where that job is located, know that living in the middle of nowhere is exactly what you need to get your life on track. People there love you and you will love them, and the lack of temptations will finally make you grow up and realize your potential. In the meantime, be better to yourself, get help, and enjoy your time with your college buddies because you'll always wish that you remembered more of it.<br />
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Straighten up,<br />
Jeff@30<br />
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Dear Jeff at 27,<br />
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You survived the bulk of your 20's, you love your job, you're taking grad classes, and you're even dating a little. You're banking cash by living on campus and setting yourself up for the future. I'm pretty proud of you, and I'm happy to report that 27 is going to be a really great year for you. My only advice to you is to let go a little. I know you're so afraid of turning back into Jeff at 22, but you aren't that guy anymore. Feel free to consider leaving the safety net of isolation that you've created for yourself. Start to consider a move, start thinking about getting healthier, start considering letting yourself fall in love again. In relation to that last one, know that you're about to meet a girl named Jenna (actually, I think you probably already have). I'm not going to give away all the details, but over the course of the next two years I want you to promise to not give up on her and that you will eventually love her with all of your heart. You're going to be scared shitless because the last time you allowed yourself to be this open with someone it scarred you for almost a decade, but throw that fear away with her and give her everything you have. If you're willing to do that, you will learn the most important life lesson you've experienced up to that point and find out about strength inside of you and love surrounding you that you started to take for granted. Through another heartbreak you'll rediscover the unconditional love of newborn Jeff (it is amazing and overwhelming), the rose-colored imagination of 5 year old Jeff (hey, you start a blog as a creative outlet!), the horrible insecurities of 13 year old Jeff (you start trying to lose weight because you think improving the outside might help the inside), the amazing self-confidence of 18 year old Jeff (you focus on the good and push out the bad so well), the ability to rebound of 22 year old Jeff (you spend a single day lying in bed, you only drink away the pain twice and never alone, and you even start dating again in June), and somehow manage to come out of the experience better than when you went in. SPOILER ALERT: You do find love again and it is the kind that you always hoped for. Regardless of how it turns out, your luck at the table of life keeps rolling in.<br />
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Have fun,<br />
Jeff@30<br />
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Dear Jeff@30,<br />
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We made it! I want Jeff at 40 to be able to look back at this letter and nod approvingly because he'll know that maybe, just maybe we've finally got it right. The collective Jeffs have made a lot of mistakes, some of which we're still paying for, but there isn't a single thing that has happened that I would do differently because that may have meant that I wasn't where I am right now. I love my job, I love my friends, I love the city, and I love Molly. I don't love that I'm still paying for that shot of Jager that 22 year old Jeff took back in 2003 (both financially and physically), but the guy is hard enough on himself without me piling on. Anyway, don't be afraid of those strange five inch hairs that keep popping up out of your ears overnight, don't try to hide the silvers that stick straight out from your rapidly decreasing black fluffy fro, and for the love of God, eat some more carrots and apples and drink a few more glasses of water so that you don't feel so much like Jeff at 50 when you try to get out of bed in the morning. Also, you're already a little curmudgeonly, so let's try to keep it closer to the adorable kind, like in Grumpy Old Men, rather than the kind nobody likes, like Andy Rooney (may he rest in peace and continue to bitch about new fangled things like zippers and stop lights in the sweet hereafter). Other than that, I'm not going to give you any more advice or announce any more goals because the joy in the first 30 has been in watching plans crumble and new opportunities pop up. You say "I love you" to at least five different people a day, but the hardest person to acknowledge is often yourself. I love you, and I'm proud of where you are at 30. Here's hoping that the next 30 are just as amazing.<br />
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Jeff<br />
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PS- I was serious about those carrots.<br />
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<br />jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-48298390122390128642011-10-07T11:44:00.003-05:002011-10-07T11:44:29.521-05:00The Big DayOctober 8, 2011. That was a date that only eight months ago carried considerable weight and was one that I was sure was going to be of great significance for the rest of my life. We picked that weekend because we thought that the beautiful fall colors would mark the beauty of the day, and that the crispness of the fall air would go well with our autumn apple themed wedding. Now that we're a day away, it is fitting that the forecast calls for strong winds and thunderstorms.<div>
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Six months ago I decided that October 8 needed to still be significant in order to help with my healing process. Encouraged by the love and support of my family and friends, I decided to make the day a positive instead of a negative and to change my life to reflect the new direction my life path was leading me. I pledged to be accountable and to become healthy, hopefully exchanging the premise of having "more of me to love" to having longer to love less of me. In honor of my 30th year on this planet, I decided 30 lbs was a fitting change over a six month period. I hit the road running, and I stayed loyal and true to my goal...for about two months. I dropped 15 lbs, but the physical losses stopped as my emotional and social experiences gained. Still, October 8 was still circled on the calendar. The anticipation was still there to spend a day celebrating life with my friends and family, and the new addition of Molly to the mix added another level of excitement. During this time, October 8 really did lose all attachment to the past and had become a completely new monster.</div>
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Now that it is October 7, I don't really know how to explain my feelings towards October 8 other than to say that I'm officially more excited for October 9 than anything else. In the past three weeks, the negative and the positive have started to mix in a way that has left me comfortably numb. As much as I've put the original meaning of the day out of my mind, it still creeps up every time I have to explain to someone what this party is for. I've kept a great sense of humor about it, but the scar has started itching a little bit this week. Trust me, I couldn't be happier with the way my life has turned out since President's Day. I've made new friends, met someone who is as interested in me as I am in her, and I feel more committed to my life up here than ever before. Still, I can't shake the thought that dancing with my mother tomorrow night was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of my life as opposed to being another drunken good time. Also, the shame from not hitting my originally pledged 30 lb loss has started to make this day a bit more dreadful than it should be. Three weeks ago I decided that I needed to kick it in the ass and move the scale forward, and the extra added effort has been pretty draining physically on top of the mental stuff going on. </div>
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I don't mean to sound bitchy and whiny, although I realize this is shaping up as quite the little pity party post. If my life were a baseball game, my batting average this season would be higher than Morneau, Mauer, and Cuddyer combined. I'm blessed to have parents that financially supported my crazy notion that having this party was a great idea, family and friends that are going to drive hours to basically celebrate what, at its core, has become a chance to drink a beer with me, and a girlfriend who doesn't hold the past against me and is using tomorrow as a jumping off point to meet the most important people in my life, regardless of the undertones of the party. Fate is throwing me a huge high five, and I refuse to leave it hanging. I'm going to have the time of my life tomorrow night and sincerely hope that everyone else there does, too. We'll cash in whatever weight loss I might have and maybe generate a couple extra bucks for the American Heart Association. We'll drink, laugh, dance, sing and celebrate the fact that we can still do all of those things. But the biggest celebration will come at the stroke of midnight when this insane chariot ride I've been on for the past eight months finally turns back to a normal, stable pumpkin, and October 8 goes back to being just another day.</div>
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Thank you all for all of your love and support through all of this. I'll update everyone on the final weigh-in on Monday.</div>
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Jeff</div>
jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-10102210671321085772011-08-30T12:30:00.001-05:002011-08-30T13:45:45.424-05:00Monday 1553: My Great Minnesota Get TogetherI wish I could provide you with a great weight loss update last week, but instead I'm going to tell you a story. See, while I'm trying to get healthier, I also get easily distracted and end up drawing faces on my fruit instead of eating it. <br />
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What can I say? I'm easily amused. In my head, Pear is freaking out because he thinks he's about to fall off the desk, but Orange realizes that both fruits are at a safe distance and are in no real danger, so he's judging Pear's neurosis with that sarcastic look. Screw you, Orange! All it would take is for Banana to come by, get naked, and leave her outfit next to you for you to slip and fall to your death! Then who would be smirking? Not Pear, because Pear is respectful and would send flowers to your mother. Wait, what? Ummmm, sorry about all that....<br />
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Anyway, The Young and The Seedless was not the story I intended to tell you today. In an effort to gain my official Minnesota residency, I decided that it was time to jump head first into a Minnesota tradition: the State Fair. Growing up in South Dakota (and probably anywhere in the Midwest, for that matter), fairs were essential in my childhood experience. Since I grew up in the greater Sioux Falls area, the Sioux Empire Fair was always a much bigger deal to me than the South Dakota State Fair. The SE Fair always felt bigger and more geared towards me because it had more modern concerts (Sheryl Crow as opposed to Charlie Pride), more rides, and less tractors. I had friends that would show cattle, so they'd be around all day to hang out with. Our parents would buy us the daily/weekly ride passes, so they could drop us off and take a week off from the stresses of parenting as the toothless carnies took their turn in the child-rearing department. Judging by the looks of most of them, rearing a child was something they were quite familiar with. Kind of a sidebar, but my two favor carney stories. One: It was the mid-90's, so bright neon colors were in. I had a pair of cheap plastic sunglasses that had neon green sides. Thor Carney (he looked like the superhero Thor, only if Thor was on meth) was running the Viking Ship ride (fitting) and decided he quite liked my shades. He offered me $10 for a pair of glasses that I had spent $5 on that morning at Lewis Drug. I gladly handed them over and told him where I got them. He told me that if I could get more pairs, he'd give me even more money because he knew that he had friends that would like some, too. Thankfully, someone's parents caught wind of our little money turning scheme as we all begged to go back to Lewis for more glasses. I'm pretty sure that had we been allowed to continue our business transaction, Carney Thor would have had a box of free sunglasses and the rock quarry directly next to the fairgrounds probably would have had a fresh batch of 9-year old's carcasses. Second carney story: They paid some drunk asshole to get dressed up in a clown costume and sit on a plank above a pool of water. His job was to be as big of a prick as possible in an effort to get you to come throw balls to dunk him in the water. This guy was like a mix of Don Rickles and Satan. Oh, and he had a megaphone so everyone could hear him. As previously documented within this blog, weight has always been an issue for me. I kind of looked like Jerry O'Connell in Stand By Me, and on that unfortunate day, I was wearing a striped shirt. The clown must have been on his third fifth of whiskey that morning because he decided he was going to ruin everyone's life. We sat from afar and watched as he eviscerated teenager after teenager, picking on anything from their hair to the likelihood that they were homosexuals. We were having a good chuckle, as 10-year olds are wont to do, when I saw him lock in on me. I froze in terror as I saw him reach out his gloved hand and point directly at me. "Hey fatty, what are you looking at? If you want a corn dog, the stand is just down the way, so stop looking at me like you're about to eat me! You know, it is a good thing your mom dressed you in that striped shirt today so that she could tell whether you were walking or rolling!" That's right. The asshole clown from Hell dressed me down in front of everyone in the middle of the day on the midway of a county fair. Through a megaphone. At some point someone must have reported the guy because there was a different clown in the tank for the rest of the week.<br />
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I digress. Every Minnesotan I have ever met gets excited about their state fair. The biggest draw seems to be the fact that there is all kinds of wacky foods on sticks. For a guy trying to drop pounds, this probably wasn't the best place for me. Still, I had to see what the hype was about, especially since my sugar mama had bought me a ticket. Upon entering the gates my first impression of the great Minnesota get together was that it was the great Minnesota cluster fuck. There were people in every direction for as far as I could see. I asked Molly what we were supposed to do, and she said that we just kind of walked around. Awesome...<br />
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I took her hand and she helped navigate us through the crowds of people standing in line for something known as "All The Milk You Can Drink", which sounded pretty reckless considering the hot August days and spinning rides everywhere. We went around and checked out different barns and arenas with different vendors selling their mops and salsa makers. It quickly became apparent to me that no matter the size of the fair, you pretty much know what to expect. I had it in my mind that I wanted to get some cheese curds, something on a stick, and some Sweet Martha Chocolate Chip Cookies, all staples for the essential Minnesotan experience. I started with a huge order of cheese curds that reminded me of why I hate dieting. Seriously, is there anything greater in the world than breaded, deep fried cheese? Who in the world wants to eat a sarcastic orange when you could have fried cheese? Unfortunately for me, this was the first thing going into my stomach. The amount of grease located in the crevices of the cheese immediately dripped to the pit of my stomach and left me with a sudden sense of urgency. I have a tremendous dislike of public toilets...would I really be forced to use one right after some sweaty fat guy who was battling a funnel cake? I set my mind to persevering. Molly went with the corn on the cob, which was a much more reasonable option. We did some more walking around, including a trip down the midway. I saw two of my all-time favorite rides, The Scrambler and the Alpine Express. We used to be able to sit on those rides and not get off because there was no one there during the mid-day. I'm not ashamed to admit that I peed my pants a little one time when I was on the Alpine Express with Ryan Kapperman. He was also a bigger kid (more in general size than being chubby), so we tried our best to make sure that we set it up where gravity would pull us towards him so that he didn't crush us. Well, it turns out we cracked that code when the Alpine spun one way, but when it unexpectedly switched positions, so did all the kids in the cart. We were all screaming in pain while laughing our heads off, which is what a carnival ride is supposed to do. Anyway, through all the screaming, squeezing, and laughing, I peed a little. So what, don't judge me. It was the time of my life up to that point.<br />
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Anyway, with the cheese curds starting to settle down, I decided it was time to find my food on a stick. They really don't exaggerate when they say that they have almost everything on a skewer. I really wanted to try the hot dish on a stick, mostly because I couldn't wrap my brain around its physics. Instead, I went with something that sounded a bit more reasonable and more fair-ish: a pretzel dog on a stick. As I chomped down on the buttery, meaty deliciousness, Molly led us to something called The Miracle of Life barn. I choked down what was remaining of the hot dog before we entered in an effort to not offend any the piggy brothers located inside. Maybe it is because I grew up in South Dakota and had to help one time with calving, or maybe it is because I'm a logical, reasonable human who doesn't need to see gross babies shooting out of their mothers, but I wasn't as impressed with the whole exhibit. They had all sorts of baby animals that had just been born in incubators feeding on their mothers or trying desperately to figure out how to coordinate their new legs. I guess that part was cute enough, but it was hard to focus on it all when every five feet above my head there was a video screen with an animal squeezing out another animal. I fully plan on being a Ricky Ricardo someday and smoking in the waiting room until someone hands me a nice, clean baby that I can name. <br />
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With our visit to the piglets out of the way, we made our way towards what would become our final destination. Sweet Martha's Cookies are a Minnesota State Fair staple. Check out their website for more info: <a href="http://sweetmarthas.com/">http://sweetmarthas.com/</a> Sweet Martha has a sweet gig that pulls in millions every year at the fair. I would estimate that while we were in line, at least 100 people were sharing the waiting experience with us. All day long I had seen people with buckets of cookies, so I figured that must be the way to go. We could have purchased the much more reasonable cone of cookies, but the fat-guy economist inside me told me that I would save more money by buying more cookies, regardless of how many I actually needed to eat. We finally made our way up to the counter, and I plopped down my money and asked for my bucket. The nice girl in the yellow shirt reached up, pulled down a bucket (that already had some cookies in it), finished off the tray of cookies in front of her, called behind her for another tray, and proceeded to empty it on top of my bucket, too. The sign said a bucket had roughly four dozen cookies. I would estimate it closer to eight. I put my hand on top of my purchase so as to not lose a single precious calorie, and we made our way over to a nearby bench. You might be having a hard time visualizing all of this, so let me help.<br />
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There's enough cookies in that bucket to even make Cookie Monster stop and say, "Wait, this might be a little much." We ate a couple of cookies before I came to the realization of my biggest impending problem besides the onset of diabetes. At some point, I had to eat enough cookies to get that lid to close. I proceeded to eat and eat and eat some more. With every cookie down, I tried the lid again to see if I could seal it up and move along my way. I eventually lost count of how many cookies I had eaten as the sugar coma started to settle in and my body gave up on me. Suffice it to say, I had taken in my daily caloric intake and still had a bucket to take home for later. As we sat there on the bench and I went in and out of consciousness, we noticed that some rain clouds were moving in. We decided to wrap up our day at the fair and get me on a bus home before the paramedics needed to get involved. Thus ended my first official great gathering with other Minnesotans.<br />
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I did the smart thing and brought in the cookies to share at work yesterday (sorry to all you people upstairs, but the added weight from the Sunday binge made it nearly impossible to walk up a flight of stairs to come share with you). At the end of the day, I was left with three cookies, which I'm happy to report are in my belly and soon to be out of my life. The scale says that there weren't any real negative repercussions, but I have a feeling that once the sugar has a chance to settle, it might be another story. Still, another Monday has come and gone, and I'm still chugging away with the October 8 deadline in sight. Besides being a fatass this weekend, I also made some really good decisions, like going on a three mile walk with Molly around Lake Calhoun and ordering the healthy pad thai instead of the unhealthy mac and cheese at dinner. I'm playing basketball four days a week now, so I'm expecting to see some real results coming in the very near future. I'm reluctant to post any real numbers because I want to make the October 8 reveal a bit of a surprise, but trust me when I say there isn't any real surprise right now. I'll get there, though. <br />
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Still giving my life a Fair assessment,<br />
<br />
Jeff "Horizontal Stripes Mean I'm Walking, Not Rolling" Pool<br />
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PS - Happy birthday to one of my biggest supporters, Kacey!jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-76383345719225956652011-08-25T12:30:00.003-05:002011-08-25T12:47:36.118-05:00Monday 1552: The Hardest Part is Adding Up The MondaysHi there, how are ya? It's been a long time. Seems like we've come a long way...<br />
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</div><div>Those aren't just lyrics to one of my favorite Eagles songs, but my mea culpa. Ooops, I did it again. I disappeared into thin air when I thought I finally had something cooking. Well, let's start where we left off. The wait on the weight is finally over. I didn't snap a picture of it this morning, so you'll have to take me at my word, but I stepped on the scale today and weighed 257.8, or almost exactly what I've weighed now for the past two months. I guess the good news is that I've managed to maintain the weight. The bad news is that this was supposed to be a weight loss challenge, not a "maintain an obese weight and pat yourself on the back for not gaining anything" challenge. The good news is that my life is just about exactly where I need it to be right now. For today's post, that's what I'm going to focus on.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Today's post is about freedom. More specifically, it is about me finally finding the freedom to let myself let go. It has now been 14 months since I left Iowa and moved to Minnesota to try to tackle the big city dream that I guess I've always had. When I left Iowa, I figured the worst case scenario was that I'd come up here for a year, try it out, and if I hated it, I'd finally make the inevitable move back to Sioux Falls. Sioux Falls and I have always had a tricky relationship because I absolutely love it there, but I let it be my safety net. I was in a co-dependent relationship with a city, which probably explained why I couldn't ever fully start dating a new one. I went to college in Marshall, MN, which is only about an hour and a half away. I knew that getting out of the Sioux Falls area was the best thing for me, but I didn't really want to be all that far away in case I needed to rush back into South Dakota's (and at the time, my high school girlfriend's) warm arms. I took my first job in Mitchell, SD, and while I loved my co-workers there, I never really full committed to the town and often spent time travelling back and forth on that hour long Interstate trip. After realizing I didn't fit in the Mitchell mold, I packed up the truck and moved to Sheldon, IA. Again, I was a little more than an hour away from that old lover I couldn't shake. Sheldon was definitely the town I cheated on the most. In the five years(really, I lived in Iowa for five years?!) that I lived in Iowa, I not only spent almost every weekend back in South Dakota, but I wholeheartedly rejected the notion of the fact that I even lived in Iowa. It isn't that Iowa is such a bad place (I mean, yeah, it was pretty bad, but not so bad (shout out to my Iowa peeps!)), but being a South Dakotan was part of my identity. The public school system in South Dakota evidently did a bang up job on indoctrining me in how important it was to be a South Dakotan and how important it was not to flee the state as soon as I graduated. I lived most of my time in Iowa illegally with South Dakota license plates and a South Dakota driver's license. I scoffed at the fact that I'd be called an Iowegian, even though I'd spent the better part of my adult life living across the border. Better things were always waiting for me at the state line, and at worst, I always had Minnesota as a back-up plan. During that five year span, I put over 50,000 miles on my car just trying to get away.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Well, as everyone knows by now, the fact that I was a round suburban peg trying to fit into a square small town hole finally got the best of me, so I took the leap and moved. The first seven months of the experiment were severely hindered by the fact that I left a HUGE piece of baggage back in the Siouxs. Every night was spent wishing I was back down there because of my relationship (that I started AFTER I moved six hours away) and because I missed my family in Sheldon, my family in Sioux Falls, and my family in Blunt. I lived in Lindstrom with a great friend for the first six months, but it was in a small town about an hour away from the Cities. I wasn't quite ready to make the leap. I eventually moved to Coon Rapids and the burbs, which worked because even though I didn't know anyone, I was still living every night back in Sioux City/Sioux Falls via phone and Facebook. After the events of Presidents Day, I made the long trip back to Coon Rapids debating on whether I should just pack up my stuff and move back to Sioux Falls so that I had my support group to take care of me or if I should even make the utterly ridiculous choice to be 29 and move back in with my parents. That's not a knock on my family, who I love more than anything in the world, but a knock on the fact that I left Marshall (10,000), Mitchell (15,000), and Sheldon (6,000) because I felt they were too small for me, so moving back to Blunt (350) would have been disastrous.</div><div><br />
</div><div>But a funny thing happened when I got back to Coon Rapids. Friendships that I took as co-workers being cordial turned out to be something much more. People came to my rescue, propped me up, and didn't let me run. I had a great outpouring of support from all of my friends and family from around the world, but these guys were actually here to buy me that beer, look me in the eye, and tell me that everything was going to be okay. It would have been so easy for me to retreat into my dark, lonely apartment every night and try to find the help I needed from a cold computer screen, but they didn't let that happen. That started the rebirth of this blog, which for a couple of months was my therapy. Throwing myself into this weight loss challenge and knowing I still had the love and support of my friends that lived far away, as well as my friends that live next door, kept making me stronger and stronger. The weight loss goals were mostly a front for the emotional weight I was shedding. I was down five pounds and felt great, not only because I wasn't carrying so much weight but because I started playing basketball a couple of times a week and forming bonds with guys I barely knew. I was down ten pounds and feeling fantastic because I started to look better in my clothes, but also because people I cared about cared about the words I was putting on this website. I realized I was important to a lot of people, so not being important to one pretty much didn't mean squat in the grand scheme of life.</div><div><br />
</div><div>That brings us to June and the end of the blog postings. I was feeling good enough about Jeff that I decided to really step up the dating game. However, the blog presented a problem. Thanks to the modern wonder that is Google, typing in "Jeff Pool" to make sure I'm not an axe murderer pulls up this lovely blog that documents all of the ups and downs of the past year. I had already had one girl stumble into the engagement news that way and it made things incredibly awkward. I wanted to enter any new dating situations with a clean slate and not let the other team have my entire playbook before the first whistle. While Googling and finding this blog isn't all that hard to begin with, me blatantly posting it on my Facebook page makes it even easier. So, since I was stalling out on my weight loss and since I was starting to get active in the scene (three dates in three straight days!), I kind of just let it go. It isn't easy to be charming and friendly for three hours a night on a date, so I decided to channel all of my communicative energies into pretending that I'm a guy that a lovely young lady should want to know. There were so many hilarious stories that came up during this time that you all would have loved to have followed along with, but it just didn't work to provide play-by-play analysis on a medium that the other person could see. Imagine coming home from a date you thought went really well and seeing a 1,200 word essay on some jackass's Facebook page about how he went on a date with a girl who ate like a horse and had the personality of a house plant (none of which happened). My words are like daggers, boo.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Anyway, the one thing I can say is that I managed to find one fish in the sea that I somehow fooled into hanging out with me for the past two months (true story, the original sentence read "I managed to find one fish in the sea who liked my worm" before I realized how grossly inappropriate that way), and the skeletons from my closet were able to come out in a healthy pre-Facebook era kind of way that was much more comfortable for both of us. She's a city native, so she's been a heck of a tour guide for me. As I was sitting at a table with her and some new friends outside a busy restaurant with the city looming in the skyline, I smiled to myself and realized that I finally put it all together and that this was why I wanted and needed to move. When I was younger and would close my eyes and try to picture my life at 30, this is what it looked like. Granted, I was supposed to have two kids, a wife, and wear fancy suits to work, but this was the backdrop that the rest of the dream was painted on. Regardless of how any of the current situations in my life work out, I'm secure enough in knowing that Sioux Falls did its job and finally was ready for me to stop leaning so hard on it. None of this is a knock on my friends and family because that's not what I'm leaving behind. I still talk to my friends back home as regularly as ever, but I don't need to see them every weekend to know they'll always be there for me. I actually had the gravitas to feel guilty for not going to Sioux Falls because I felt like I was depriving my friends of me and letting the group dynamic that I had been fighting to keep alive for so many years just die. Well, the life preserver that was this idea of this indestructible group of friends has been deflating for years as people slowly realized that the all-inclusive life boats floating by were much more comfortable and made a lot more sense. I don't want to be Titanic Jack and freeze to death in the water when there's plenty of room on that floating door that that bitch Rose is hogging (that's right Kate Winslet, I'm on to you). The "group of friends" idea is so much less important than the individual friendships that I have managed to maintain over the years. I've been to Sioux Falls once in the past three months, and surprise, surprise, I'm still alive. I'm finally realizing what my friends figured out a long time ago as they got married, started having kids, buying houses, and breaking away from the group. YMCA Championships, first "I love you's" on starlit beaches in the middle of nowhere, and all-night wiffle ball tournaments were great times in my life, but I have to stop sitting around letting them continue to be the greatest. Having your husband's overweight 30 year old laying on your couch, drinking beer and reminding you of that one time isn't necessarily as cool as it sounds. Ask Jess Kramer.</div><div><br />
</div><div>So, yeah, while I haven't necessarily lost any additional weight from my body in the past two months, I've shed some much needed weight from my mind. I'm still working on being healthy, but I'm not sure how attainable a 30 lb weight loss goal is. Still, I'm shooting for the stars in the next month. I want to get back to blogging because I don't have to blow all of my charming on trying to impress the girl anymore. She's seen the warts at this point, and she still wants to kiss the frog (not a sexual euphemism). I'm still trying to get healthy, and I'm going to kick strong to the end. The most important thing is this:</div><div><br />
</div><div>WE ARE STILL HAVING THE PARTY!!!!!!</div><div><br />
</div><div>That's right, Jeff fans, we are still going to have the rocking party on Saturday, October 8, 2011. The Chocolate Cowboy Band (who are fantastic and feature a very important friend from my life story rocking the keyboards) will be providing the sweet, sweet music to a night filled with dancing, laughing, and copious amounts of beer. The American Legion in Hartford, upon hearing my sad-sap story, has decided to reward my plight by donating the space. I'm still working on finding some transportation between Hartford and Sioux Falls so that we don't have a bunch of drunks making that 8 mile journey at midnight. I would highly encourage you to book a room at the Quality Inn in Sioux Falls. Seems to be the easiest to get to and the less stops the bus makes at the end of the night, the better. There are probably some cheaper rooms on hotels on north Cliff or over by the Arena, so I suppose those would work, too. If you live in Minnesota and want to go down, let's set up some car pools. Hell, I'll even be your tour guide around the greater Sioux Falls area so you can see what all the hype is about. This party is a once in a lifetime hoedown throw down, but I need you there to help make it special. I'll create a FB group and make sure that everyone gets invited. It would really mean the world to me to see everyone together celebrating life alongside me! </div><div><br />
</div><div>Okay, that post got out of hand, but it was a warning shot that I'm back...again...for like the 5th time. Stay tuned!</div><div><br />
</div><div>Feelin' groovy,</div><div><br />
</div><div>Jeff</div>jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-41804234344384580492011-06-20T09:32:00.001-05:002011-06-20T09:43:40.922-05:00Monday 1543: Game on the LineBefore we get too deep into the blog post, we first must perform an exercise in the art of visualization. Picture yourself, if you will, attending a professional basketball game where you spent $1,500 to sit court side. Imagine that your two favorite teams are playing, and if one of your favorite teams is the Timberwolves, picture a different team who doesn't have all of their hopes pinned on Spanish Bieber who shot 27% from the floor coming off the bench in the Euro League. Let's say it is Michael Jordan's '95-'96 Bulls playing Magic Johnson's '85 Lakers. In this match-up, you have enormous hopes of seeing MJ do a breakaway dunk from the free throw line, Kareem drop a sky-hook over Luc Longley, and Scottie Pippen banging bodies with Magic Johnson. You've been hyping this game to all of your friends and family, who happened to have also shelled out $1,500 to line the court alongside you. The first whistle blows, the referee tosses up the initial jump ball, Kareem tips it to Magic and then...nothing happens. It isn't that the two teams aren't playing hard. There is a ton of competitive spirit on the court, but no one seems to be able to score. Scottie completely shuts down Magic, who can barely get the ball up the court. Ron Harper keeps trying to get it to Jordan, but he inadvertently keeps dribbling the ball off of his foot. The first half ends and the score is 0-0. You know that you're watching basketball greatness, but is it possible that both teams are so great that they are just cancelling out each other? You look around the court and see the looks of confusion on the faces of your loved ones. Didn't you just tell them that Jordan dropped 60 the night before and that he surely had an encore planned for all of them? <br />
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</div><div>The second half tips off and it is more of the same. Both teams are giving everything they've got on defense, and both teams keep making stupid, obvious mistakes on offense. As a Bulls fan, you are happy that with all of the mistakes your team makes, including when Dennis Rodman punched a ref, kicked a cameraman, and peed on the Benny the Bull mascot costume at half-court, that somehow you're still in this game. However, you're also more than a little disappointed because you've got a certain level of expectation of what this team is capable of, and now you've invested $1,500 to see those same results again. Time continues to tick off the clock and the defensive game of the century continues to wage on. Finally, there are 10 seconds left in the game. Jordan has the ball in his hands, and everyone is on their feet. Jordan backs James Worthy down, fakes left, crosses over to his right, jumps up as he fades away and....</div><div><br />
</div><div>This is currently where I sit with this weight loss challenge. I honestly don't know what comes next. For the past three weeks I have lost exactly zero pounds. I've also gained exactly zero pounds. Nobody pays and gets excited to see a 0-0 game (do you hear me soccer?!). From my years of weight loss fights, I can tell you that having stagnant results is the worst possible scenario for me. If I lose weight, great! Whatever I'm doing is working and I should keep doing it. If I gain weight, shit! But at least I can go back and look at what I'm doing and make the adjustments necessary to right the ship. When I go almost an entire month at the exact same weight? Well, now I start to question what the hell is going on and whether or not this is the exact weight that I'm stuck with at this lifestyle that I'm settling into. I can assure you I am not comfortable with this weight or this lifestyle. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Although the lack of posting in the past few weeks was mostly related to being busy at work, being stressed about money, and just having a general lack of things to say about anything, it is also hard to come here and continue to post the exact same picture of the scale week after week. When I mess up and gain, I usually have a funny story and some personal affirmation that I can continue on. When I do well and I'm happy, my blogs are no where near as much fun, but everyone seems to like a good success story. When there aren't any results at all, well, I feel like I'm writing play-by-play for that 0-0 basketball game. So, I guess I'm at a point where I'm waiting to see if Jordan's final shot goes in to win the game (which is what we've all come to expect) or if the Lakers defense was just too dominant and we end the game in a tie. The worst possible case (which has happened more than once in the past three weeks) is that Jordan misses off the back of the rim so badly that it ricochets all the way back to the other end of the court and scores for the Lakers. Seriously, I've done some really dumb sabotage things in the past couple of weeks in hopes of gaining weight and seeing the number move in some direction, just so I know that I don't need to replace the batteries in my scale. I have seen the numbers go up one day, but they always settle back down the next. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I'm going to settle back down this week and try to jump start the system. I was at 258 this morning, so I'm really hoping to see something in the 256 range by Friday. It is going to be tough because I have a social calendar filled to the brim every night this week, but I have to stop using that as a crutch. Other people are able to go out and not weight 260 lbs. I just need to make smart decisions and control what I can control. I also need to get back on the literal basketball court. We took last week off so that everyone could mend and because we were always short guys, but we are going to get started back up today. It should be interesting. </div><div><br />
</div><div>In the meantime, I'm going to use this picture that was taken a couple of weeks ago as my motivation to keep moving. I'm hoping it is the Scottie Pippen alley-oop that I need to start putting points back on the board. </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhxaDbHKAX1fG29TPhAODI2h2Kp8P9W9Hfl1tM_rSgqAYmPSJ53vCtK8i_3Xk5d30bq16ih9AH34oBSyBTSJkJaD24sZsgAnosUatJLdIv-62e6OXXtTN9iTcS_QSTs359MqoTDYTVgFb5/s1600/DSC_0351.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhxaDbHKAX1fG29TPhAODI2h2Kp8P9W9Hfl1tM_rSgqAYmPSJ53vCtK8i_3Xk5d30bq16ih9AH34oBSyBTSJkJaD24sZsgAnosUatJLdIv-62e6OXXtTN9iTcS_QSTs359MqoTDYTVgFb5/s400/DSC_0351.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>Seriously, how do other fat people always avoid being photographed in profile, yet, someone always catches a picture of me looking perfectly round? For further proof of this phenomena, go ahead and browse my Facebook pictures. Two pictures can be taken on the exact same day, and from the front I look great, from the side I'm all blimpy. There's a reason all my Match.com pics are taken of me looking straight forward, preferably with my fat all stretched out and evenly distributed as I put my arms around two friends' shoulders. Anyway, this picture was taken the week I hit 257 for the first time. I was super proud of where I was at and imagined myself looking pretty svelte. Now that I've seen the picture I know that 257 was a great accomplishment, but it is nowhere near the end of my journey. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I guess at this point the best we can hope for is that we don't see this:<br />
<br />
</div><div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Oin4veUTbH4" width="425"></iframe></div><div><br />
But instead, maybe one of these:<br />
<br />
</div><div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/alijpYhHtyk" width="425"></iframe><br />
<br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Jeff Pool, 23</div><div><br />
</div>jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-49918224024804687002011-06-01T11:49:00.001-05:002011-06-01T12:58:10.242-05:00Monday 1540: My Letter Writing Campaign<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I've decided that in today's go-go world of craziness that we no longer take enough time in our busy lives to communicate with the ones that we love. I went off to college right around the time that e-mail was really taking off, so the joys of checking the mail daily to find a nice hand written note from a loved one was replaced with joke forwards and, eventually, 140 character or less text messages. As someone who has always been fond of the written word, I've decided that I'm going to start a letter writing campaign to help bring back some civility and all the warm fuzzies that died right around the time Snooki signed up for Twitter. I hope you enjoy a few of my chosen shared examples.</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear McFast Food Restaurant Who Shall Remain Nameless,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've made a conscious effort to avoid running through the drive-thru in my quest to drop some poundage. One thing I haven't quite been able to avoid is my Wednesday morning ritual of stopping for breakfast in Cambridge because you've done such a great job of marketing directly to me with promises of low calorie/low fat options. I don't want to reveal your identity because I would hate to single-handedly sway the popular opinion of your restaurant, but I almost always order the same medium black McCoffee, a large unsweetened McIced Tea, and your delicious new McOatmeal with cut up McRaisins and McApples in it. It is the perfect McWay for me to start my McDay. However, this morning your McCrew decided that my McOrder wasn't something that they felt they should properly pay any McAttention to. I should have learned from my mother a long time ago to always check the McOrder before I McLeave your restaurant, but I was in a hurry this morning. Admittedly, this is my McFault. Still, you can imagine my McSurprise when I opened my McBag and found the McFruit and McWalnut Salad instead of my McOatmeal. I get the McFruit from time to time, but I feel kind of stupid paying $2.50 for a half of a cut up apple, 3 grapes, 5 nuts, and yogurt that I strongly dislike. Instead, I choose to pay $2.50 for McOatmeal that would only cost a nickel if I brought it from home, but that at least fills me up for the morning. I was willing to forgive your first McTransgression, but I was a little disappointed when I opened the lid on my McCoffee to find that it had McCream in it. I McWant you, I McNeed you, but at this rate, there ain't no way I'm ever gonna McLove you, because in this case, two out of three is McBad. At least I took some McSolace in the fact that you couldn't possibly screw up my McTea. Unless, of course, you gave me McSugar in it. Which you McDid. I've never had McIssues with your particular branch before today, so I'm not sure if it was McTraining Day or if the overwhelming addition of McBingo to your lobby on Wednesday mornings has become too stressful for the McTeam to handle. Regardless, get your McShit together and let's try this thing again next McWeek. If not, I'm afraid I will have to reveal your restaurant's identity to the world.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sincerely,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your Loyal McCustomer Jeff</span></div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQyJY0RbrcjKgttaoeWiWohzRTzsP87oxDIFEUcoavOVWLrhiBp3f63I3eXQWj4tcjIqZ8P50zOxeCV0IviBDhuyAOlrMk6EvqQSDRMj2QrIExz6CiJt1tj9qTuXYbloNRiyI7HZSW5nMB/s1600/fast-food_www-txt2pic-com.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQyJY0RbrcjKgttaoeWiWohzRTzsP87oxDIFEUcoavOVWLrhiBp3f63I3eXQWj4tcjIqZ8P50zOxeCV0IviBDhuyAOlrMk6EvqQSDRMj2QrIExz6CiJt1tj9qTuXYbloNRiyI7HZSW5nMB/s400/fast-food_www-txt2pic-com.jpg" width="325" /></a></div><div></div><div>Attention Fire Bug,</div><div><br />
</div><div>I want to take a moment to send you a thank you for reminding me how beautiful the sunrise can be on a crisp spring morning. You see, had it not been for the fact that you fell asleep while cooking at 3 a.m., I would never have had the motivation to go outside that early on a Tuesday to sit on a curb with my fellow neighbors and feel the crisp air blowing through the pee hole in my pajama bottoms. My years of professional experience in college housing made late night alarms seem like commonplace, so please don't worry about me being panicked or scared for my things as I struggled to find proper clothes and make my way down a smoke filled hallway. After all, my insurance policy is all paid up and you probably would have done me a huge favor by helping me get rid of some of that unnecessary junk I continue to move from new home to new home. Still, since you are as incompetent at burning down apartment complexes as you are at the highly delicate process of making a frozen pizza when you are drunk/stoned, I instead get to come home to an apartment that smells like it was built in the middle of a forest fire. It is only a slight inconvenience that was more than made up for by that beautiful sunrise that I was able to witness as no less than three fire trucks and six cop cars filled our parking lot with their lights flashing at all times for a full two hours. I hadn't really had a chance to meet any of my fellow neighbors since I'd moved in, so I'd also like to thank you for the opportunity to find out just how absolutely afraid I should be to come home on a nightly basis (just kidding, they were all great except for the crazy guy with the dog who was cursing at everyone to call 911 again because it took the fire department three minutes to get there and the dickhead with the Droid that felt the need to film the entire event and almost got knocked over because he wouldn't take his stupid camera phone out of the fireman's face). Anyway, I hope you had a chance to talk with the firefighters and learn some techniques because I'm almost pretty sure you're going to need them to put out the flaming bags you're about to find on your doorstep. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Warmest wishes,</div><div><br />
</div><div>Jeff in 203</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><b><i>Howdy to the Immigrant Family in 305,</i></b></div><div><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div><b><i>Welcome to our country! I haven't had a chance to formally meet you, but I am one of the biggest proponents of immigration as you try to chase that American dream. I'd like to try to help out with the assimilation process as I'm deducing from your thick accents that you may not have had the benefits of yearly trainings in elementary school on fire, tornado, and atomic bomb drills. We have two very distinct kinds of sirens that, like Pavlovian dogs, we have been trained to react to in very specific ways. If we do, we usually begin to salivate and receive some kind of treat, like not dying. The first alert comes from outside your apartment and is known as a "Severe Weather Warning". This is usually blasted when there is a tornado or some other kind of potentially dangerous weather in the area. Generally speaking, we do our best to get our families into a safe place where blowing glass and debris won't puncture their heads. Admittedly, I'm a bit of a nervous-Nelly when it comes to weather, but if you turn on the TV or radio, they will generally confirm that parts of your city are being destroyed. The other type of alert you will hear comes from inside your apartment, and that means there is a fire and that you should calmly make your way to the nearest designated exit. It helps if you go over this plan with your children so that they also know what to do in case you are in some way incapacitated or absent. When I was a kid, we were encouraged to do the math to figure out if jumping from our bedroom windows would kill us or just break our legs, and then someone invented a rope ladder. They were living their American dream. I mention all of these things because I'm almost positive there has been some kind of breakdown in communication considering the day that there was a lightning storm with tornadoes all around us, you decided it would be a great day to bring the kids outside to jump in puddles in the parking lot and, strangely enough, fly a kite while standing in said puddles. Those clouds are really neat looking, but don't be fooled by the guy with the mullet standing next to you taking pictures of them. We allow him to do that because he's probably safer in the parking lot than he would have been in his trailer park. You, on the other hand, have a great apartment (albeit on the third floor) that features interior bathrooms far from windows and access to the ground floor hallways that serve as protective structures. While part of our American lore was that Ben Franklin discovered electricity by flying a kite in a storm, please realize that lots of other people have died trying to do the same thing. Also, when the fire alarm went off, you chose not to bring your family outside, but instead had all six of them stand on your tiny deck area. The fire wasn't on your floor or near the staircase, so I'm 99% sure you had a clear path to safety. Your decision to instead push the maximum weight limit on your patio and watch your neighbors from above was one that had us scratching our heads and that led to that policeman being so unkind to you as he tried to get you to come down using the stairs. So, in summary, outside siren, stay inside; inside siren, go outside. </i></b></div><div><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div><b><i>Your concerned safety officer,</i></b></div><div><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div><b><i>Jeff</i></b></div><div><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div><br />
</div><div>To My Darling 29-year Old Jeff,</div><div><br />
</div><div>You are no longer 21. Please make the proper notes and act accordingly. Your already rest deprived body and mind can't handle unexpected losses of sleep because your neighbor decided to act as carelessly as you did all weekend. Also, we're trying really, really hard to do a good thing and get healthy. A three day binger of drinking, red meat, and cigars is not exactly what the doctor ordered. Playing basketball yesterday was tough with smoker's lung and the smell of booze permeating from my overly sweaty pores. Now we have to work extra hard just to get back to where we left off last week, which is tough because of the shortened week. I'm afraid this might be my first week with a gain since I started this challenge. Still, it was great to spend much needed time with friends. I'll let it slide this time, but let's not make this a regular occurrence.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Still dealing with your sins,</div><div><br />
</div><div>Yourself</div><div><br />
</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Dearest Kacey G.,</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>I wanted to give you a much deserved shout-out in the blog. You've been a tremendous friend to me since I've moved to Minnesota and were integral in making me feel welcomed in my new group of friends. You've always supported and pimped out my blog, and when I was so unexpectedly dumped in February, you stepped up your nagging efforts about why I wasn't posting regularly so that I wouldn't feel like I was missing a woman's harping voice in my head. I may never need a wife as long as I've got you there giving me back-handed "suggestions" to get my weekly chores done. Just kidding! You are the tops, and even though you had to beg to get a mention, the blog probably would have died a long time ago without your encouragement and thinking that my Thanksgiving jokes were funny. Keep on keeping me on track.</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Roll Tide!</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Jeffrey L. Pool</b></span></div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Hey Scale,</div><div><br />
</div><div>'Sup, buddy?! I want to thank you for getting along with me so well these past couple weeks. I'm not sure if you realize just how unhealthy my codependence on you is, but if this was 1992 and we lived in Long Island, I'd shoot your wife in the face. That's how much I need you to love me. Anyway, I'm writing to you today while we're still buddies to let you know that whatever I say this Friday when I step on you is not out of anger towards you, but rather out of disappointment in myself. I had a few drinks, ate a small cow, and even ordered pizza at 3 a.m. because I'm smart enough to know better than to try to cook when I could potentially fall asleep and burn down a building. In the process, I'm pretty sure I gained about 10 lbs. Because of the short week and work conflicts, I was only able to play basketball once this week, which means I can't even rely on that to help get me back down. I enclosed a picture that we took together last Friday before I started my downhill slide by drinking at 11:30 in the morning at a retirement party. During this week's trials and tribulations, please look at this picture and remember with fondness the one glorious week when I was in control and together we succeeded. I hope that by the end of next week I will once again be ready to hold you lovingly in my arms as we jump up and down to celebrate our big victory, much like last Friday when I hit 257 on the nose, a whopping 4.2 lb weight loss from the week before. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVh_m774hptYGUfkC2tbvPc951EwUDRzrBJ0kjE6ZGGNXqmNsYTDBIZJ6oDybwlkgy7IKN2MwXygMLZ2nXxVmLwRMQisMJn2t-rLmztJYpKh03WO736mfqS5H41GsH9L8YN-n4F7d2ZjP/s1600/IMG00010-20110525-0709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVh_m774hptYGUfkC2tbvPc951EwUDRzrBJ0kjE6ZGGNXqmNsYTDBIZJ6oDybwlkgy7IKN2MwXygMLZ2nXxVmLwRMQisMJn2t-rLmztJYpKh03WO736mfqS5H41GsH9L8YN-n4F7d2ZjP/s320/IMG00010-20110525-0709.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>I look forward to eventually celebrating the monumental accomplishment of 20 total pounds lost, which I'm hoping we can hit together in the next two weeks. Just please, please don't take any of my anger this week personally.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Your fair weather friend,</div><div><br />
</div><div>Jeff</div>jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-24372993749510686382011-05-24T10:45:00.001-05:002011-05-24T10:55:56.906-05:00Monday 1539: A Story Right Out of the MoviesI posted my usual Friday weigh-in results last Friday instead of holding them for a Monday blog, so hopefully you're up to speed on the fact that I was on the brink of crossing into a major milestone for me. I generally try to only post those weight updates once a week to hide my neurosis and the fact that I jump on the scale daily, just to keep a tab on things. Anyway, this past weekend was the first one EVER where I didn't have something going on that involved copious amounts of food and drink or where I didn't feel bad for myself and order a large pizza and a pint of Ben and Jerry's. My successes last week put a little pep in my dieting step, so I kicked it into high gear. Anyway, I hopped on the scale yesterday morning and....(drum roll please).....(dudududududududu):<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaBQQfDCcFO5xyDvzQ_CDL32yAD5rYg84c2YRS-NyLnra0cN1HnrXXX6Nf-BfIdiWiOup1vOLpDSQHZOB1EtskHp01yex7MsJJ3JTe7gIyRswD5UZkpGpTlzESfifqOtCrkbzVQ_TvD3QA/s1600/IMG00008-20110523-0633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaBQQfDCcFO5xyDvzQ_CDL32yAD5rYg84c2YRS-NyLnra0cN1HnrXXX6Nf-BfIdiWiOup1vOLpDSQHZOB1EtskHp01yex7MsJJ3JTe7gIyRswD5UZkpGpTlzESfifqOtCrkbzVQ_TvD3QA/s1600/IMG00008-20110523-0633.jpg" /></a></div>I finally weigh less than what is posted on my driver's license! That was a pretty tremendous way to start a Monday, so that pushed me to put together another five strong days.<br />
<br />
I had someone express concern the other day that I perhaps wasn't doing this in a healthy way or that I was in some way starving myself. Nothing can be further from the truth. I've only been averaging about 2 lbs per week, which isn't out of control crazy. According to a nifty calorie calculator that I've used in the past, I would have to eat 2,800 calories a day with almost no activity to maintain a weight of 261 lbs. Generally speaking, an average of 500 calories a day cut equals a 1 pound weight loss. I've been trying to keep my daily caloric intake in between 1,500-2,000 calories, depending on what I'm doing. I've also increased my physical activity from absolute zero to at least trying to play basketball for an hour two times a week. This weekend I did anything but starve myself. I just actually took the time to make the right decision instead of going into fat person auto-pilot. Healthy food preparation doesn't take any longer than unhealthy food preparation. You just have to make that decision to grab the veggies out of the fridge instead of the frozen pizza out of the freezer. Hell, I even went to the movies and took the time to quick look at the back of all of the candy because I can't go to a movie without a treat. I ended up settling on Twizzlers and a Coke Zero.<br />
<br />
Speaking of movies, I am a movie theater snob, and the only time I'll ever really enjoy myself is when I'm the only person in the theater. I've known this for awhile, but this weekend just hammered it home. I used to be really self-conscious about being a lone ranger in a theater, assuming that having someone next to you to share in the experience somehow enhanced it. After years of travelling by myself on the road, I realized just how wrong I was and how great it could be to have it all for me. I decided to go to Thor because I've yet to meet a super hero movie that I didn't like. Even the really bad ones get me excited. Marvel has a nifty trick of throwing extra scenes after the credits that tease The Avengers movie that comes out next summer and ties all the movies together. I decided that instead of waiting through ten minutes of credits, I would get there early enough to watch the clip at the tail end of the show before mine. I was willing to sacrifice the half hour between shows to save me ten minutes at the end of mine. I absolutely hate getting to movies late because I'm kind of particular about where I sit. I'm an upper-middle, middle kind of guy. I like to go about 64% up towards the top, and I absolutely need to sit in the middle of the row. I don't pee, I don't get up for snacks, so the middle is never a problem. Anyway, the crowd from the previous show cleared out, and I took my place in the best seat in the house. This was a little after 6, and my show started at 6:30. 6:15 comes, and I'm the only person in the theater. Score! I was pretty sure this was going to be the greatest night of my life, but as I was high-fiving myself an obese older couple came into the theater. Mind you, the ENTIRE THEATER WAS EMPTY except for me. These folks could have sat absolutely anywhere. Even if they liked my seat, they could have sat just to the right or left of me in front or behind me and I wouldn't have had a problem. Nope, no such luck. They headed up the stairs and sat directly in front of me, with the gentleman's reclining seat coming directly back into crossed legs. I was a little upset, but whatever. I brought up their obesity not because I have a thing against fat people. No, I brought it up because of course they took advantage of the all you can eat popcorn and all you can drink pop that comes with the large sizes. Throughout the duration of the movie, they refilled four freaking times! And there's no quiet way to eat and share popcorn, so I had to suffer through chewing, bag cracklings, and then the guy standing up over and over and over throughout the movie. Breathe deep, Jeff, breathe deep. This alone was enough to perturb me, but of course they weren't the only ones that ruined my night. At 6:20, a little boy's birthday party decided to join the festivities. I already don't think anyone under the age of 19 should be allowed into any movie ever, so I could feel myself tensing up. They came in and the dad surveyed the enormous open theater that currently had two popcorn balls sitting in front of a clearly agitated 29-year old. Let's see...300 empty seats...ummm...oh, I know! C'mon, gang, let's fill the entire row directly behind the sociopath! These wonderful little darlings spent the entire movie running up and down the row to talk to each other, running up and down the stairs to pee and get more sugar, and bumping into my seat every chance they got. Serenity now!<br />
<br />
Okay, the credits were starting, I could do this. I love the previews, sometimes as much as the movies. In a world filled with shorter and shorter attention spans, I fully expect that in my lifetime there will be a full-length feature of just 3-minute clips from different superhero stories. I'll be in heaven. I was trying to get my head in the zone to ignore the munching in front of me and the playground behind me when I saw an older lady walk into the theater. I knew exactly where she was headed before she even started up the stairs. She came directly to my row and walked all the way down it towards me. She left exactly one seat between us. I couldn't wait for her to turn to me every five minutes to ask me what was going on, who the guy on the screen with that hammer thingy was, and whether or not I wanted a hard candy out of her purse. Luckily for me, she wouldn't have to rely on my knowledge of all things superhero because three more people came into the theater just as the commercials for Coke were ending and the previews were beginning. Clearly my row was now a little lopsided with the little old lady sitting next to me, so they decided to balance it out by coming and sitting exactly one seat away from me on my right. Folks, if I'm lying, I'm dying. They were younger, two girls and a guy. The gentleman took it upon himself to be Wikipedia for the entire crowd and narrate every single preview. "See that? Those are the first X-Men, and that one guy is supposed to be Cyclops's brother!" I was now trapped on every side in a weird cage consisting of four worst-possible-movie-goer-stereotypes. We were only short the black couple that kept yelling at Thor to not go into the dark room from having the worst possible movie experience possible. <br />
<br />
I ended up really enjoying Thor. Let me recap the plot for you. There's this guy named Thor who is from another world where he is a prince. He messes up and gets banished to Earth where a fat guy stands up and goes to get more popcorn every thirty minutes. He eventually meets Natalie Portman who helps him run up and down the stairs and plays tag with him in the front of the theater because the dad has evidently forgotten that we live in a civilized society where that type of behavior is really unacceptable in a public place where people shelled out $10 for a ticket and $10 for flipping licorice and a Coke. Eventually his brother, Loki, stands up to yell at her elderly friend Mildred (I assume that was her name) who was about 15 minutes late getting to the movie and couldn't find her friend in a theater with 15 people in it, even though we were all sitting directly next to each other. After Mildred added to the body count in our row, Loki recapped the first 15 minutes of the storyline and discussed whether or not it had started raining yet. It was definitely a big summer blockbuster that featured a lot of cool special effects, like when the girl sitting next to me checked her cell phone every two minutes which added a much needed obnoxious light into my sight line. Finally, everything worked out in the end after an epic battle, which I never would have figured out on my own had the dude sitting next to cell phone girl hadn't verbalized the name of every single minor character, weapon, and planet in the movie, and how true or untrue it was to the original source material in the comics, including every single series of reboots throughout the last 40 years. As I got up to leave the theater when the credits started to roll, the know-it-all next to me took it upon himself to loudly inform his two female friends, "Wow, these guys must not know much about superhero movies! Everyone knows there's a secret clip at the end of the credits."<br />
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When I walked out of the theater, it was of course pouring rain. I came to the movies for Thor, but I felt like I was leaving with The Incredible Hulk. I considered sneaking into another theater in hopes of having a better movie experience, but I decided I'd better just call it a night. After standing out under the canopy for a couple of minutes and determining there was absolutely no way the rain was going to lighten up or that I could avoid getting wet, I made a mad dash for my car. It was raining hard enough that had I been a turkey, I would have drowned. About half-way there it started to hail. I was 99% sure that the kook who predicted The Rapture was on to something. Still, I kept my composure and avoided the temptation to hit McDonald's on the way home to ease my nerves. And I survived. Each day is a battle, but I'm going on a two week streak of survival and success. Here's to hoping that this movie has a happy ending.<br />
<br />
By Odin's beard,<br />
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Jeffreyjpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-24853526566998367152011-05-20T08:51:00.001-05:002011-05-20T08:56:29.326-05:00It's Friday, Friday, Gotta Get Down on Friday!Before we get too far into this post, let's all take a minute for a dance party at our desks!<br />
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That's right, folks! Yesterday was Thursday, tomorrow is Saturday, which means today is Friday! And thanks to my fantastic employer, Fridays in the summer mean that I'm a free man at 11:30. That makes me want to keep the dance party going!<br />
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For those from my Hartford crew, I hope this song will always remind you of Sherrie Kapperman in the top row of the old high school gym screaming out "Whoomp! There it is!" every time someone made a basket. Good times.<br />
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I'm in a decidedly better mood today, partly because of the short Friday, partly because I'm listening to Tag Team, partly because my head cold has moved into my chest, and mostly because I jumped on the scale this morning. Ladies and gentlemen, I present:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjx4K5h_6u-L9xasSMvCiO2WJSVGWDEBs981gDnc49FZgE5f2osmC66-kje8-PLgOd0vkfvl-ErwB8BmDB4TjUnslg6RnrlCSUde84HMLJL33VkmB_UQYVJztoyCVgExXzpdOhHWW4gcx/s1600/261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjx4K5h_6u-L9xasSMvCiO2WJSVGWDEBs981gDnc49FZgE5f2osmC66-kje8-PLgOd0vkfvl-ErwB8BmDB4TjUnslg6RnrlCSUde84HMLJL33VkmB_UQYVJztoyCVgExXzpdOhHWW4gcx/s320/261.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Suck it, Trebek! I'm not sure how it happened, but you can bet your sweet bippy that I am pretty excited that I managed to have a huge swing from Monday to today. I'm even more excited because this tells me that even though I can and will screw up, I'm still dedicated enough to rebound, even when I don't think I am. Making the right decision is starting to become the easier path. I want the rice and veggies, and I get angry when I don't get to play basketball. I binged last week because I was bored and I was tired, but the big thing that I noticed was that it didn't give me the same sense of full that I used to get when I pulled that crap. This past weekend when I did it, I felt physically full (almost sick), whereas in the past I used to get some kind of spiritual pick up from it. Eating $10 worth of Taco Bell used to give me a runner's high and filled an emotional void. This no longer seems to be the case. I guess it is time to move on to heroin... <br />
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Seriously, though, seeing a new "middle" number is something that is super motivating, and while I should have been in the 250's this Friday, my recovery from a slip up lets me know that next week will finally be the week. I have no plans for the weekend besides resting up and trying to shake this pneumonia, so I have no excuses. Getting under 260 would be a significant milestone because it would mean that for the second time since 2005 I wouldn't be lying on my driver's license. I don't know why 260 has always been the number I used, but you better believe that the minute I hit 259 I'm jumping in my car and getting a speeding ticket just so I can point out that my weight listed is a little high. I'm also going to go to every doctor I've seen in the past year just to make sure they get my charts updated. Seriously, is there anything more annoying than the condescending way that they weigh you? As soon as you step off the scale, you know they are thinking, "We probably don't need the doctor to diagnose this one..." That's probably why every single time I've gone to the doctor they have told me that it is just heartburn and that I should take some Prevacid. Bronchitis? Prevacid. Chronic cough? Prevacid. Missing limb? Just crush up a little Prevacid and rub it on the nub. <br />
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Final thought for the day: If tomorrow really is the Rapture, as is being predicted, it was nice knowing you. I have a feeling I won't be on the same eternal bus as you and Kirk Cameron. The following thought popped in my head this morning: "If tomorrow the world ends, I'm going to be pretty pissed off that I ate salads and black bean burgers all week. Soooooo, I should probably stop by Papa Murphy's so that I can spend eternity with something delicious in my belly." But then the following song popped on my iPod:<br />
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I'm torn between the line "As soon as you're born you start dying, so you might as well have a good time" and the title of the song, "Sheep go to Heaven, Goats go to Hell". I suppose I should probably hedge my bets, at least until Saturday is over, and continue to eat like a sheep. Maybe I'll be able to pull the wool over Someone's eyes.<br />
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I'm Baaaaaaah-ck (that's a sheep noise AND a reference to the Terminator becoming the Sperminator),<br />
<br />
Jeffjpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-54042115563642805542011-05-19T13:44:00.001-05:002011-05-19T13:45:12.291-05:00Monday 1538: Down With the SicknessI wish I had good news to post today about my progress, but unfortunately this has been a terrible, horrible, very bad, no good week. For starters, I forgot to bring my scale with me last weekend to my parents' house, so I didn't have an accurate reading to post on Monday to show off my results. I barely remember what I did yesterday, but from what I do recall from last week, it wasn't good. I was pretty energized going into the week, but as the stress of getting stuff ready for my trip and a surprise birthday party on Saturday started to mount, I fell back into old habits. I very well may have eaten out every single day. Anyway, I hopped on my mom's scale last Friday and it showed a 4 lb. weight gain, which of course woke me up and drove me to push through the weekend to try to get this back on track.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Just kidding! Instead, it stressed me out some more, and I ended up eating a footlong sub for lunch, the better part of a family sized pizza for dinner (along with S'mores dessert pizza, which is a product that some evil genius invented to tempt fat people), and about three pounds of goulash for lunch on Saturday. I tried really hard to limit myself at the party, knowing that I would be getting more than my fair share of calories through liquids. However, round about my 18th beer, I decided I better sample the pork sandwiches and birthday cake as a form of late night quality control. After all, I would have hated for someone to get a bad pork sandwich at 3 am. The party raged on into the wee hours of the morning, and after taking more of a nap than a night's sleep, I woke up and made breakfast pizza for my family and some friends that were staying. </div><div><br />
</div><div>When I got back in my car to make the 7+ hour trip back to Minneapolis, I was tired and hung over. I made it about 45 minutes down the road when I convinced myself that the only way I could keep myself awake was to stop at Dairy Queen and order a 1/2 Double Cheeseburger Combo with fries, a Coke, and a medium Blizzard, just in case. At this point I went from having any common sense and will power to just trying to exist and get my butt back to Minnesota. I had lost the power to fight myself. I ended up stopping two or three more times before I got home for more energy drinks (lots of sugar and calories) and snacks (ditto). I was rewarded for my weakness when I stepped on the scale Monday morning and saw 272, almost exactly where I was a month ago. To top it all off, Spring has finally sprung, so while I found it hard to breathe because of my poor decisions, I also had to deal with some pretty sever allergies kicking in.</div><div><br />
</div><div>272 was not and is not acceptable under any conditions, so I decided to get mad. I was ready to get back out on the basketball court after the previous week provided limited opportunities to play with graduation hogging the gym. We ended up having enough guys to go 5-on-5, which meant we were going full court, something I had yet to do. I was excited for the challenge and was looking forward to the workout. Unfortunately, it only took about half a game of pounding my body up and down the floor in new shoes before my legs gave out. My shins started hurting so bad that I could barely walk. I tried toughing it out, but just like my 5k (which coincidentally took place exactly one year to the day prior), my shins hurt to the point where I lost feeling in my feet. I'm not sure if you've ever tried to run when your feet are asleep, but it isn't an easy thing to do. I gutted out two games, but then subbed myself out and headed for the showers. My legs hurt so bad that I could barely change shoes. I ended up sitting in my cubicle with bags of ice on both shins, hoping the pain would go away. I've mentioned this before, but there is nothing more frustrating than when your body doesn't cooperate with the drives and wants of your mind. This was my Monday.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Monday night, my allergies/cold got progressively worse. I started thinking that at least 5 lbs of the 272 could be attributed to snot. I ended up sleeping on my couch that night because I kept rolling on my back in bed and then choking and gagging. I maybe got three hours of sleep, which paired with my two hours from two nights before left me feeling like death warmed over. I decided to take a sick day on Tuesday to try to get my body back together. I headed to the grocery store to restock on fruits, veggies, and decongestants. I even decided to splurge and try some black bean veggie burgers, which turned out to be okay. Not great, not awful, but when you hide it between a 100 calorie thin bun and a piece of pepper jack with some salsa sprinkled over it, it went down. Anyway, I spent most of Tuesday pounding fluids and hoping the Claritin would kick in. No such luck. The past two days I've felt almost as bad, if not maybe a little worse than I did Tuesday. I've been at work, but mostly just to spread my germs to as many people as humanly possible because I'm a sharer. I'm hoping that it is just a sleep issue and that a down weekend will help me get back up for next week. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Anyway, I'll hop on my scale tomorrow and see what the damage is. I've stayed off the scale all week for fear that my bad behavior will show results that will just make me feel worse than I already do. Two straight weeks of gains would mean that I have some heavy lifting to do in the next two weeks to keep on my path to reach my 30 lb target by October. If I was a contestant on Biggest Loser, I feel like they'd be cutting to a commercial right before my weight was revealed and show Jillian and Bob gasping. That's how up in the air this week could be.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Anyway, since my Monday post became a Thursday post, I promise to not keep you in the dark with the results. I'll throw them up tomorrow morning. Also, it isn't too late to pledge some per pound money to help out the American Heart Association! We've had some big dollars rolling in, but I'm still going to be well short of my goal. Plus, at the rate I'm going, I'm probably going to end up having to pay out money. Just think...if you pledged $2 a pound and I lost 30, you'd be on the hook to a great organization for $60. If you pledged $2 and I GAINED 30 lbs, you'd pocket a quick $60! Folks, those are my kind of odds. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Trying to live Claritin Clear,</div><div><br />
</div><div>Jeff</div>jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-35830325146166508952011-05-11T12:06:00.000-05:002011-05-11T12:06:29.779-05:00Don't Just Sit There!This post is a blatant borrow from another website (which gives full permission to use the following infographic) that was shared by my friend Cody on Facebook. I've been thinking about the subject of sitting a lot lately as I realized I'm in a seated position almost all day, so these stats are particularly pertinent to me. I try to remember to get up once an hour and walk around a little, but I'm not always the best at getting off of my butt. As I've started increasing my physical activity levels, I notice that my body actually feels great when we finish up playing, but that after sitting for a couple of hours afterwards, I can barely get out of my chair because my lower back and knees don't seem to want to cooperate. Anyway, this is my cop-out blog post for today because I found these stats to be absolutely terrifying and realize that the way I go about my job may be inadvertently log-jamming my weight loss success and most likely shaving years off of my life. I guess I need to not just sit here and should probably look into busting a move. Enjoy!<br />
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<a href="http://www.medicalbillingandcoding.org/sitting-kills"><img alt="Sitting is Killing You" border="0" src="http://images.medicalbillingandcoding.org.s3.amazonaws.com/sitting-is-killing-you.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
Via: <a href="http://www.medicalbillingandcoding.org/">Medical Billing And Coding</a><br />
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Sitting on the dock of the dead,<br />
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Jeffjpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-39082644466744143062011-05-09T15:01:00.003-05:002011-05-09T15:54:24.827-05:00Monday 1537: Seinfeldian Wisdom<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I have been a huge Seinfeld fan for as long as I can remember. I used to make my family watch it live every Thursday night, and once it hit syndication, I made them sit through two hours of it a day. There was something in the wit and wisdom of each show that spoke to me more than any other TV show could (I'm not claiming Seinfeld for my own since clearly almost everyone else in America felt the same way). I always had a desire to be one of the gang, and I felt like my dry humor and general distaste for everything would have made me a great fifth member in that booth at Monk's. I own every season of Seinfeld on DVD, as well as Curb Your Enthusiasm, which was created by Seinfeld's co-creator and inspiration for George, Larry David. It is a lot like Seinfeld only if Seinfeld was on HBO and had cussing (which it is and does). I've been lucky enough to see Jerry live in Sioux Falls twice, and I'm proud to say that one of those two times the tickets were freebies because of my knowledge of all things Seinfeld (if I remember right, I knew Golden Boy was his favorite shirt, Monk's was the name of the coffee shop, Tweety Bird was the Pez dispenser that Jerry used to make Elaine laugh, Uma Thurman's phone number was on the back of the dry cleaning receipt that got ruined when the moisturizer leaked all over the suit Kramer sold Bania, and that Kramer's first name was Cosmo). So, I decided to turn my love of Seinfeld and Seinfeld quotes into my blog post for the week. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">(<b>Disclaimer: </b>It was after I typed this whole post that I remembered that one of my favorite sports bloggers, Bill Simmons, had done something similar to this last week with The Wire. I've been reading Simmons for a long, long time, and his writing clearly influences the way that I write, so I just wanted to give him some credit although I didn't consciously mean to rip off his idea. That is all.) </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">So, without further ado:</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><b><u><b>Frank Costanza</b>:</u> I have been performing feats of strength all morning. </b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">No, seriously! I've officially gotten over my hatred for working out, and I've decided to step it up a notch. I finally am starting to get my legs and lungs back because I'm playing basketball a couple of times a week. This weekend I walked to the store to get some groceries and Redbox movies (yeah, the Playstation Network is still down, so I can't use Netflix. This is like week three, and I'm losing patience and faith in Sony). I played Ultimate Frisbee with our Americorps folks and the Math tutors (even though I'd already played basketball that morning and my legs were dead). I'm not exercising five days a week, but I am enjoying the exercise that I am doing. That is so much more crucial to this being a long term success than if I had just started forcing myself on a treadmill. That's the reason that racquetball worked and the 5k didn't when I was in Sheldon. I'm starting to notice the aches and pains lessening, and I really do have more energy throughout the day. This has to be a good thing.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><b><u>George:</u> What day is today?....Aw. ..Tuesday! Damn it. I shouldn't have worked out today. Mr Wilhem has called a big meeting and now I'm gonna be sweating through the whole thing.<br />
<u>Jerry:</u> Why? You took a shower.<br />
<u>George:</u> Aahhrgh...it wouldn't take! Ten minutes from now, I'll be sweating all over again. I can feel it. I'm a human heat pump!<br />
<u>Kramer:</u> You should take cold showers.<br />
<u>George:</u> Cold showers? They're for psychotics.<br />
<u>Kramer:</u> Well I take 'em! They give me a Whooooosh!</b></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: normal;">Man, do I feel George's pain here. I don't remember having such issues with this before, but I usually don't completely dry off until I get in my car to go home at the end of the day. I've got a small desktop fan that I keep blowing on my face which seems to be a decent Band-Aid for the problem, but if I have to get up and walk around, BAM!, I'm soaked again. I'm not all stinky and gross (at least I don't think I am), but still, not cool. These showers never take! </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><u><b>Kramer</b>:</u> Boy, these pretzels are makin' me thirsty. </span></b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">Man, everything is making me thirsty. I feel like I'm never not thirsty. It probably has something to do with the constant sweating all day. I really, really have to watch this because, as I said in a previous post, I am super sensitive to hydration issues. I've already noticed that I'm getting the jimmy legs at night. I always feel like I'm one funny turn from having my entire body cramp up on me. As I type, my thighs are quivering. In fact, the other night I woke up with one of the worst, weirdest cramps I've ever had in my life. It was like it was in the tendon that ran from my toe all the way up my shin. I'm not even sure if I have a tendon there, but whatever it was, it was pulling. My stupid toe was sticking straight up, which is really something since it is on my foot where the toes don't bend. While that leg was busy trying to pop my toe off, my other calf decided it needed to get in on the action. I ended up having to sleep in my recliner for the rest of the night because I didn't trust my legs to stay put in bed. I also get really, really tired and worn out when I start to get dehydrated, and I've noticed certain days where I let that get a little out of hand.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><u>George</u></span>:<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"> I'm 33 years old; I haven't outgrown the problems of puberty, I'm already facing the problems of old age. I completely skipped healthy adulthood. I went from having orgasms immediately, to taking forever. You could do your taxes in the time it takes me to have an orgasm. I never had a normal... medium orgasm. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><u>Jerry</u></span>:<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"> I never had a really good pickle. </span></b></span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is one of my all-time favorite Seinfeld exchanges. I sympathize with the whole still feeling like I'm in puberty while feeling the effects of old age creeping in. Maybe not in the orgasm thing (No, no, no! I'm solid in that department. Fit as a fiddle. Healthy as a horse...okay, maybe a Shetland pony, but still, solid (I'm immediately embarrassed about that entire last aside knowing that both my mother and grandmother read this, but it came out and I can't take it back because I'm too lazy to delete it)), but definitely in other ways. For instance, if I don't wash my face three times a day, I look like I should be standing over the fryer at McDonald's. From time to time, my voice still breaks. On the flip side, my hip always wants to go out of place. I get heartburn if I eat anything spicier than chicken broth. It takes me about five days to get over a night at the bar. My hair, including my beautiful red beard, is starting to become bright white, which is particularly a problem because I've got short, poofy hair, so the grays stick straight out because they are hard and wirey. I know a lot of the old age symptoms are because of the way I lived my 20's, so I'm hoping I can get some of them reversed so that I can at least have a couple of years where my body and I can get along.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><u><b><span class="Apple-style-span">Jerry</span></b>:</u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"> I learned something. Letting my emotions out was the best thing that's ever happened to me. Sure, I'm not funny anymore. There's more to life than making shallow, fairly obvious observations. </span></span></b></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I'm happy to report that whatever emotional roller coaster I needed to go on to be well, I've officially ridden it and have come out the other side smiling. I want to thank everyone again for all of their love and support over the past couple of months. I know I don't always deal with things the way that everyone else would like to see me deal with them, but some magic combination of emotional breakdowns, isolation, sloppy bar time, deep conversations, and great advice has allowed my heart to heal 1000 times better than my nose did. Oh yeah, I have an enormous scar on my nose which was NOT what the doctor promised me on that blood-soaked night. So, yeah, thanks again to my friends, thanks for nothing to the medical profession.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; line-height: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br />
<div style="font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>George:</u></b> Why did it all turn out like this for me? I had so much promise. I was personable, I was bright. Oh, maybe not academically speaking, but ... I was perceptive. I always know when someone's uncomfortable at a party. It became very clear to me sitting out there today, that every decision I've ever made, in my entire life, has been wrong. My life is the opposite of everything I want it to be. Every instinct I have, in every aspect of life, be it something to wear, something to eat ... It's all been wrong. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>Jerry</u></b>:<b> If every instinct you have is wrong, then the opposite would have to be right.</b></span></div><div style="font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>George</u>:</b> Yes, I will do the opposite. I used to sit here and do nothing, and regret it for the rest of the day, so now I will do the opposite, and I will do something!</span></div><div style="font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>Elaine</u>:</b> Well, there's no telling what can happen from this.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">I think that George's theory of doing the opposite was one of the biggest contributing factors to my personal growth in the past couple of months. Friends have heard me say that this is new Jeff who does the complete opposite of what Jeff from 10 years ago would have done. Instead of tuna on toast, I'm ordering chicken salad on rye, untoasted, with a side of potato salad and a cup of tea! It is as much a "Yes Man" theory as anything else. When an opportunity presents itself, I don't let myself say no anymore. Did I want to play basketball? No, but I did and now it is one of the highlights of my day. Did I want to get back into the dating world? I was a little scared, but I took the first step and haven't regretted a single minute of it. Do I want to hang out after work? I'm a hermit at heart, but I did it and I've gained such fantastic new friends from the process. I'm out there, everybody, and I'm loving every minute of it!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b><u>Jerry:</u> Are you sure you want to get married? I mean, it's a big change of life.</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b> <u>Elaine:</u> Jerry, it's 3 a.m. and I'm at a cock fight. What am I clinging to?</b></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">Okay, so maybe I'm not ready to get married right this very second, but in no way have I been burned by the process. If there's one thing I've learned from all of this, it's that the best version of Jeff is the version that is giving love and being loved. As much as I enjoy sitting on my couch in my underwear watching hours of Seinfeld reruns and playing video games or going to a dirty bar and dirty dancing on some dirty girl, it turns out I'm much happier when I'm with someone sharing my smarmy comments about a movie or dirty dancing with them. Although I've dated, I've never really had to "date", if that makes sense. I'm kind of looking forward to it.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><u>George: </u>Jerry, just remember, it's not a lie if you believe it.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"> </span></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">Amazingly enough, this is probably the philosophy I most live by. That probably disgusts most of you, but eh, what am I going to do? This general principle is the one that by far makes me the most like George than any of the other characters because I believe that in order to be the best me, it takes a little fibbing. For instance, when I started this project, did I really think I could make it six months and be successful? Of course not! What past proof did I have that I was capable of making this thing work? I was (and at times still am) scared shitless about it. To compensate, I'm overly confident on this blog about my belief in my future success, and after I type it enough, I start to believe it. There is a level of confidence and self-assurance that I have to give to myself. Look at George...he's a short, balding, stocky man who bounces from job to job and is a fairly miserable human being. Somehow, he still is one of the most arrogant, self-assured men in the world who constantly gets the girl. Now look at me...I'm the same guy, only with hair! I really have no reason to be as cocky as I am. Still, no matter how awful the hand I'm dealt or how short my comings might be, I am the best because I believe I'm the best thanks to years of studying George Costanza. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><u>Jerry</u></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><u>:</u> Boy, you sure do have a lot of friends, how come I never see any of these people? </span></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b> <span style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span style="color: #333333;"><u>Kramer</u></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><u>:</u> They want to know how come they never see you. </span></b></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">I talk about all of these great friends of mine, but I NEED to start seeing you people more often. The last time I was in Sioux Falls, other than a pit stop in February, was back in November. The last time I saw my Sheldon friends, other than a tearful pit stop back in February, was last June. The last time I saw some of my Minnesota friends was in January. Hell, I've got some of my best friends who I haven't seen in years. My social calendar will be filled this summer.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>Jerry:</u> Golden Boy is always the first shirt I wear out of the laundry, here touch Golden Boy! But see, look at the collar, see it's fraying. Golden Boy is slowly dying. Each wash is brings him one step closer, that's what makes </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>the T-shirt such a tragic figure.</b></span><br />
<div style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>Elaine:</u> Why don't you just let Golden Boy soak in the sink with some Woolight?</b></span></div><div style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>Jerry:</u> No!!! The reason he's iron man is because he goes out there and plays every game. Wash!!! Spin!!! Rinse!!! Spin!!! You take that away from him, you break his spirit!</b></span></div><div style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am a creature of habit when it comes to clothes. For as many clothes as I own, I often end up wearing the exact same outfits over and over again. I've owned the same pair of shoes since I started my professional career. Well, not the same pair, but the same exact make and model. When I find something that I like that I think makes me look good, I usually ride it into the ground. I'm currently dealing with the fact that some of my favorites need to be laid to rest. My parents were nice enough to buy me a new pair of brown loafers since the bottoms of my other ones had completely worn through. My favorite Gap khakis have a weird bright spot on them that I think probably came from bleach being left in the washer from the person before me (stupid communal laundry). My favorite shirt that makes me look skinny and sexy suffered from a drunken fight with some Taco Bell that resulted in a stain that I can't seem to get out. My favorite cardigan is starting to fall apart at the seams because I wear it so much. And the kicker is that because I'm losing weight, I'm starting to notice that nothing fits very well. I've sworn I wouldn't go buy a pair of shorts until I was at least back in the 30's for pants. When I went out to the store yesterday to buy a strap for my glasses for when we play basketball (easy ladies, try not to get too excited), I officially wore a pair of 38 jeans. I'm starting to get hot in my apartment wearing pants all the time, so it might be time for a shopping spree. Speaking of losing weight...</span></div><div style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b><u><b>Gary Fogel</b>:</u> Good for you, Jack! </b></span></div><div style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">In case you were wondering who the great Gary Fogel is, I refer you to this clip:</span></b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/q1YOAmIVMhU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></b></span></span></div><div style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">I'm pretty proud of myself because the downward trend continues on. I ate out almost every single day last week, but because I added a couple of days of basketball to the rotation, I'm proud to present:</span></b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPU1kluMuSEKi_wlEXNEHaYscH7lZ8W62CM63q76RMj55QY8XaDKb49lNYj6G-IMp5O9jNW3eNo2qzLokN64UW6SYGYJEPTc_sQ7bu2WI6-s9h6sg9iUkmYpLAQ63vmu6bWPr0nxIXZeuY/s1600/IMG00264.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPU1kluMuSEKi_wlEXNEHaYscH7lZ8W62CM63q76RMj55QY8XaDKb49lNYj6G-IMp5O9jNW3eNo2qzLokN64UW6SYGYJEPTc_sQ7bu2WI6-s9h6sg9iUkmYpLAQ63vmu6bWPr0nxIXZeuY/s320/IMG00264.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></b></span></span></div><div style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">That makes a total loss of 10.6 lbs., over a third of my overall goal of 30 lbs. in just the first month. I know the first month is always the easiest, but I'm encouraged by my ability to take baby steps that have shown consistent results. This past weekend was one of the first ones since The Challenge began where I stayed home and didn't just destroy everything I'd done up until this point. I did go a little crazier than I had hoped on Friday after I weighed in, but I'm going to try to string together six solid days of effort that involve both exercise and no eating out. I'm headed to Blunt next weekend, and I would love to be able to give my mom the Mother's Day/birthday gift of having another good week. I'm hoping to get a mid-week check, so hopefully you'll know how it is going before then. Until then...</span></b></span></span></div><div style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></b></span></span></div><div style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Still master of my domain,</span></b></span></span></div><div style="color: black; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></b></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Jeff "Mulva" Pool</span></span>jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-15098312935473743552011-05-02T16:35:00.001-05:002011-05-02T20:01:47.417-05:00Monday 1536: We Are FamilyLast Friday's weigh in came on the heels of by far the toughest weekend The Challenge has seen so far. Easter weekend set me back about five pounds at one point, so I went into last Monday praying for another Easter miracle that would let me get somewhere near the 266.8 that I came in at on Good Friday. I believe last Monday I reported gaining a little over two pounds and weighing in at 269 after the tough weekend, which meant that I had five days to drop about three pounds. Here was the result from this past Friday's weigh-in:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZykVW70BUKq_yebfXi4F0i7jNuBV0w-Didh_z0s2pPBL0P5f-9tHdjoPbp1PlPoK88XK30HxdY0sv9xPcWaVbMSAKg88UWdGh8KoZiCqAMo8OcmXwSzkHWqmN8HV-fD34dCs3lvDwKpP9/s1600/IMG00258.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZykVW70BUKq_yebfXi4F0i7jNuBV0w-Didh_z0s2pPBL0P5f-9tHdjoPbp1PlPoK88XK30HxdY0sv9xPcWaVbMSAKg88UWdGh8KoZiCqAMo8OcmXwSzkHWqmN8HV-fD34dCs3lvDwKpP9/s320/IMG00258.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
That's right, baby! 265 on the nose, a total of another 1.8 pounds from the week before, and down about four pounds from the weekend craziness. Of all of the weeks of the challenge, I'm most proud of this one because I really did dig in and put up a fight last week to try to right the ship. I'd say I probably went at 75% of my capability, which is saying something since I usually hover right around that 55-60% mark. I worked out (once, but it still is a small victory), brought my own food to work, got up early and made smoothies, and ate somewhere in the neighborhood of 84 clementines. I proved to myself that I could put together a strong five day run and persevere. <br />
<br />
I celebrated my small victory in the way that I have every other week; I went out and did my best to undo every positive step forward that I made. I know what my ultimate goal is, though, and I'm not going to get down on myself for having a social life. Did I eat and drink a little too much? Maybe, but only if you use "little" in the same way as, say, the Twins are having a little trouble winning or that Brett Favre has a little bit of an ego problem. Regardless, the arrow is still pointing downwards and I'm still well on my way to my six-month, 30 pound goal. <br />
<br />
What I really wanted to mention in this blog was how great I am in the friends' families department. I hope I've made it clear that I have fantastic friends and a fantastic family, but this blog specifically is a thank you to friends' families. It has always been important to me to get to know the important people in the lives of those who are important to me. Maybe I'm delusional and I'm really the Eddie Haskell who everyone wishes would go away, but I really feel like I have formed some deep connections with these folks over the years. When I left home to go to college for the first time, I was pretty emotionally rocked. I was convinced that as soon as I left Hartford that my friendships would never be the same. For me, I wasn't just choosing to leave the town or the state to go off into the scary world of Southwest Minnesota, but I was also leaving the "group" and going off on my own. Granted, I still was on Messenger every night with my friends (this was pre-texting) and I came home most weekends to see my family and girlfriend (probably not in that order), but I felt like I was leaving a "family" that I had worked so hard to build over the years. I actually went house to house to say good-bye, not to my friends, but to their families. Any of them can attest that I was a mess as I went to each of their doors with tears in my eyes to give them a hug, thank them for taking such good care of me, and for welcoming me into their homes and families over the years. Just as my parents had done for my friends, these people had on more than one occasion fed me, given me a ride to school on a snowy day, let me sleep on their couch, bandaged me up when I fell off my bike, and showed up to support me in all of my different activities, even when they didn't have a kid participating. <br />
<br />
I was lucky enough to leave one group of friends who had wonderful families to find another group in college. In high school, our parents were kind of stuck having to like (or at least tolerate) our friends because we were constantly around and had been since we were little kids. They watched us grow, understood our personalities, and did their best to love us anyway. College parents are a different story. College parents encounter their kid's friends maybe once a year. If you hate your kid's friends, then you don't invite them to breakfast the next time you come to town to visit and there are no hard feelings. Well, I again hit the friend jackpot and managed to surround myself with good people who came from good people. I rarely turned down an opportunity to meet a sibling that was in town or to go home with someone to spend a weekend with their parents. I'm always fascinated with how someone's upbringing shapes them into the person that they are, so I want to know as much about why my friends turned out the way they did. Meeting and bonding with their families gives me insight into the first couple of decades of their lives that I missed out on.<br />
<br />
I bring all of this up because I just spent a wonderful weekend with the families of two of my closest friends who treated me at every single moment like I was a member of their clans. In both my best and my worst moments, they took care of me and reminded me why it is so important to have these extended relationships. They wanted to know all about The Challenge, pledged to the cause, and promised that they would there to celebrate with me when it was all said and done. We danced. We laughed. We told stories about the good times and made plans to have even more in the future. For one day, we were a family reunited in Fargo, and I offer many thanks to the Malsams and Leendertses for reminding me how great being a part of your families really is. <br />
<br />
I use this weekend as a specific example, but the same can be true of the way I've seen one friend's family rally around him as he's had some health issues or how another friend's family took me in just weekends after my February disaster and did their best to take my mind off of my troubles. I'm Facebook friends with moms, dads, brothers, and sisters of my friends, and I'm proud to be able to call them "friend" outside of the Facebook context. There are so many other examples from both high school and college that I wouldn't even know where to start listing them. Just know that today I sit at this keyboard, game planning how I'm going to have a strong week, and thanking my lucky stars that I am a member of the greatest families in the world. <br />
<br />
With much love,<br />
<br />
Jeffjpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-85857467795596994802011-04-26T13:16:00.001-05:002011-04-26T13:42:48.853-05:00Basketball DiariesI played pick-up basketball today with my co-workers, and it went about as well as you might imagine that it would. The last time I hung up my sneakers, I seem to remember myself looking something like this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiECWUXL7XDmHTgplBsEU04_pTzq1-o203uX5VhHReMFIiDWKJg8b4lgf5I4yLGJjtwTJzCIhZ7IvZ3Jf9YkmFqCr5l_K6D5nTwrgPB9U4VjKsp_o5LXn4IczWVY90S5X2AJ5D3JJr-HZHS/s1600/tumblr_ljbm4whDpL1qbv5hmo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiECWUXL7XDmHTgplBsEU04_pTzq1-o203uX5VhHReMFIiDWKJg8b4lgf5I4yLGJjtwTJzCIhZ7IvZ3Jf9YkmFqCr5l_K6D5nTwrgPB9U4VjKsp_o5LXn4IczWVY90S5X2AJ5D3JJr-HZHS/s320/tumblr_ljbm4whDpL1qbv5hmo1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Somewhere in the past seven years of inactivity, I somehow managed to morph into this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWTNlzEc29kr9MXw2unx39g478ELg2JUaRqPSN015qgyrqJPtD4EyIwdSJn5GTWiwrthLvjK8ZTUtOpRAYcIZfm8yTBH2Bm9IGTXWWF5xIIhE3HtWJ6-Zj7D9Nhhva96uMtsK6hBivREh/s1600/kenmink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWTNlzEc29kr9MXw2unx39g478ELg2JUaRqPSN015qgyrqJPtD4EyIwdSJn5GTWiwrthLvjK8ZTUtOpRAYcIZfm8yTBH2Bm9IGTXWWF5xIIhE3HtWJ6-Zj7D9Nhhva96uMtsK6hBivREh/s320/kenmink.jpg" width="232" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">(Which, by the way, is totally unfair because this guy is 73-years old in this picture and managed to make a college basketball roster. Here's more from the newsroom: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QvkmqbgUU_E&feature=player_embedded">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QvkmqbgUU_E&feature=player_embedded</a>.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway, besides giving me the gift of an enormous basketball scoreboard that is bringing back fond memories of my better years, my parents also gave me the gift of hope in the form of a new pair of basketball shoes. I have been looking for every excuse in the book to not make myself get back out there, and my friends and family are doing everything they can to smash those hurdles down. I figured I owed it to everyone to get back out there and give it the old college try. We played 2-on-2 again, which meant that one poor soul was saddled with 268 lbs of dead weight. I think I mentioned this in a previous post, but the most frustrating thing about trying to come back is knowing that my mind still thinks like a guy who has never stopped playing while my body acts like a guy who has been dead for three years. I don't have the lungs for the constant movement, I don't have the knees for the drives, cuts, and stops that I used to thrive on, and I don't have the coordination to be able to do things that used to be automatic. When I post up (a spot I'm so much more comfortable at, mostly because it just involves standing and leaning), I still remember what to do, but when I go up for easy shots, it is like my hands can't figure out if we're doing a jump shot or a lay-up. Have you ever seen someone block himself when he was shooting? I'm almost pretty sure that I did that three times today.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm only going to get better with repetition and time, but of course this happens to be the week where I have something going on every other day over the lunch hour. Still, I had way more fun today than I did a couple of weeks ago when I only made it 18 minutes. Today I made it a full 42 and lasted for three games. Granted, this is half court ball, so all bets are off when we get more guys and have to start running up and down the court. I can only imagine what kind of shape I'll be in on afternoons where we go full court since today I played, showered, dried off, went back to my desk, and was absolutely soaked by the time I logged back in to my computer. Investing in a small fan for that after workout moisture is going to be a necessity. With that said, I've got a new pair of kicks, a big ol' scoreboard reminding me there's a champion somewhere deep inside of me, and fantastic (and patient) friends and family who won't let me quit. I may not ever get back to my glory days, but to paraphrase the words of America's finest poet, Sir Toby Keith, I'm not as good as I once was, but I can only hope to be as good once as I ever was. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">In the meantime, I will continue trying to go from this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfjUvHFpi2aAeyEz7BOxPtQQy39J1-0RU8HZFihFsxkGPLGiYXv09_3CTDMXG9qmRdJgWTVEzehJgvJ7dmjVGwkE_SSIZL5D7CVQZU3MCI1F8E5te4_nQlYtyhJ8XY7hsSVqftLxl9UFzF/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfjUvHFpi2aAeyEz7BOxPtQQy39J1-0RU8HZFihFsxkGPLGiYXv09_3CTDMXG9qmRdJgWTVEzehJgvJ7dmjVGwkE_SSIZL5D7CVQZU3MCI1F8E5te4_nQlYtyhJ8XY7hsSVqftLxl9UFzF/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">...into that...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5fjgc_oTrUGIr5uNFBIhHsLIVw6RHeu8U4VCiwhvJvBRRCB9cZMsIf8zqTt_CVDuVUEpQQ7bJsj1ZSDE-b1QeN8iCpTzOOcP9GKWNG6oAg1LXBl15Ia5BMr5taxzi6RJTotMMyN_DARK6/s1600/teenwolf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5fjgc_oTrUGIr5uNFBIhHsLIVw6RHeu8U4VCiwhvJvBRRCB9cZMsIf8zqTt_CVDuVUEpQQ7bJsj1ZSDE-b1QeN8iCpTzOOcP9GKWNG6oAg1LXBl15Ia5BMr5taxzi6RJTotMMyN_DARK6/s320/teenwolf.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">...without ever going back to this.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoorHdeLUwa0s-uHj-JpjLY_rQKMSZyvQVVjKbuiXJpGiWKm777n_BqP0GcLXlmxWTo7zKp6IKvZcuXwrLV0YeR1M3E55RZCVlrp2LiSP28WA55DGago4FUNubApXjeehDzBwtTOBniMF/s1600/chubbs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoorHdeLUwa0s-uHj-JpjLY_rQKMSZyvQVVjKbuiXJpGiWKm777n_BqP0GcLXlmxWTo7zKp6IKvZcuXwrLV0YeR1M3E55RZCVlrp2LiSP28WA55DGago4FUNubApXjeehDzBwtTOBniMF/s320/chubbs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Finally deciding to "Shoot it, fat boy!", </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Stiles Pool</div>jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-9675145280997636512011-04-25T13:12:00.000-05:002011-04-25T13:12:09.352-05:00Monday 1535: Easter Ponies and ScoreboardsWelcome to Week 2 of The Challenge! Let's start with the initial business at hand.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcnz2_pWMMvuYz0D5vJGHhyphenhyphenGOxATmpqMVPc1_2cC7P9zCsi5PQdbg9rX32cZSaIoBWwnnN-AG5_diXHcXtvgf9BRdvUP3-foqEXarLt14JBjQYat9DF_xgWRfRSmzbI7q0ux4czEsAXnQQ/s1600/IMG00251+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcnz2_pWMMvuYz0D5vJGHhyphenhyphenGOxATmpqMVPc1_2cC7P9zCsi5PQdbg9rX32cZSaIoBWwnnN-AG5_diXHcXtvgf9BRdvUP3-foqEXarLt14JBjQYat9DF_xgWRfRSmzbI7q0ux4czEsAXnQQ/s320/IMG00251+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>So, a Week 2 weight loss of a little under a pound. Disappointing but not disheartening. In my head, I had set an original goal of 30 lbs. over the six month period, so I needed to average about 5 lbs. per month. I'm still well ahead of my first month goal in the first two weeks of The Challenge with a total loss of about 8 pounds, so I'll take it. I also weighed in Friday morning when I was coming off of about four hours of sleep with a belly full of pizza, fries, and beer from a long work week celebration with some co-workers. I'd like to think that had I not indulged the night before, I probably would have been down to around 249. That seems totally reasonable. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Anyway, I decided that overdoing it Thursday night just wasn't enough, so I went about doing what I could to gain some weight this weekend, too. Since the excuse train is running full-throttle, let's throw on another one. My family came up to visit, so I decided I'd cook supper and breakfast for them, and then we went out Saturday night at ate our weight in German meats at <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Gasthof zur Gemutlichkeit. When a restaurant has been featured on Man vs. Food, it probably isn't the best for the diet plan. It didn't matter, though. We had such a good time drinking beer and cider, eating meat until I started getting a sinus headache, raising our glasses for birthday toasts for everyone in the place, singing along with a man playing an accordion wearing lederhosen, taking the complimentary apple schnapps shot at the end of the meal, and even inhaling spearmint snuff through our noses to wash it all down. I'm pretty sure we wouldn't have had as much fun at the Tofu Hut.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Please know that I am in no way blaming my family or friends for my decisions, successes, and failures. I need to be mentally healthy in order to make it through this, and being able to go out and have fun once in awhile will help me stay on the right track long term, even at the sacrifice of a big result on Fridays. Anyway, I jumped on the scale this morning just to check the damage, and even with a big breakfast at IHOP (which does not stand for Impressively Healthy Organic Platefuls) yesterday morning, I had only gone back up to 269. Other good news: I dropped two full belt sizes in the past two weeks and people who don't know about The Challenge are commenting on how noticeable my efforts are. That's more than enough to get me back on the horse and to keep blasting my way to October. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">In other news, I am now a degenerate pony gambler and I have an enormous scoreboard in the middle of my living room. First the horses. To put it lightly, my mom has never met a blackjack table that she didn't like. She's not an addict or anything, but if we are in a casino, she's at a blackjack table. I decided to take my parents to Running Aces Casino on Saturday night because I was afraid that if we didn't go do an activity we'd just end up eating again. My sister went to a movie with a "friend" (cough, cough), so we headed up north.so my mom could get her cards fix and my dad and I could sit at the bar and watch sports. Running Aces also happens to have horse race betting, so my dad decided he'd teach me how to bet the ponies. After a couple of races, I officially had a scientific method of picking the winner and the second place horse. The general idea was to always pick the horse with a girl's name in a possessive format (Rachel's Dream, Annie's Glory, Sophie's Choice) and the horse with the most intimidating cool abstract name (Axion, Scoozi, Mitsubishi). Sometimes there was a car on the track that served as the starting gate, and betting on the Buick was also a safe choice. We did pretty well making $2 bets on each race, and if you don't count the cost of the beer we drank (which is usually the only place I put down money at the casino because I consider a beer for $3 to be a win every time), we actually came out ahead on the night. If I'm forced to go to another casino, I think I've found my calling.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Next up, the gigantic scoreboard. Perhaps you remember the tale of the Sensational Seven, a rag-tag group of teenagers who bonded over the years and came together to win the Sioux Falls city Hi-Y league at the YMCA back in the spring of 2009. If you are a Facebook friend of mine, you also know that right after the blog post was made one of my old teammates found the ORIGINAL scoreboards that were used in the YMCA in the Zip Foods gym during our championship run. I posted the link to the scoreboards on Craigslist and made a statement about how it would be the ultimate gift for me. Brent called on those scoreboards, and I was informed that they officially were gone. Oh well, life sucks sometimes. Well, when my family arrived Friday night I saw my dad walking off steps in my house like he was measuring something. It had started to rain, so my mom decided we needed to go down and get my gift out of the back of the truck before it was ruined. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Before we go too much further, let me tell you about my apartment. It is not a big space, and I have it arranged in a way that befits a nearly 30 year old bachelor. It is adult with just the right amount of fun to make it look like I'm not trying too hard. I also have a genetic predisposition to collecting random junk, so I have to fight that very hard because it is very easy to let it take control. If you don't believe me, look in my car.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Okay, back to the story. We went downstairs in the rain to fetch my gift out of the back of the truck. The thing six feet long, four feet high, and weighed 900 lbs. I live on the second floor of my apartment complex, so we worked to get it inside and up the stairs. In the process I lost about 4 square inches of skin, bruised my ankle bone, and either pulled my groin or suffered a hernia. We got it in and got it in a place where we could close the apartment door. My best guess was that it was either a really tall entertainment center or a fake fireplace. Either way, it was huge. So, I unwrapped the plastic and saw this:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvDr8fWQaHYg-y17ktqkfcNcTMIOlRoPAC0AziS21vY9isrEpqLq9swMflY03ekIHAlPqn5SdsRL0UPlhQSehe0sVS21SVmKDspqv_4ZvtcClgcTnXYzeqZWWzev449-yECyAWqoYgSdu/s1600/IMG00253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvDr8fWQaHYg-y17ktqkfcNcTMIOlRoPAC0AziS21vY9isrEpqLq9swMflY03ekIHAlPqn5SdsRL0UPlhQSehe0sVS21SVmKDspqv_4ZvtcClgcTnXYzeqZWWzev449-yECyAWqoYgSdu/s320/IMG00253.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">The ultimate gift framed in a tree's worth of lumber. I was awestruck. On one hand, this was the single coolest thing I've ever been given. It is an authentic relic from one of my most cherished period of my life. It is amazing. On the other hand, it is enormous! Evidently my brain somehow had shrunk the size of the scoreboards over the years. The gyms we played in had 80 foot ceilings which clearly threw off my ability to accurately measure how big these were, and the dimensions of 4' x 6' on Craigslist clearly didn't register. I had the same problem a few years back when I paid $60 for a Three Stooges beer sign that I assumed was a portrait size and ended up being about the size of a large postcard. Measurements clearly aren't my thing. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Anyway, if you come to visit me, expect to be welcomed by a fully functional scoreboard as you walk in the door. Someday when I have a house and a room dedicated to my childhood glory, this thing will be the centerpiece that will have everyone talking. Until then, it is a really, really big place to set my keys. Still, I'm pretty blessed to have a great family that would be thoughtful enough to buy it, frame it, and haul it all the way to Minnesota, and I can't wait to get the Sensational Seven up here to sign the frame. Maybe we can even watch some old game tape while wearing our championship T-shirts. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">I hope you had as great of an Easter weekend as I did. If you're like me, you hid your eggs last Monday and still haven't found them all! Thanks again for your continued support, and it is never too late to make a pledge towards my health for the American Heart Association! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Scoring from home,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Jeff</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><br />
</span></div>jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-71840828196750939572011-04-19T13:02:00.001-05:002011-04-19T13:06:48.328-05:00Monday 1534: You Want 10 Truths?! You Can't Handle 10 Truths!<b>(I know this "Monday" is technically a Tuesday, but my real Monday went all Garfield on me and didn't leave me with the mental energy to put this out there. Please cope.)</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>1. I Had a GREAT First Week</b><br />
I won't tease you and make you read to the very end of the post to find out how I did. Remember, my starting weight was 274.2 on Friday, April 8. As of Friday, April 15, I am currently clocking in at:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4WxRYvAkjNnMoPmT2WzRQUCJ7AK3CximU4UpmhFYY3oMWMCgL5Q5bR5WRf9nMrRNTpEeD9WuJ9WG_5pAEX5GFn5QiwsSQV0nf5G4hUKhkLV_p2QMueZZO5zhbavQfyFvg9UjdSitmkfZ/s1600/IMG00252+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4WxRYvAkjNnMoPmT2WzRQUCJ7AK3CximU4UpmhFYY3oMWMCgL5Q5bR5WRf9nMrRNTpEeD9WuJ9WG_5pAEX5GFn5QiwsSQV0nf5G4hUKhkLV_p2QMueZZO5zhbavQfyFvg9UjdSitmkfZ/s320/IMG00252+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
267.4! I'll take a one week loss of 6.8 pounds. I know the first week is always one of the easiest, but just like back in November, I'm going to cling to even the most inflated victories. Let's also not forget that when I started this whole ordeal back in November I was at 289, so that's a 22 pound total loss that has been somewhat maintained for six months. While it isn't the end result I'm shooting for, it is enough to remind me that I can keep going and succeed. For those of you keeping track at home, that's $87.50 total donated to the American Heart Association after Week 1 of The Challenge. <br />
<br />
<b>2. Limiting Fast Food Was Phase 1</b><br />
I wish I could say I did something miraculous, but I literally just didn't eat out as much. I say as much because I didn't even manage to cut out eating out altogether. The difference was that when I did stop at McDonald's for breakfast, I went with the oatmeal (it is really, really good) and a medium black coffee. I still had a couple of weird binging moments on both weekends, but the good outweighed the bad. I'm still big enough that screw-ups don't completely derail the weekly results, but that is a crutch I need to get rid of soon.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Adding Light Exercise Is Phase 2</b><br />
I'm almost positive that I've mentioned how much I hate working out. I decided this weekend that I really wanted Subway, but the only way I was going to allow myself the pleasure was if I walked to Subway to get my food. It seemed pretty simple, but when I got back home with my sandwiches I wasn't as happy as I should have been with my decision. The following sentences are going to sound like a completely spoiled fat kid who has clearly grown up in America, but it is what I was thinking, so I'm sharing regardless of how whiny and privileged it makes me sound. I have some major hang-ups about walking for the sake of walking. The biggest one is that when I see a guy walking by himself somewhere, I immediately think, "I wonder if he got a DUI or if his car got repo'ed?" You just don't see single men walking around by themselves all that often. If it is women in sweatpants or a couple pushing a stroller, well, clearly they are trying to get healthier. But dudes out walking around? There's something inherently creepy about that to me. I don't enjoy walking just to get outside, enjoy the fresh air, and clear my head. I can open windows and sleep to get those things accomplished. I might walk if I had a purpose (other than health), but if there was really a purpose like needing to get somewhere, why wouldn't I just hop in my car and get there five times as fast without all the smelling like a locker room nonsense? I walked a couple of times in Sheldon because there was a group of people that did it, but never alone. So, I'm still working on implementing a Phase 2 that involves some form of exercise that will just help push my weight loss progress along. If I can get down under 260, I think I'll be ready to step it up to something a little more heavy duty (please do not read that sentence as "running for the sake of running" because I understand that even less than the walking nonsense).<br />
<br />
<b>4. There Are Some Advantages to Not Having Cable</b><br />
I'm still rocking the bunny ears and a Netflix subscription, which have allowed me to enjoy the following perks: <br />
<ul><li>I don't have to watch the Twins lose on a regular basis. C'mon fellas! Pull it together!</li>
<li>I've never seen an episode of Jersey Shore, which makes me feel like I'm a better person.</li>
<li>I've been able to watch some of the most amazing movies/documentaries/TV shows that I never would have found otherwise.</li>
<li>I'm not a slave to having 5,000 shows to watch anymore. I used to have 4:30-11 pm every single night of the week blocked out for my shows. Now I regularly watch Modern Family and The Office. The freedom is amazing.</li>
<li>I figured out how to stream YouTube videos directly to the big screen, so I can now watch wrestling matches from the 80's and 90's whenever I please. It's still real to me, dammit!</li>
<li>I've also seen some really, really, epically awful movies, too, including every Nic Cage movie ever made. I have a weird obsession with Nic Cage movies. If you've never tried this before, go into a really, really bad movie with zero expectations for greatness, and then sit back and enjoy the awfulness involved. Also, while you are doing this, remember that this movie cost more to make than you'll earn in your entire lifetime. I would encourage you to have a cold beverage in hand as you make all of these realizations. Even in Nic Cage's best movies he was bat-shit crazy, and I guess I admire his dedication to his crazy craft. Also, he won an Oscar.</li>
</ul><br />
<b>5. I Never Stopped Believing</b><br />
Back in the summer of 2009, I went to the third greatest concert I'd ever been to and arguably the most fun. A group of my buddies got together and shared the experience of Journey live in concert. To make it all that much better, they had Night Ranger (for you kids out there, they sang "Sister Christian") opening for them. We stood through almost the entire concert and sang along with every song we knew. When they tried to get fancy and play new stuff, we, along with everyone else in the Arena, ran to the local beer stand to refill our fun tanks. It was an absolute blast. <br />
<br />
You can imagine my surprise when I found out that Journey and Night Ranger were back out on tour again and would be making a stop in St. Paul. This news alone was enough to get me excited, but then I found out that Foreigner would be joining them this time around. Ladies and gentlemen, I dare you to find a better combination of 70's/80's hair band, pop rock, anthem-style awesomeness. I immediately bought six tickets so that I can share the experience again with friends. I have one additional ticket spoken for by my rock n' roll aunt, but if you're interested in joining us let me know. Supplies are limited. Some restrictions may apply. Offer not valid in New Hampshire, Rhode Island, or Alaska.<br />
<br />
<b>6. My New Rice Cooker Is a Miracle Worker</b><br />
My friend Zach gets the shout out of the week for turning me on to the miracle of the rice steamer. For $15, I get to come home every night, throw some rice and water in a pot, throw some veggies on top in the steamer basket, throw in the meat of my choice, and enjoy a tasty and nutritious dinner in about 20 minutes with almost zero effort on my part. How did I not have one of these before?! This thing, in combination with my George Foreman Grill, are easily the two most essential appliances I own. Those microwaveable steamer bags are still handy to have around when I'm in a real time crunch, but it is hard to trade off the fresh vegetables.<br />
<br />
<b>7. All Frozen Treats Are Not Created Equal</b><br />
Over the past couple of weeks, I've found myself craving ice cream more and more. After peeing on a stick, I realized that this craving was not directly linked to an impending pregnancy. Whew! That was a close one. In particular, I'm drawn to Ben & Jerry and all of their delicious creations. As I started this diet, I figured I needed something in the freezer that would help keep this craving under control without allowing me to get out of control. Enter Ben & Jerry's FroYo. I figured that the Half Baked (half brownie, half chocolate chip cookie dough) FroYo (for those of you who are uneducated in frozen food delicacies, it stands for frozen yogurt) might be the answer. With its lower calories and lower fat than the original, I thought maybe having it around would be less harmful than having the real deal. However, FroYo is not IcCre. The real deal is so rich and creamy and chocolaty and delicious. The fake stuff tastes like frozen milk. I suppose it is better this way because I'll be less tempted to sit down and eat the whole container at once, a feat that I used to perform with some regularity with the ice cream version. I know, I know, having sweets around is flirting with disaster. But if a spoonful of FroYo helps the medicine of weight loss go down, then I guess I'll keep it around.<br />
<br />
<b>8. The Keys to My Success</b><br />
Here are a few of the products that I've found to be helpful:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>Birdseye and Green Giant Steamer Bags- They steam vegetables, pastas, rice...you name it. And they all clock in at reasonable calorie/fat numbers</li>
<li>Jimmy Dean Turkey Sausage, Egg, and Cheese Breakfast Bagel- Quick, easy, and just over 200 calories. They are convenient to have on hand for both lunch and dinner.</li>
<li>Almonds - I bought an enormous thing of almonds at Costco, and I keep them at my desk for when I get hungry. Just a couple of them manage to stave off any cravings and hunger that might sneak up during a busy day.</li>
<li>Tyson Frozen Unbreaded Teriyaki Chicken Breasts - These chicken breasts are pre-cooked, and it takes three minutes before they are ready to go on top of my veggies/rice/tortilla/whatever. </li>
<li>Papa Murphy's deLite Thin Crust Pizza - I can't not eat pizza. It is my favorite food, and if I had to choose one item to live on the rest of my life, pizza would win. Papa Murphy's deLite is really tasty and still makes me feel like I'm treating myself without going overboard.</li>
<li>McDonald's Oatmeal and Fruit and Walnut Salad (snack size) - I still get lazy and want breakfast variety, and both of these items are fantastic. The Fruit and Walnut Salad comes with apples, grapes, walnuts, and a little yogurt dipping area. I have never used all the yogurt topping stuff, so I like to think I'm coming in even further under the calorie radar. The Oatmeal was a super pleasant surprise. It was loaded with apples and cranberry raisins, and it had just a slight maple/brown sugar flavor without being too heavy on calories or fat.</li>
<li>Fresh Express Salad Kits - I'm eating one of these as I type. It is a full bag of salad meant as a starter for a family, but it works as a stand alone meal for me, too. Today's version has a Pear Gorgonzola Vinaigrette with Candied Almonds, and it clocks in at 260 calories. Good stuff, Maynard. </li>
<li>Beer - I should probably say "the complete lack of beer". This past week was one of the first ones in a long time where we didn't end up going to happy hour, so not having those empty calories certainly helped. With that said, there's no way I'm giving up my happy hour social fun time. And no, Mom, I can't go to the happy hour, not order a beer, and still have fun. I'm still in my 20's and want to act like it the small amount that is left. Still, everything in moderation!</li>
</ul><br />
<b>9. The Race was Neck and Neck!</b><br />
That is, the race to find either the love of my life or a new couch on the Internet. The couch won, and it took me exactly 14 hours and 27 minutes before I bled on it. I shouldn't be allowed to have nice things. In hindsight, the other objective probably would have been more beneficial to my overall mission of a better me, but this couch really is nice and will allow me to have people come over to visit. Also, I don't have to buy it breakfast in the morning after laying on it all night. Hey-oh!<br />
<br />
<b>10. Heart Disease Accounts for Nearly 40% of All Deaths in the United States</b><br />
So, if you haven't already and would like to, do your part and pledge your support as I try to not be another one of those statistics. 100% of the proceeds go to the American Heart Association. If you'd like to pledge, feel free to reply below or e-mail me at jeffpool81@hotmail.com. I haven't given up my dream of donating $1,500, but at my current pledge rate I need to lose 120 lbs. That's a tough row to hoe. <br />
<br />
Disappearing before your eyes,<br />
<br />
Jeffjpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-83141255219110595722011-04-12T16:14:00.000-05:002011-04-12T16:14:12.454-05:00The Challenge of "The Challenge"I'm really excited about the progress that The Challenge has already had in the first couple of days. People seem to really like the idea, and I've received quite a bit of encouragement. The pledge drive portion of it is something I'm still going to work a little harder on, but a huge thanks goes out to those of you who have decided to help me raise money for the American Heart Association. I should have added the caveat that if I GAIN weight, I'll pay you however much you pledged per pound. That would be a Tiger Woods vs. the field kind of bet that more people would probably be interested in getting in on. My ultimate fundraising goal is $1,500, which at the rate I'm going will mean I need to lose 150 lbs. I'm pretty sure this means that I'm going to have to cut off at least one of my legs. Still, this is my challenge, so I will keep fighting until my poundage multiplied by the amount of pledgers gets me to my goal.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>One of the highlights thus far has been seeing the scale drops start up again. I was a bad, bad boy last week. I don't know what it was exactly, but I was on a collision course with bodily destruction. I ate out every meal. I polished off a couple of pints of Ben & Jerry's. I even ate a large Papa Murphy's pizza on Sunday, two days after I secretly started the challenge! Fortunately for me, I didn't dig myself into too deep of a rut that I can't get back out of it. In fact, I was already down 2 lbs. this morning! I really enjoy the motivation of knowing that every glass of water, every little walk during the day, and every watched calorie equals immediate financial success. I might have even taken a $21 poop this morning! Sorry, that was gross, but the thought did cross my mind.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I am keeping in my mind that this is definitely not a sprint, but a marathon. In the past, I've set very large short term goals, like 20 lbs in a month. I've done it, but it is almost impossible to maintain. Again, I'm looking for a new lifestyle, not a quick fix. Six months doesn't seem like a long time in the grand scheme of things, but if I'm lucky I'll get a whopping 144 6-month periods in my life. I've already used 59 of those, so I'm down to just 85 more (again, if I'm lucky). I need this 60th period to be the one to prove to myself that I can keep something going for more than three months at a time. I need it to be more than just rhetoric.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Just like the last time, the food changing is going to the easiest part. I bought a rice cooker on a tip from a buddy, and I am super pumped to be able to throw in rice and then have it steam veggies and meat on the top. I'm all about ease and this seems to be about the easiest possible setup in the world. I'm still not sure how to get myself pumped up about the exercise, though. I really need to find an activity that I'll be motivated enough to participate in, like the racquetball games I had in Iowa. I've been invited to go play volleyball with friends, but the HSP in me is not super jazzed about the whole meeting new people and then promptly embarrassing myself in front of them. It is a lame excuse, I know. I think I need to start smaller, like tennis with one person, and then work my way up the ladder of people present that might make fun of me. It is the same reason I don't feel comfortable working out in gyms. I feel like everyone is watching me because they are. Don't say you haven't been on that recumbent bike or the elliptical machine and seen the person across the room that is on a machine they have no business being on. You don't think, "Boy, good for that person for having the initiative to better their health!" You're thinking, "I wonder if anyone would notice if I took out my cell phone so that I can win America's Funniest Home Videos when this guy falls off that treadmill." </div><div><br />
</div><div>I haven't played basketball since the one time I tried a couple of weeks ago. I don't have the right shoes, and I can't really afford to go buy any on this particular paycheck. I had a pair of basketball shoes that I can go pick up at the old place I lived, but I've had that pair since the early 2000's and they were getting pretty worn down. Evidently sitting in a closet will that do that shoes.</div><div><br />
</div><div>So, that's the challenge for the rest of this week: find something to do that gets me moving. Maybe I should buy a bike. That seems like a reasonable thing to do in Minnesota in the spring time. Or a dog that I could take on walks. That would be the illogical thing I've been trying to do for the last five years. Again, I just want to start small and work my way into it. I like to play myself off as this morbidly obese person that can barely get of his recliner, but in reality I'm still a somewhat athletic person. I just need the motivation to get the ball rolling again. Any suggestions from the peanut gallery?</div><div><br />
</div><div>Challenged in more than one way,</div><div><br />
</div><div>Jeff</div><div><br />
</div><div>P.S. - If you are a reader of the blog and like the concept of my challenge, I would love to hear your ideas on how I can maximize this thing. If you know of someone who might enjoy the journey, send them on over, too. If you haven't made a pledge yet but would like to, no worries. You can jump on my wagon anytime!</div><div><br />
</div><div>P.P.S. - My movie recommendation for the week is "Mary and Max". It is a stop motion animation movie from a couple of years ago that was hilarious, charming, sad, dark, and overall wonderful. It has a great cast of voice actors led by Toni Collette (the mom from "Little Miss Sunshine"), Phillip Seymour Hoffman, and Eric Bana, and it tells the tale of how a little girl in Australia finds an unlikely pen pal in a middle aged man in New York who is diagnosed with Asperger's. The animation was great, but it is definitely an adult movie. It is currently carrying an 8.2 rating on IMDB.com, which puts it on par with The Wizard of Oz, Toy Story, and Annie Hall, and slightly above Gone With the Wind, Avatar, and The Graduate (all coming in with fan votes at an average of 8.1). Check, check, check it out!</div>jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-82690855302472414172011-04-11T10:09:00.002-05:002011-04-11T13:00:54.897-05:00Monday 1533: The Challenge!Today is a very special day at the ol' Jeff Pool blog headquarters. The staff is abuzz and the excitement in the atmosphere is palpable. In an effort to revisit the original intention of this blog, I am more than pleased to announce the birth of the Jeff Pool Six Month Health Challenge! At the core of the challenge is an effort to get me to a healthier place physically. I'm nearly 30, and I can't even imagine the stress I've put on my heart with the fast food diet, sedentary lifestyle, and immense weight that my body has to lug around every day. I am a prime suspect to have either a stroke or a heart attack, and at the rate I'm going it will be sooner rather than later. So, I want to do my part to eliminate some of these risk factors. Longevity is built into my genes on both sides of my family, and I want to be able to type "Fortunately" in front of the first part of this sentence instead of "Unfortunately". Right now, the scale (literally and figuratively) points to the latter. <br />
<br />
The difference between this challenge and any of the other weight loss measures I've put into effect is that I'm going to directly ask you to be an active part of this journey, not just passive. When I write regularly, I have a fairly decent amount of people that I'm reaching. Without further ado, I present the 2011 Jeff Pool Six Month Health Challenge or, as I much prefer, Jeff Pool Has a Heart On for Heart Health!<br />
<br />
Here's what I've got set up so far:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>The challenge will run from April 8 until October 8 (I secretly started last Friday but was busy enough at work last week that I decided to sit on this announcement until today).</li>
<li>I will officially weigh in every Friday and post those results on this blog.</li>
<li>I'm asking for your sponsorship! I would love for my family and friends to pledge money for every pound I lose in the next sixth months. The pledges can be as low as 50 cents per pound (if things go well, that probably puts you on the hook for $15). </li>
<li>100% of the proceeds will go the American Heart Association.</li>
<li>The event will culminate on October 8 at a major party in the greater Sioux Falls area. I'm still ironing out the details, but I've paid the deposit on a band for that night (one of the wedding leftovers) and by golly, we're going to use them because they rock! "Heart health" can apply to a lot of different things, and we'll consider that party a celebration of every facet of my healthy heart. </li>
<li>At said event, we will have the final weigh in LIVE! It will have all of the drama of The Biggest Loser, only with beer and live music!</li>
<li>$2 per pound donation gets you a really nifty t-shirt to commemorate the event.</li>
<li>You don't have to donate at all. The party will be free (except for your beverages) and the blogs are still free, and I'm going to need as much support as possible over the next six months, whether it is monetarily or in words of encouragement.</li>
<li>I'm putting my money where my mouth is and am going on the books for $2 (mostly because I want the free t-shirt...that I'm paying for...wait, what?!).</li>
</ul><br />
<br />
That's it! I'm super excited about the idea. If I can get 50 people to average $1 per pound, and if I can drop 30 lbs., we're looking at a $1,500 donation! That's something that would make me feel even better on October 8 than my new slim fit jeans. <br />
<br />
I need to give credit to my friend Travis at Sioux Empire Fitness for putting the seed for this challenge in my head. They will be running a similar three month challenge starting later in the summer, so if you like the concept and want to try it out for yourself, keep watching the blog for updates as I get them.<br />
<br />
If you're interested in donating, send me a message on Facebook, through the blog comments, or at jeffpool81@hotmail.com. <br />
<br />
As a sign-off, here is where the challenge starts:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCEkHRyUMkSqsH6wspLXg5LClupf5BQ0i5sWWT3hoD1mIIczjG3EZSsi_3M8BGe_Cukgrpkn_5U806ZY8NvuQPkX3lx0XfSUlFU1UZAGOwJd9Q5HHExMKu1nTdMtrS7VnHli04r7OT0zS/s1600/IMG00247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCEkHRyUMkSqsH6wspLXg5LClupf5BQ0i5sWWT3hoD1mIIczjG3EZSsi_3M8BGe_Cukgrpkn_5U806ZY8NvuQPkX3lx0XfSUlFU1UZAGOwJd9Q5HHExMKu1nTdMtrS7VnHli04r7OT0zS/s320/IMG00247.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
In case you can't see the picture clearly, it is at 274.2. See you at the finish line!<br />
<br />
Jeffjpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-48479477940264196482011-04-01T06:41:00.001-05:002011-04-01T09:16:01.146-05:00Batgirl and RobinYesterday started out pretty normal. I spent the entire day working a recruiting event at the Veteran's hospital in Minneapolis, and I had a lot of fun with our new recruiter even though the traffic flow was pretty slow. We wrapped up around 4:15, and I was anxious to get back to my car and hit the road since I knew I was going to be spending some time trying to get across Minneapolis in rush hour traffic. When I got out to the parking lot, I noticed that one of the other recruiters from a school I won't name was parked next to me. She was packing her bags into her trunk and seemed to be in about as much of a rush as I was to get out of the crowded parking lot. I jumped in my car, fired up my GPS, and made a quick phone call before I started the trek home. Suddenly, I heard a loud crack and a thud and my car jolted forward. I looked into my rear view window to see a van quickly pulling forward and away from my car. I was a little shaken, but I was physically okay, so I jumped out of Journey and went to the back to check the damage. There on the ground I saw the pieces of my tail light scattered about. The other recruiter (let's call her Jessica) was still standing outside her car and she asked if I was okay. When I told her that I was fine, she said, "I can't believe that guy did that and just drove away!" I asked if she had seen the company name on the side of the van, and she told me that she wasn't paying attention. Then she pointed across the parking lot and screamed, "There he is! Hop in my car and we'll go get his information."<br />
<br />
Now, I'm usually not a confrontational guy, and I have been involved in a little parking lot fender bender before that ended very civilly (the old woman and I actually hugged before we left and she told me that if anyone in the world could have backed into her BMW, she was glad it was me). Still, I was pretty peeved that the guy hit and run me since he had to have felt the impact. My adrenaline was pumping, so I wasn't necessarily thinking straight when I told her thank you and jumped in her front seat. I didn't know her from Adam, but she's in my business, so that by default makes her good people. I figured that I needed to leave my car in the exact place of the accident so when the entire CSI team showed up they could more easily solve the crime. I pictured the red plastic being surrounded by little white chalk outlines. The parking lot was fairly large so I'm pretty sure I couldn't have ran over and caught him on foot, even though the van was sitting at a red light waiting for the passengers on the nearby Light Rail station to load into the train. As we got closer, we were able to make out the name on the side of the van, and it was a local company I wasn't familiar with. However, about the time we pulled up the light changed to green and the van started to pull away. I figured having the name of the delivery company was sufficient enough information to at least be able to report the crime. Jessica saw it differently. <br />
<br />
Before I had time to object, Jessica pulled into the line of traffic and started down the street after the van. He was at least four vehicles ahead of us, but the van was tall enough that I could still see its top. I turned to Jessica and said, "Hey, I got the name of this guy's company. Just let me Google it, we'll give them a call, call the police, and go from there." "Don't worry about it," she replied. "As long as you don't have any place to be, it isn't any trouble. Plus, they're going to want to know a license plate or a vendor number or something." I was pretty sure that her logic was failed, but she was kind of cute, she was listening to my favorite radio station, and her car smelled like vanilla. We were on an adventure, and Match.com couldn't hold a candle to this kind of excitement. We kept the van in sight and cracked a couple of jokes about how we were like Batman and Robin, but how we weren't really sure which of us was which. All we knew for sure was that we were both glad neither of us was wearing tights.<br />
<br />
The van drove a couple of blocks and turned right. This was our opportunity to make up some ground on him. We followed suit, and suddenly there was only one car between our super-villain and our make believe Batmobile. However, that car kept us from getting our license plate number and finally bringing the fugitive to justice. It was a nice spring day and we had the windows rolled down, so the anxiety of being in a slow speed chase was lessened by two new friends giggling about our adventure as we hummed the Batman theme together. We drove for maybe a mile until we saw the van turn on its blinker as it approached a set of golden arches. Holy cheeseburgers! Our suspect's need for a Big Mac was just the break in the case that we needed. We pulled into the parking lot behind him, and Jessica pulled into a parking spot just on the other side of his. The driver jumped out of his van, and I wasn't necessarily overwhelmed by his stature. He looked like a taller version of Danny DeVito with a stocking cap on, and he walked with a slight limp. Not exactly Brock Lesnar. We waited for him to get inside, and I asked with the giddiness of an 8-year old, "What do we do now?" Jessica thought for a second and then decided, "I'll get out and pretend like I'm checking something in my trunk, you keep your window down and dial 911, and then I'll just read off the license plate to you and you can give it to the dispatcher."<br />
<br />
I am not a stupid person, but this idea seemed out of control stupid. However, I was in the car of a pretty woman who just drove me, a total stranger, into the middle of suburbia, and who was sitting about a foot away looking directly in my eyes, wanting confirmation that her idea was the only right answer. And she hummed the Batman theme with me. And she smelled like vanilla. I'm a people pleaser, and I wanted to please her in particular. I smiled, choked down my common sense, and squeezed out a, "That's a great idea!" With that Jessica popped her trunk and jumped out of the car while I pulled out my phone and started holding down the 9 button (a shortcut on my BlackBerry for 911). I waited until the dispatcher came on and asked what my emergency was. At that moment, I realized I had no idea what I was going to say that wouldn't make me sound out of my freaking mind. "Yes, ma'am, uhhhh, I was in a parking lot and a guy backed into me and broke my tail light, so I hopped in a car with a strange woman who smells like vanilla, probably left my car door standing wide open, chased a van for the last ten minutes, and am currently sitting next to the van of a man who is probably armed but who needed a Shamrock Shake to help wash down all of his murderous rage. Are you ready for his license plate?" That wasn't going to do.<br />
<br />
So, I explained to the nice woman that I had been in a hit and run accident and that I was currently sitting next to the vehicle of the person who hit me. She asked me to repeat myself and then asked if there was a confrontation, and I told her no, everything was fine but that we needed an officer to come quickly to McDonald's because I wasn't sure how long the guy was going to be there. She said, "Sir, whatever you do, please avoid confrontation. If you get us his license plate number, even if he leaves we can find him." The words "avoid confrontation" were ringing in my ears as I heard Jessica say, "Are you ready?" I asked the dispatcher if I could give her the numbers, and Jessica started reading them out loud to me. It was at about the moment that she got the last number out that I looked in the side mirror and saw our man coming back towards the vehicle. "Get in the damned vehicle, Jessica!" was the only thought running through my mind. I told the 911 operator that the guy was coming back to his van, and she told me to just sit tight and that an officer would be there shortly. I've never had the best luck with police response times, so I was hoping being in a fast food parking lot would be the added motivation to get someone here quicker. As she was wrapping up her instructions, I heard a female say in a very loud voice, "You know, you've got some balls, buddy!" My heart was in my throat.<br />
<br />
I quickly turned around to see what was going on, but the trunk was still open, obscuring my view. I flipped back forwards and stuck my head out the window to see that Jessica had stormed across the parking lot and was right in the van driver's face. "Sir? Sir?" The operator was still on the line, and I quickly told her, "You need to get someone here fast! There's a fight!" I hung up the phone and dropped it somewhere on the floor board. There were a million things I wanted to do at that moment, and getting out of the car was not to be found on that list. The guy seemed genuinely surprised by Jessica's sneak attack, and she was really starting to lay into him. "You know, it is guys like you who make this world such a great place to live in. You think because you drive a van for a living you must be better than the rest of us and get to just do as you please? Guess what? Only a loser would hit and run someone, in a hospital parking lot no less!" I could tell the guy had gone from surprised to irritated. "Hey, hey, hey," I said in my authoritative Housing Director voice as I stepped out of the car. "There's no reason to get in a fight." "Oh yeah," he replied. "She your wife?"<br />
<br />
His question caught me off guard, and my voice went from authoritative to intimidated as I mumbled out, "Nah, we're not married." He looked me up and down, and although he was probably 20 years my senior and a couple inches shorter than me, I think he saw the fear in my eyes. Or maybe he smelled the shit in my pants. Either way, he was ready to push the issue. "I didn't hit your car, man, so tell this bitch she better settle the fuck down." Evidently those were the magic words that made Jessica, a total stranger who I was trusting my life with, snap and reach out and knock the guy's drink out of his hands. The closest I've ever been to a physical altercation in my 29-years on this planet was when my car door reached out and smashed my nose a few weeks ago. That was more than enough for my taste. Thankfully, I wasn't his target (who says chivalry is dead?). He reached out both hands and gave Jessica a hard enough push that she went sprawling on the ground. I immediately turned to try to catch her, but I missed. I reached down to help her up, but I'm pretty sure I no longer existed at that moment. "Where's my fucking purse?!" There were no tears in her eyes, but so much anger in her voice as she jumped up and ran towards her car door. I'm sure my eyes were as big as dinner plates as I turned back to look at the delivery man. He looked at least as shocked as I did at what was going on. I'm pretty sure when he got dressed that morning he didn't plan on knocking a girl over in a parking lot. It was official: this was God's way of telling me to keep my tubby butt away from McDonald's or else He was going to make me the key witness in an assault trial.<br />
<br />
Jessica came back around the corner with her purse and was digging to the bottom. Delivery guy and I just stood there like twin statues, both wondering if it was a knife, a gun, or a grenade that she was going to pull out of the bottom of her bag. She finally found what she was searching for and pulled out a small plastic container as she dropped her purse and all of its contents on the cement. I've seen enough police dramas to know that someone was about to get pepper sprayed, and I'd be damned if it was going to be me. At last, my desire to get a phone number of a girl who knew Batman and smelled like vanilla was finally outweighed by my desire to get as far away from this crazy chick as possible. Delivery guy must have realized what was in his future, and he quickly turned around, threw open the double doors on the back of the van and tried to climb in. As I turned to dive for cover, I saw the lights of the police car pulling in and hard the squawk of the siren. None of this was going to stop Jessica from her mission. The poor delivery man who made an honest mistake and backed into a poorly made American car whose light probably wasn't in there all that well to begin with was about to get maced, but he was going to fight that fate as hard as he could. From my spot on the ground somewhere near the large puddle of urine that appeared out of nowhere, I had a good vantage point of the rest of the proceedings. Jessica opened fire and sprayed her weapon in the general direction of the van. The policeman was now out of his car and screaming for her to stop as he ran towards her. Delivery guy had his front half of his body in the van as he was clawing his way towards safety, his feet still dangling out the tail end. Jessica took a step closer to the double doors and began spraying the inside of the van, and I could hear the screams echoing inside the vehicle as she finally hit her target. The cop got to her about the time that she got to the delivery guy, and she began hitting his thighs, clawing at his shirt. The officer grabbed her and began to drag her away from her helpless victim, and it was this point that she reached out and started pulling his leg...<br />
<br />
Just like I'm pulling yours.<br />
<br />
Happy April 1!<br />
<br />
Jeff<br />
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PS - That's called the Sybil Special. If you liked my little journey into make-believe land, help me out by not tipping anyone off on Facebook. In fact, feel free to make the story even that much more believable for future readers by selling it a little in a FB comment, maybe an "OMG!" or "Glad you're okay, you handsome devil!" Let's work together, people!jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-77217326085403265342011-03-30T17:58:00.002-05:002011-03-30T18:13:35.572-05:0010 More Truths for a WednesdayThe whole 10 Truths bit was something I did back in the original days of the blog, and it happened to be something I reread last night and enjoyed. Without further ado, I present 10 More Truths for this glorious sunny Wednesday.<br />
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<strong>1. I'm Still Trying to Lose Weight...Honest!</strong><br />
This whole thing started as a weight loss blog, but it has since become something else completely. I know I haven't really touched on my progress all that much, but know that I'm still trying! I stocked up at Costco a couple of weekends ago, so I'm back in the habit of bringing my lunch with me everyday and making supper at home at night most of the time. They had some fantastic pre-cooked teriyaki chicken breasts that I've been pairing with vegetables or rice or whatever steamer bag I find. I even had teriyaki chicken tacos. Okay, so maybe I lean a little too heavily on that teriyaki chicken, but it takes four minutes to make and then I just have to find something that it can sit on to look like a meal. I haven't seen drastic fluctuations in my weight, but I'm right at that 270 lb mark. Funny sidebar: I jumped on the scale Monday morning to see what kind of damage I had done over weekend (yeah, I still suck at weekends, especially those that I spend alone). I have the scale in my extra bathroom so that I actually have to make some effort if I want to check it daily, but the flat surfaces in the extra bathroom aren't all that huge once you get the rugs in. So, I managed to clear off a 12" x 12" square and jumped on up. My scale has a similar mechanism as the one on The Biggest Loser, so there is high drama as I wait for it to calculate. I looked down and saw 262. I was amazed! I was ecstatic! I went to pump my fist in the air and throw myself a high five when I realized my arm was already up...and hanging on the top of the door frame. In my effort to maintain balance (it's not a good thing when you're too fat to stand on the scale without holding on to something for fear of tipping over) I evidently took off about 10 lbs. of pressure. I reweighed myself (two more times, hoping to take the average), but the next two times gave me a more accurate 272. Bummer. I might write a new weight loss book that focuses solely on finding something to hold on to when you weight yourself. Anyway, I'm still trying, which is evident in my stopping at McDonald's this morning and ordering a coffee and apple slices with yogurt instead of four breakfast sandwiches.<br />
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<strong>2. I'm Not Getting Enough Sleep</strong><br />
I've never been a super sleeper. I wake up usually about every hour to an hour and a half. I'm a very vivid dreamer, so even when I do sleep I don't always wake up feeling rested because I'm living a whole other life when I close my eyes (see: HSP). For some reason this latest time change has really messed with everything, and now I'm basically not sleeping at all. I was getting in a really good habit of being in bed by 10:30 and shutting it down around 11. Now I'm back to being up well after midnight, or just laying in bed tossing and turning. When the alarm goes off in the morning at 6:45, I'm just exhausted and want to roll back over because somewhere in the back of my head I know that it is still 5:45. Last night my new neighbors upstairs decided to play some kind of music/video game that had a bass line that sounded like a beating heart. I tried to sleep through it for two hour or so, but then I finally snapped at 2:30. Maybe it was the old Housing Director in me, but I got out of bed, put on my jeans, and was ready to chew some butt. Thankfully before I got too far I remembered that I don't live in the dorms anymore and can't just go pound on doors and tell people to shut it down. I might get murdered for that now. I heard some of the guys outside on their deck having a chat about life, so I kindly stuck my head out the door and said, "Ummmm, fellas, this is Jeff, your downstairs neighbor. I've got to work in the morning, so would you mind turning down the bass a little." They were super nice about it, but the damage had already been done. I laid awake in bed for at least another hour. When I did finally fall asleep, I lasted about an hour, and then I was awake again. I dozed back off for about a half hour before the alarm started chirping. I think I probably need a sleep study done, but I'm afraid it might result in me having to wear one of those mask setups. I'm nearly 30, single, graying, and overweight. I don't need any more strikes against me in the bedroom. I don't drink caffeine after 2 pm, so I'm not sure what else to try. I'd love to hear some hints.<br />
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<strong>3. A Lot of My Friends Are HSPs, Too</strong><br />
Also, a lot of my friends are apparently women (as per the rate of response to pretty much all of my blogs, but this one in particular). One side note: the book does say that women tend to skew higher, so just because you have a relatively high score after the assessment doesn't necessarily mean that you are super duper HSP. Or maybe it does. If you're wondering, I'd encourage you to pick up one of her books. They are pretty quick reads, and it is at least moderately entertaining to read it and think, "Hey, that sounds just like me!" Just like horoscopes...<br />
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<strong>4. Happy Hour Makes Me Happy!</strong><br />
One of my dreams when I originally decided to come to Minnesota was to find other young people who did young fun things. I loved my coworkers in Sheldon, but the very large majority of them had families and small kids and needed to go home after work to be good parents. They were super fun and when we did get together outside of work, we always had a blast. But I wanted more, so I left for the bright lights of the suburbs. My new co-workers and I take full advantage of what is known as "happy hour". Perhaps you've heard of it. As much as I'm a shut-in, it is nice to go out once a week with like minded people and spend an hour or two talking life, business, or whatever else pops into our minds, and all for under $10. Happy hour may have been that missing piece in my life the past couple of years.<br />
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<strong>5. Music Rocks and Rolls</strong><br />
- For rocking out behind the steering wheel - "Dog Days Are Over" by Florence and the Machine and "Kick Drum Heart" by Avett Brothers. Both songs have just the right beat for me to embarrass myself at a stoplight.<br />
- For rocking out when I wake up in the morning and get ready - The Temptations station on Pandora. I like to slow jam my way into the morning, plus I get to do a little swoop and swirl in front of the mirror.<br />
- For rocking out every time I wake up in the middle of the night - "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John. I'm not sure why, but all week I've woke up singing this song. <br />
- For mellowing it out before bed - Anything by MoZella or Regina Spektor. I've been preaching MoZella since I saw her at House of Blues in Vegas a couple years back. She's amazing and is going to be huge. I know you've heard her stuff on commercials or when you're shopping at Gap/Old Navy/Abercrombie. Now it is time for you to hear her on your iPod.<br />
- For every other waking second - Mumford and Sons, or Avett Brothers. Both bands' latest CDs must be listened to in their entirety. I am starting to get why Bon Jovi is so mad at iTunes for killing the art of the album experience. The newest Avett Brothers CD is probably the first one ever that I learned the words to every single song. If I don't see them in concert in the next 12 months, I'm going to explode. Seriously, YouTube their live performances and tell me that a two hour show of that wouldn't be the greatest thing in the world.<br />
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<strong>6. I Might Be a Fashion Icon</strong><br />
I woke up this morning and had an epiphany in my closet. Pieces of an outfit started glowing, begging me to pull them, assemble them, and wear the hell out of them. Sweater vest, shirt, tie, pants. It all made so much sense, and I wondered how I had never put the combination together. I decided to get dressed out of eye line of a mirror so that I could see the entire ensemble all at once, kind of my own mini-fashion show (I swear I'm not gay). I had already gelled my hair and put my glasses on, so I was going to be in my full glory. I walked into my bathroom to see the full result, and I kid you not, I am pretty sure I heard a harp playing somewhere overhead. I had created outfit nirvana. I went to work confident that I might not ever look better than I did at this exact moment, thinking that I needed to take cell phone pictures of myself so that I could remember how it all went together in case I had a hot date someday. Ladies and gentlemen, today was my day. That is until I got to work and an older woman told me I looked "spiffy" and that she "wouldn't have guessed that those colors were supposed to go together". I spent the rest of the day contemplating buying a hoodie from the bookstore to cover my shame.<br />
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<strong>7. My Beard Is Reaching New Heights (or Is It Widths?)</strong><br />
My beard is becoming pretty glorious. I wasn't really allowed to have facial hair when I worked at NCC because I had a couple of bratty, nagging co-workers (hahaha) who made sure that I looked to their standards. I tried a couple of times to get it off the ground, but without the proper time needed to become a majestic mane I always ended up shaving it off. Well, that all changed when I came to Minnesota. The beard has been in full effect since July, with only one small hiccup about two months ago when the plastic head came off my trimmer and caused me to shave a spot a little too close for my comfort, resulting in a complete beard sacrifice. But it is back, and it hasn't even been trimmed since early February. I also hadn't gotten a haircut since before Valentine's Day, so it was starting to get shaggier than it has been in a long time. Major life events tend to cause me to neglect little things like that, plus I've always been a little jealous of people who didn't have Chia pet hair that mandated monthly haircuts. Well, today I finally made it in to Great Clips, but I didn't have the foresight to trim the beard before I cut the hair. People, this thing is out of control. It sticks out further than the rest of my head, which is really saying something since I have an enormous melon. I always wanted glorious facial hair, but was afraid that it was stacking the deck against me even more. I'm 5'10", 270 lbs, bad skin, Chia pet hair....and a beard? Seemed a bit much. With that said, Jenna loved the beard, and there's a cute girl on Match.com that I'm e-mailing back and forth with that says in her profile that she loves bearded guys, too. So as long as there is the possibility that I might be able to get a little AND keep my beard, it stays! (Those who truly know me realize how ridiculous that last statement was.) It will probably get trimmed tonight so I don't look like some kind of lumberjack serial killer, although I'm becoming more and more convinced that's what these Minnesota girls like. You know, someone who in an afternoon can clear a forest and put Steve Buscemi in a wood chipper.<br />
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<strong>8. I'm Trying Online Dating Again</strong><br />
I've mentioned this in passing a couple of times, but I officially decided to reactivate the Match.com account. Online dating is perfect for me because it allows me to start forming an emotional connection that helps me overcome my physical hesitations. The whole process is a little weird, and I realized as I was shopping for couches online that the two were virtually one in the same. Still, if I can find the love of my life and buy a sectional all from the comfort of my recliner, I've got to take advantage of the opportunity. I've got so much more to say about online dating, but I think I'll make that its own entry in the near future.<br />
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<strong>9. Google Might Take Over the World (So Just Enjoy the Ride)</strong><br />
I've officially given in and Google-ized my life. I opened a G-Mail account. My blog is housed on a Google site. I signed up for Google Talk and Google Docs, and even have a Google telephone number that makes voicemails into texts. I plan on buying an Android phone in the near future so that I can Google whenever I want. Instead of using Internet Explorer or Firefox, I've switched to Google Chrome (a highly recommended move) on my home and work computers. I can also use Google's handy dandy tools to measure the success of my blog. This is what I know:<br />
-By the end of today, this blog will have been viewed 2,500 times since I first created it.<br />
-The blog is usually accessed via Facebook, but has also been accessed by Google Russia, Google UK, Yandex (a Russian search engine), and through various e-mail accounts. Thanks for sharing!<br />
-The blog has been accessed more than once by people in the US, Canada, UK, Germany, Russia, Ecuador, India, Australia, Singapore, Netherlands, Spain, China, Slovenia, Greece, and Turkey.<br />
- Most of those folks probably stumbled on to the blog when they searched for the keywords "male nudity" (from the title of an entry that featured my belly).<br />
- Other keyword searches that have lead people to my blog are "feed bin with stand 270lbs", "malenudity on doctor", "I feel like when", "bald head template", "the bad because i m", and "mike golic what happened to his nutri-system diet he is now fat". <br />
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<strong>10. The World Might Be Coming to an End</strong><br />
...because my 81-year young grandma officially Friend Requested me on Facebook last night. And followed it up with a Wall Post. And is probably reading my blog. You want the truth? I'm not sure you (or I) can handle the truth!<br />
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Holla at you, Slovenia,<br />
Jeffjpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-23492808816403666502011-03-29T13:30:00.001-05:002011-03-29T13:32:12.357-05:00Nobody Puts Jeff In The Corner!Ladies and gentlemen, I am ready to open up about a subject that is near and dear to my heart. This is probably not the best follow-up post to the one yesterday considering I mentioned how I sometimes lean sensitive and am not super manly, but it doesn't matter because I have a confession to make. The truth is....(dramatic pause)...I am a dancer! That's right, I love to dance. Not the "jump-out-of-a-cake-at-a-bachelorette-party" type (although I could for a nominal fee), but the lose yourself in the music, funky get down kind of dance. Now, I would encourage you not to confuse a love of dancing with a natural talent for it. In fact, I'm pretty awful. But it doesn't matter because it is the one activity that I've really stopped caring what other people think. <br />
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I think my love of dancing probably started in the 80's. I was raised on the hip hop streets of South Dakota where I often had to pop and lock just to survive. My family used to pump Footloose while I spun around on the kitchen floor when I was three or four. I learned to line dance off of an exercise tape along with three other classmates when I was in the 5th grade, and we did it at a concert as the rest of our classmates stood behind us and sang Boot Scootin' Boogie. I even conned one of the girls in my class into taking swing dance lessons with me in high school. There were definitely some years where the dancing shoes hung in the closet, particularly from 7th grade through junior year, when all the guys at the school dances sat on one side of the gym and made fun of the girls on the other, but by the end of high school we started to realize that the more we were on the dance floor (even if it meant just standing there with our hands in our pockets), the more attention we received from the ladies.<br />
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Through college I had kind of retreated back into "too-cool-for-school" mode and sat at the table while my friends were out grinding on any girl that backed that thang up. (God, I'm getting old. Just thinking about partying "from the windows to the walls" gives me agita.) I still had the rhythm in me, but it was usually relegated to dancing behind the wheel of my car or Tom Cruise-ing it in the privacy of my own home. I was sure that my dancing days were over.<br />
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But just as I was hanging up my dancing shoes for the last time, a miracle happened. The heavens opened up and delivered me a gift: the wedding dance. To date, I have been in 13 different weddings, and I've probably attended at least 15-20 more on top of that as an adult. I still remember coming home from my aunt and uncle's wedding dance (I was rocking the tux as the ring bearer (at the time I thought it was ring bear, so I was always looking around for that damn bear to show up and carry his weight)) and telling my grandma that my feet hurt so much, but that I had the best time in the world. It took about 15-20 years before that spark was reignited and I realized that the natural habitat of this ring bearer was the wedding dance. My dancing days 2.0 started when I was barely 21 and making my rounds at wedding dances with Chris and Jill. At the time, the dancing took place because I was too drunk to fight my inhibition. At one of my first (probably the first) and most fun wedding dances, I saw Jill's dad, Darrell, lighting the dance floor on fire and the ladies (mostly related to him, but still) flocking to his mad skills. In Darrell I saw my future.<br />
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I've carried Darrell's light with me ever since. It doesn't take much to get me on the dance floor anymore. In fact, I'm not embarrassed to admit that I have single handedly gotten the party started on a few occasions. Sure, I've stepped on a few toes in the process (sorry again, Amanda), but I've really started to hit my stride, white guy overbite and all. There is a bar in Walker, MN, that probably wants a pair of my shoes bronzed because every year we go up there for Eel Pout, I don't go home until I've danced with every lady in the place. What amazes me is how many people WANT to dance and don't because of nerves or attitude or whatever. It is easy to spot those people tapping their toes at the table, and it doesn't take much more than a "You wanna dance?" to get them on the floor. I would explain the phenomenon as them probably thinking, "Hey, we can't possibly look more stupid than this guy, but he looks like he's having fun, so what the hell." I had a similar "aha!" moment at a certain wedding dance when I saw a certain friend drop a certain pair of pants and dance with a certain pillar. A packed dance floor is a fun dance floor, just so long as there is enough room for someone to cast an imaginary fishing line across the floor and let me fish dance over to them.<br />
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The newest craze is dance video games that expect full motion participation. Jenna and I had bought up as many as we could for the Wii because we both loved dancing together. Let me tell you, this girl knew how to shake it, and she could learn full dance routines in minutes. Still, that didn't stop me from trying to out Kriss-Kross her or try to take her down on Thriller. The great thing about these games is that just like Rock Band and Guitar Hero before them, they seem to draw in everybody. Guys that never in a million years would sing Yellow Submarine while holding a plastic guitar or dance to Wham! are suddenly taking part because it is a game and a competition, and that is evidently enough to make it cool. I'm encouraged for the future of wedding dances as I really believe that these games are going to unlock the inner Astaire in people and I won't have to work so hard to find company on the dance floor.<br />
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Unfortunately, I now live in an apartment with people living directly below me, so my dance and activity games and videos are rendered useless in an effort to avoid falling into their living room. My hope would be to someday meet someone who shares my love of booty shaking and maybe take a class or two. None of that fancy-pants ballroom nonsense, but maybe another swing course. My mom has tried so hard over the years to teach me to jitterbug and I even took those aforementioned classes in high school, but nothing ever really stuck. I seem to need my own space and my own freedom to explore my art, but I'd like to give something a little more controlled a shot in hopes that I'll do less damage to those around me. Someday I might even try tap. I've always done this stupid little soft shoe thing, especially on linoleum and desk chair roller pads where it makes a little noise, but even though I'm pretty sure I've almost got it mastered, I know I won't get hired by any companies without some formal training. Ever since I saw Singing In the Rain, I've thought, "Wow, that Gene Kelly is cool. He's totally going to bang Princess Leia's mom!" (For those of you under 65, feel free to Google that joke.) Maybe when I retire I can finally take some time to try to become more like him. Or! Or maybe even better, I'll have a son who I can force to learn to tap, and I'll be one of those stage parents that screams, "Heel, toe, heel, toe, Joey! You're never going to dance in the rain unless you snap those ankles through, dammit!" Then when he's dating a super model and making millions, I can finally live my dream through him, despite his scathing autobiography, "Daddy Dearest". Still, it would probably be worth it. <br />
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Until then, I'll work on meeting new single friends that could potentially have wedding dances someday so that I can finally show off my fully memorized Christopher Walken routine seen here:<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCDIYvFmgW8">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCDIYvFmgW8</a><br />
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Two steppin' through Tuesday,<br />
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Jeff "Twinkle Toes" Pooljpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-62257206504691215062011-03-28T15:10:00.003-05:002011-03-28T15:17:52.321-05:00Monday 1530: JLP the HSPWARNING! This post contains large amounts of psedu-psychology. If you're not interested in self-help mumbo jumbo, I would advise you to turn around now and go back and look at the pictures I took of my belly back in November. If you continue, please remember that you've been warned!<br />
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I've always known something was a little off with me. Ever since I was a little kid I had a sneaky suspicion that what was going on upstairs in the old noodle might not be occurring in the heads of those around me. I noticed things that I felt other people didn't always notice, and I always felt like I could empathize better than others and that people often came to me with problems because of it. I was able to retain very information better than those around me, and I can still remember very specific details of events in my life from when I was very young. I had a very active imagination that usually leaked into fantastically real dreams, both day and night. I loved being around people, but at the same time I usually had the urge to just be alone with my thoughts. I felt like a walking oxymoron because I was an extroverted introvert. Or was it an introverted extrovert? I wanted so badly for the whole world to see me, but the minute that they did I wanted nothing more than to just be another face in the crowd. I hated crowds at events like state tournaments, and I'd get nervous to the point where I'd have to go sit by myself. I was often overly emotional and sensitive. I've always hated scary movies because I can't handle the suspenseful music and cheap scares. I would cry when people would leave or when I would leave others. I lingered on every word that people said to me, trying to assign context and subtext. I acted very shy and uncomfortable in new situations, yet I was overly affectionate to those I became close to. I connected to music, TV, and movies, and I would often obsess on songs until I wrangled all of the emotional meaning out of them. I'm not able to sleep in a bed with someone else because I'm constantly aware of their presence (my parents probably hated traveling with me since this usually meant I had to have a roll-away or I'd sleep on the floor until I was old enough to know what was on hotel floors). These traits continued into adulthood.<br />
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I recently stumbled upon an idea that I've done some reading on, and I think I might finally have an explanation. According to research done by Elaine Aron, I am a Highly-Sensitive Person (HSP). More specifically, I'm an HSM (Highly Sensitive Man). It started with a self-test online and led to an interlibrary loan of some of Dr.. Aron's works. As soon as I started reading, I felt like I had finally found a category to call my own. Some of the more interesting common denominators I found were things like when I attend a conference, I become overwhelmed and would prefer to spend time in my room alone. That's me! I sometimes attend conferences and end up skipping sessions, not because I'm lazy or disinterested, but because I feel like I need to get away to process things I'm hearing. In her book "The Highly Sensitive Person In Love," she talks about how HSP's will often avoid being in an intimate relationship because the fear and knowledge of the possibility of being hurt often outweighs the desire and ability to start up a relationship. Ding, ding, ding! I couldn't have said it better myself. She also talks about how HSM's in particular have a hard time initiating physical contact, even in the form of a kiss, because they are always worried that they are missing a sign and don't want to be seen as too forceful. If you were one of the many lucky girls who had the opportunity to try to date me or one of the lucky people at a lunch table who were blessed with hearing my frustrations and nerves about this very subject, you'll know how true this one is, too. Another indicator is that we have a hard time living with others or in communal living because even the slightest change in room temperature, lighting, or noise level becomes grating, and we often times want to have our own rooms when we go on vacations because we need to be able to completely control the environment. Welcome to my Hell! I have a new neighbor that moved in upstairs, and every time he stands up and I hear a floor board creek, I feel like walking upstairs and punching him in the face. On our recent fishing trip, I had to spend about 20 minutes before we went to the bar just lying in my own dark bedroom to just reset. (By the way, bars are a nightmare for me. Waaaaay too many people, sounds, smells, etc. for this guy. Luckily they serve things that help me overcome.) I also get startled by phone calls and unexpected knocks on my door and will often ignore both until I'm ready to deal with it on my own terms. Weird, I know.<br />
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The other big one is that HSM's in particular generally relate to women better and often feel uncomfortable around men, with other men often feeling uncomfortable around them. I've often been pegged by family members and outsiders as being kind of off, and in more than one occasion it was insinuated that I was gay (not that there's anything wrong with that). But the thing is, I love the ladies. I wish I was a more manly man who could do manly man things, but I'm not. I can't change the oil, drive a tractor, or kill animals. I can tell you what cardigan looks best with your tie, tell when you're hurt and lend you a caring ear, and drive you to the airport. Dr. Aron says that often times HSM's are made more HSM-ey because they are raised primarily by women during their formative years, lacking a male role model to properly teach him how to deal and cope with emotions in an acceptable masculine way. These traits are also enhanced when the child feels like he needs to be there emotionally for his mother. This blog is in no way an indictment on anything my parents ever did, but the truth is that for a couple of years I spent the bulk of my time with mom and my two grandmothers, and anyone who knows me knows that I'm a mama's boy and that my mother and I have a pretty deep emotional connection that was enhanced during a stint where it was just the two of us. <br />
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The other thing that Dr. Aron mentions in her book is that there are people out there that are very high sensation and thrill seekers (HTS). She is a HSP, her husband is a HTS. She talks about how these two personalities can often clash because the HTS wants as much stimulation in the environment as possible, whereas she wants it in little chunks that she can control. She also talks about how rocky the relationship was because in the beginning, she was completely guarded and protected herself, although inside she desperately wanted to give all of herself to him. Then when she finally made the decision to fully trust him, she almost overwhelmed him with affection. In hindsight, I think this is what happened to Jenna and me. Jenna was definitely an HTS, and she was always looking for new things to keep her interested. Stimulation didn't bother her one bit. She lived over 4th Street in Sioux City, across from a bar that had loud music and drunken party-goers screaming outside all night long. She was also next to train tracks and had neighbors on all sides that seemed to lack the common decency to shut the hell up. She never noticed a single one of them. When I'd stay over, I'd make her turn a fan on and made her buy darkened curtains because I almost had a nervous breakdown. On the internal side, I was super guarded because I was afraid to trust her (I hadn't really, fully trusted someone in a loving way in a long time), but when I finally did I opened a floodgate on her that I'm not sure she was ever all that comfortable with. My main goal was to make her happy, because with her being happy, I was happy. Typing that, I'm fully aware that this was an odd codependency, but that is how I operate in all of my relationships. I hate having people be upset with me (or upset in general), and I need to be loved and liked. To know that I'm not liked is too much for me, and I will do anything in my power to balance that back out. In hindsight, I think Jenna was doing everything she could to try to understand where I was coming from, but I think having a man that was so emotional and sensitive was too alien for her and too unlike who she was. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't walking around crying at every turn. But I was very affectionate and didn't hide feelings. I needed her and needed to be needed by her. She needed independence and freedom, and was secure enough to not need me all the time. In hindsight, I know she started pushing me away a couple of months ago, but I couldn't process that and just held on tighter. <br />
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Maybe I'm still trying to assign meaning to something that doesn't need that assignment, but I'm pretty sure I'm an HSP and that's what I do. There's some really interesting stuff on why HSP's are who they are, and I could totally relate. If I was a superhero, I'd be Highly Sensitive Man, and my creation story would be similar to 20% of other Americans by her estimate. Oh, and I could fly. <br />
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I share with you all of this because I think it will provide some insight into the way I've handled things in the past (probably with you at some point) and the way I'll deal with things in the future. This isn't a defect, but rather a trait that I feel like I've known about for years but never had the verbiage to explain it to others. In fact, I think it is a great strength when used appropriately. I live a rich, complex life internally, and that helps in my day to day operations externally. It helps me be creative, and it helps me be a great story teller. Those who know me know that I love to tell grandiose stories of my exploits, and while all of them are rooted in truth, there is almost always embellishment. I've long said that I feel like my life is a movie with a constant narration in my head, and it is that narration that I like to share with you because it is almost always a little bit entertaining. I also think it helps me be a great friend and co-worker.<br />
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It also explains why I'm quick to say that I'm okay in one breath and then retreat to my apartment by myself for a couple of days and disconnect from the entire world as I try to cope with everything going on. My life is an open book, yet I somehow manage to be incredibly private. I just confided in a friend that this is the first blog post that I seriously considered deleting after I had written it because it might have officially crossed my threshold of a comfort level for vulnerability, and I have already imagined the reaction it will create in different people based on their connection to me. However, I'm going to roll with it because this blog is about insight and, right or wrong, I have found insight in the HSP theory.<br />
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I'll leave you with this, a song lyric from my favorite band and one of Jenna and I's favorite songs (January Wedding by the Avett Brothers):<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #656565; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px;">I don't feel weak but I do need sometimes for her to protect me</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #656565; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #656565; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #656565; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px;">And reconnect me to the beauty that I'm missin'</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #656565; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #656565; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 23px;">So, I've got a favor to ask of all of you. Until I find that next someone special, help me stay connected. After living alone for the better part of the past decade, it becomes entirely too convenient for me to disconnect and live in my own little world filled with bad sitcoms from the 80's and Spyder Solitaire. I don't need a babysitter or an events coordinator, but know that no matter how much it seems like I'm dealing with all of this on my own and pushing people away, I deeply want and appreciate all of the support, understanding and love you've all given me. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 23px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 23px;">Well, this post officially sucks and is a major downer, so I promise something more blue skies tomorrow. In the meantime, if you'd like to read more about the HSP, here's a link:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 23px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 23px;"><a href="http://www.hsperson.com/index.html">http://www.hsperson.com/index.html</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 23px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 23px;">If you took the self-assessment and found that we have similar characteristics, let me know! I've always been interested in shared experiences and commonalities, so maybe we can grab a coffee and be sensitive together.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 23px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 23px;">Sensitively yours,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 23px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 23px;">Jeff</span><br />
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</span>jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-18587674502042933302011-03-23T13:13:00.000-05:002011-03-23T13:13:16.954-05:00Happy Hump Day!Happy Wednesday, and to all my friends in North Dakota and Minnesota, Happy March Blizzard Day! Thankfully I've lived in the Midwest long enough to never fall for those first nice weeks in March, but with the inches of ice covered with inches of snow, this storm really seems like a doozy. Wednesdays are my sleep-in day since I generally work late on our other campus, but when I woke up and looked out the window and turned on the TV to see all the school cancellations, I knew that driving wasn't in the cards for today. Just as the spring thaw turned back into the spring freeze, I feel like my brain went back into hibernation. I know that I won't be able to post here every day, but as I try to get started back up, I want my postings to be a little more regular. With that said, I stumbled onto an old note I had posted on Facebook that I found pretty amusing. I wrote it almost two years ago, and amazingly it is still accurate for today. The post was about movies that I thought were the best or most influential to me. <br />
<br />
I've recently signed up for Netflix because I don't have cable and I started getting really tired of forgetting to bring back Redbox movies. I've also stopped buying DVD's, mostly because I'm getting really sick and tired of constantly moving them. At last count I had over 1,000, and I'm starting to think that's about 900 too many. <br />
<br />
With all of that said, I'm still a huge movie and TV buff and Netflix offers me the opportunity to stream their content directly to my PS3/Wii/Blu-ray player. I've been watching some of the most off the wall, random shows and movies, and for the most part, I've given up on regular TV except for the weekly two hours I give to Glee, Modern Family, and The Office. There is one terrifying element to Netflix, though. It monitors your watching habits and kicks out suggestions on other things that you might watch. I think it should be mandatory that people carry these suggestions on a name tag attached to their shirts at all times because it is pretty revealing as to who people really are. For instance, if you met me on a first date in a coffee shop and took thirty seconds to read my name tag, you would realize that I enjoy critically-acclaimed comedies from the 80's, space travel television (really?), mind bending suspense and action, documentary-style reality shows, dark alternative comedy, and goofy children's cartoons. At that point most girls would take their Venti Vanilla Latte and hit the road, thus avoiding the inevitable break-up down the line when we're having the argument over whether we should watch Grey's Anatomy or Scooby-Doo Unmasks the Space Bandit. I actually use this method of screening on Match.com. In my first e-mail, I always ask women what is on their iPod and their favorite cartoon was as a kid. The music thing always ranges and is more or less my control question, but their response to the cartoon question immediately weeds out 80% of the population. After all, could I really see myself spending the rest of my life with someone who picks Sailor Moon over She-ra or Bobby's World? Maybe, but only if she's really, really good looking.<br />
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So, without further ado, a flashback to 2009 and the 15 Most Influential Movies for Jeffrey L. Pool (Updates in Parenthesis):<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">1) The Wizard of Oz- To the best of my knowledge, my first favorite movie and probably the one that was the most influential in a lot of my future entertainment choices. My grandma Nita taped it on TV for me and it was probably the best babysitter she could find since I'd lay on the carpet starting when I was really, really little and just be transfixed for hours. I'm a completely heterosexual 27 (29) year old male, and I still love musicals to this day. It was seriously magic for me. I still can recite almost every single word and can sing any of the songs on cue. It was that important to me.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">2) PeeWee's Big Adventure- This movie confused the hell out of me when I was a kid, but I loved it so much. It was so weird in a way I'd never seen before, and it was also really, really dark in its humor, so much so that I remember being really scared during a couple of parts. I think this was my first glimpse of my darker, sarcastic side. Also in this category, both Harry and the Hendersons and Howard the Duck. My grandma Pat had both of these on tape, and they felt a little more "adult" than the Disney movies I got to watch at grandma Nita's. I looked forward to almost every weekend getting to go spend the night with the Pools, getting just a little bit of coffee to dunk Oreos in, and watching either Harry or Howard. I own both on DVD, and although they haven't really stood the test of time, there are still moments that give me flashbacks to those nights.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">3) Follow That Bird- I swear I don't just watch kids' movies! But in terms of important movies in my life, next to Wizard of Oz this one takes the cake. I was a big Sesame Street/Muppet fan, and this was the first full-length Sesame feature. You will all think I'm crazy, but if you haven't seen this movie, you need to! If you have kids, pretend like they are reason you are putting it on. Like a lot of Jim Henson movies, this one had a lot of adult themes and emotions that you wouldn't get on PBS. The music is awesome (Waylon Jennings makes a cameo!), the writing and acting are great, and it was probably the first time as a child I remember relating emotionally to a movie. I still get teary eyed when Big Bird breaks into his Blue Bird/Be Back Home song. Yes, I can also sing every word to every song in this one, too, just like most of the Muppet movies' songs. No, that isn't pathetic.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">4) Very Bad Things- You probably haven't seen this movie. Hell, you probably haven't even heard of it. You can pick it up in any $2 bin at Walmart, but it wasn't a throw-away movie to me. My friends and I all managed to get into this movie even though we weren't old enough, and the commercials looked hilarious. It was a darker version of The Hangover. Long story short, a bunch of friends go to Vegas, get crazy, kill a hooker, and spend the rest of the movie trying to deal with it. Sounds hilarious, right? Well, it is! And the characters in the movie matched up almost perfectly with all of my high school friends. Not everybody loved it as much as I did, but it was right up my dark comedy alley.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">5) Shawshank Redemption- Shawshank was the first movie that made me understand the importance of a really, really good film. I've seen this movie so many times, and everytime it feels like the first time and I catch something new I missed the first 25 times. Probably the best story and acting of all the films on the list.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> (I've since seen a lot of other films that were much better than this one, but this one still is one of my favorites because it taught me you didn't need singing puppets or big explosions to be entertaining.)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">6) Pulp Fiction - I was 13 when this first came out and somehow Dan and I talked my mom into renting this for us. At the time the big buzz was around the "Royale with cheese" scene, and we both thought we were these mature, smart, dark-humored guys that would totally get this movie. What I remember from our first viewing was that we counted the word "fuck" like 30 times in the first 15 minutes. I don't know that we made it much further than that before we figured out it wasn't for us. I rewatched Pulp Fiction again a couple of years ago because I'd seen Kill Bill and thought it was time to go back and review the old Tarantino movies. After I finished Pulp Fiction I was blown away. I went and got supper and came back and watched it again. The writing is so sharp, the dialogue so over-the-top, and the entire tone so unique that I couldn't believe I had been missing it in my life.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">7) Dirty Work- Alright, another movie that most people would just toss away. But this one is a shout out to my sister. We were lucky enough to have HBO when we were kids, so while my mom and dad were at work all summer, Shelbi and I would stay at home and watch movies we probably shouldn't have watched. The plot is so ridiculous, Norm McDonald can't act to save his life, and Chris Farley gets his nose bit off by a Saigon whore, but there was something about it that made Shelbi and I cheese out everytime (and if you know the old-school HBO rotation where they would show Radio Flyer, Short Circuit, Dirty Work, and Police Academy over and over and over again, you know we saw it a lot). Also, this was the start of my fascination with Artie Lange that continues on today with my obsession with the Howard Stern Show. This and Shawshank were the first two movies I ever bought.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">8) Fight Club- Fight Club is the movie that reminds me most of my best friend in high school. He and I went and saw this together, and it was the coolest movie in the world at the time. I have a bad habit of being able to guess the entire plots of movies within the first 15 minutes, but this one completely caught me off guard. When we got done, we both were all amped up and blown away. I immediately wanted to see it again to see how I could miss such a huge twist. Same thing with the movies Memento and The Game. Also, Brad Pitt went from being a pretty boy to pretty bad ass.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">9) Office Space- Post age 12, I have not seen a movie as much as I've seen this one. Dave, Dan and I would watch this almost nightly one summer, and Chris and I watched it almost nightly in college. We would quote it all the time to the point I'm sure we were obnoxious. It also was the movie that put this crazy notion in my head that I shouldn't be happy working a job that didn't make me happy, which is probably why I am never content in life. Damn you, Mike Judge! (In the same vein, we watched Super Troopers somewhere in the neighborhood of a million times.)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">10) Edward Scissorhands- This movie had it all. 1) The creepiness of a Tim Burton movie that I was still fascinated with since PeeWee. 2) The story of a kid who didn't fit in during a time when I was starting to feel awkward and like I didn't fit in. 3) Heavy rotation on HBO.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">11) Ferris Bueller's Day Off - Ferris first came out when I was 5, so needless to say I didn't find it until later in life. Still, the story was timeless. I can be a little bipolar, and I like to think that when I'm at my best I'm in full-Ferris, but at my worst I'm a complete Cameron.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">12) Mallrats- If I was stuck on a deserted island and could only pick the works of one writer/director to take with me, with all due respect to Tarantino, Burton, Spielberg, Scorsese, and Hughes, I would grab the Kevin Smith catalog in a heart beat. Kevin Smith's characters talk exactly like I think...rambling, sarcastic, pessimistically optimistic, and always laced with pop culture. Mallrats, Clerks 1 and 2, Chasing Amy, and even Jay and Silent Bob strike back are all masterpieces to me.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">13) Mr. Holland's Opus - This movie came out when I was a huge band geek and just coming out of junior high. I went to see it with Dan and some girls that we were trying to impress since we had just figured out that girls weren't so icky after all. So, what did I do to impress the girls? I cried. Not once, but twice during the movie. I don't know if it was the hormones or some deep-down dad issues I had, but this movie made me tear up like I was cutting onions. And you know what? I still cry everytime I watch it and Stranger on the Shore is still the greatest clarinet solo of all time. Deal with it.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">14) Stranger Than Fiction - This movie is just really smart. I don't know what else to say about it other than I like smart movies that are a little existential in nature. Sideways, American Spledor and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind are also smart, and I like those, too. That's all.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">15) X-Men/Spiderman/Transformers - The original movies in these series all make me feel like a kid. I saw them all in the theater on opening night, and I sat on the edge of my seat with a huge smile on my face the entire time. Sometimes movies just need to make you forget the troubles of being an adult and bring you back to the days when giant robots fought other giant robots and people fixed their problems by growing giant metal claws or swinging over New York City by a giant web.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">( 16) I'm adding to the list because since I wrote this, I've discovered the Coen brothers in a big way. I love Fargo, Big Lebowski, True Grit, No Country For Old Men, Raising Arizona, Barton Fink, and A Serious Man. Their movies are full of the subtle, not so subtle, and the absurd. I think Joel and Ethan might take over Kevin Smith as my desert island collection someday, especially considering KS recently said he was putting his View Askew universe to rest.)</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">Keeping couch warm and the popcorn I Can't Believe It's Not Buttered,</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">Jeff</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 16px;">P.S. - If you have Netflix, I'd really recommend the 6-part PBS docu-series "Circus". I plowed through the whole thing last night, and while it was probably a little fluffy, it was still super entertaining to see what goes on with the cast and crew behind the scenes. </span></span>jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-59485616247009088882011-03-22T12:39:00.000-05:002011-03-22T12:39:02.894-05:00The Sensational SevenWith March Madness fully upon us, it only feels natural to share with the world the greatest basketball tale ever told. It has nothing to do with ESPN's Fab Five documentary. I mean, sure those guys were pretty good and all, but they couldn't hold a candle to the Sensational Seven, the greatest conglomerate of basketball talent since the 1992 Dream Team. Our tale begins in rural South Dakota (cue Wayne's World dream sequence, doodly doo, doodly doo, doodly doo):<br />
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I grew up in an environment that could make any kid an NBA standout. I had a coach for a dad that had me playing on teams since I was barely big enough to hold the ball. To put it into perspective, we were still young enough for it to be acceptable to wear snow boots to games. Throughout my childhood basketball was always present, whether it was spending days in the gym coloring and reading while my dad coached high school teams, watching the neighborhood kids come over to play in our driveway in Tea, or laying on the carpet crying along with Michael Jordan as he hugged his first championship trophy (wow, those were all exceptionally passive involvements). When I moved to Hartford, I was quickly introduced to a culture where sports were king. I began playing on intramural and Tri-State teams in the 4th grade, attending yearly summer basketball camps, and going to every open gym we could get into. By the time we reached junior high, I had a group of friends who lived and breathed basketball. Our rooms were all decorated with our favorite teams (mine was the Bulls, and I got lucky enough that my parents bought a house with red carpet in one of the bedrooms to complete my total worship) and our driveways had lines painted where the free throw and three point lines were. Almost every summer day was spent playing together, learning each other's games, and making videos of us dunking on 6 foot rims (which, as a 5 foot tall, 185 lb 5th grader, I still find to be pretty impressive). We really had a lot going for us.<br />
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Since our group was so tight knit, we figured for sure that we had basketball greatness ahead of us. Through junior high and into our freshman year, we eagerly anticipated the growth spurts that would make our bodies finally catch up to how great we knew our skills were. Around our freshman/sophomore years we all shot up to 5'10"-5'11". I remember thinking, "Next stop, 6'5"!" Unfortunately, that train to Tallsville never pulled into the station and suddenly our All-Star basketball team was just seven guys that were all roughly the same boring, average height. We also had a class of super athletes above and below us. Future, thy name is mediocrity.<br />
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Still, even with our height disadvantages, we had a fairly successful year and came within one errant pass of winning our conference our freshman year. What we lacked in athleticism we made up for with chemistry. We carried that momentum into our sophomore year, where we knew we'd be competing for spots on the JV with the loaded freshman class below us. The first practice was harsh, but most of us were relieved to see our names had made the list to come back to the second one. That afternoon practice was even more brutal, and at the end of it my friends and I were all called into the office for a little sit down chat with the coach. "Boys, I just want to be up front with all of you. We won't be cutting you, but you need to know that you're probably never going to see playing time in a game. We'd like you guys to come to practice, work hard, and serve as support players to the rest of the guys, and maybe after a couple of years we can squeeze you into a game." That was super reassuring. <br />
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We all left that practice feeling disheartened knowing that our basketball futures were now being relegated to being tackling dummies for everyone else and that we could easily be replaced with a folding chair with a broom stuck in it. The "brave" move probably would have been to show up, work hard, and hope for a Rudy like story where we were allowed to come in during the last minute of a blow out so that our names could be etched in history, but we were players, dammit, and we needed to play. That's when the magic happened...<br />
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We found out that there was a league in Sioux Falls at the local YMCA that was fairly competitive. My best take on it was that it featured some of the best athletes in South Dakota's biggest city and surround areas that could never keep their grades up or stay out of trouble. That's probably not a fair assessment, but judging by the number of times someone on our team got punched or someone on the other team smelled like they just came from the bar, I can't help but feel like it was at least a little accurate. Still, we had our hearts set on proving people wrong, so we loaded up our warm-up jerseys and lay-up drills and brought them to the big city. I can't even fathom how impressive we must have looked in our matching uniforms with two real high school coaches roaming the sidelines. All of the other teams had to wear whatever sweat covered jerseys the YMCA dug out of a box somewhere and answer to some poor schlub who got stuck driving his kid brother to the Y. And had the other teams showed up more than two minutes before tip-off, they would have seen some of the best warm-up drills this side of the Big Sioux. Okay, so maybe we overdid it a bit, but we had one goal in mind: championship!<br />
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Here's a quick glimpse at the Sensational Seven:<br />
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Travis "Rip" Grace - Our only true point guard, Travis had a way of putting his head down and getting to the lane not seen since Isiah Thomas.<br />
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Dan "Schmidty" Schmidt - Our leanest team member, Dan was also our fastest and best jumper. To watch Schmidty glide through the lane and towards the rim was like watching Brian Boitano glide across the ice. The kid was smooth.<br />
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Brent "Cosmo" Kramer - If God ever sent an angel to kiss the shooting hand of someone, it was Kramer. He always lurked just outside the three point line, waiting for the kick out to break the other team's back and heart.<br />
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Jeff "Big Red" "Red Rocket" "Lumberjack" "Pete" Peterson - How does someone with absolutely no jumping ability succeed in basketball? By perfecting the backwards jump shot! Pete was a scrapper who led the team in punches received by the other team.<br />
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John "Guido" Fortney - Fortney was the illegitimate child of Wolverine and the Incredible Hulk. Driven by anger and a need to win, he was able to keep himself reined in and was our Swiss Army Knife, possessing all the tools needed to succeed inside or out.<br />
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Josh "Yoshi" Siemonsma - I often wonder if Yoshi has a time machine stashed somewhere that he used to go back and teach Kareem and Wilt how to shoot the hook shot. Yoshi was our tallest guy (he'd have to verify, but probably right around 6'), so by default he was our center. He was also the only one who didn't get the tackling dummy speech, so he made some sacrifices to jump over to the Y-League to chase glory.<br />
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Jeffrey "Poolman" Pool - While not the most athletic/talented/skilled player on the floor, he often played the smartest. Pool usually benefited from being in the right place at the right time (which was never a coincidence) and was always more happy grabbing a rebound or dishing out to Kramer than scoring. He was just like Dennis Rodman without all the political incorrectness. <br />
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Our first year in the league was pretty rough. It took some time to realize that we probably needed to carry a shiv in our sock in order to be successful. By year two, we were pulling it together. Since we had all played on the same team since we were 4th graders, we benefited from always knowing where the other guys were going to be at all times. We were almost always outsized, but it didn't matter because we had enough scrappers and box out fundamentals to make sure that we controlled all areas of the court. While we fell just short of our championship goals, word was starting to get out.<br />
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By year three, we were impressing people both on the court and off. We had a full cheering section that filled both the upstairs and downstairs bleachers. We toiled through a rough season, avenged losses from previous years, and found ourselves standing at the top of the proverbial mountain. There were no super stars or egos, just five friends who trusted in each other enough to take our grounded game to new heights. Now, to some, winning a YMCA intramural championship might not seem like that big of a deal, but to me, it was the world. It was a culmination of years of practice, and really the culmination of years of friendship. We knew we'd never get a banner hung in the gym at our high school, but we did get a free T-shirt, and by God, that meant something. We also received miniature trophies that featured a shoe and a basketball, and I have had that trophy prominently displayed on every desk I've ever had (as I typed that, I just looked around my current desk and realized it isn't sitting there and that it is on top of my refrigerator at home. I could have just deleted that last sentence, but I needed you to feel my shame. You'd better believe that the trophy will be here tomorrow).<br />
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I continued playing basketball in intramurals through college, and I was lucky enough to find another great group of friends that immediately gelled on the court, but we never quite reached the level of the Sensational Seven. Since then, I've maybe laced up the sneakers once or twice, but I've more or less settled on being a spectator. I was satisfied with my career even if it ended with the NBA never calling and, as of this writing, no documentarians have contacted me requesting the rights to our story. But the dream still lives.<br />
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What did this whole story have to do with me bettering my life? Well, the main point is that I finally realized that it might not ever get better than when I was an 18-year old with a free t-shirt and a trophy with a shoe on it. Just kidding! I have some newly found friends at work that play basketball daily over lunch. They've started to invite me to play with them, and while trading food time for exercise time has never been high on my priorities, I've decided to take them up on their offer. I tried playing last Friday for the first time, and I quickly remembered why we spent the first three days of every season conditioning. I made it about 12 minutes before I went wheezing into the locker room. I also tried busting out a couple of my sweet moves, but while the brain still remembers how to get to the rim, the body has all but forgotten. In one particularly sad display, I juked right, crossed-over left, drove to the hole, and had every intention of jump stopping, ball faking, and scoring two. Instead my knees decided that making 270 lbs come to a complete stop wasn't in the cards, and they decided to let me just keep going until I fell out of bounds. <br />
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So, with March Madness fully pulsing through me, I'm going to rededicate myself to achieving my life's goal of basketball success. The first step is finding the right shoes, and I can't help but think that with all of the Air Jordans I've ever owned there has to be a pair laying around somewhere with a little magic left in them. Tonight I plan on laying on my back in the middle of the living room as I try to perfect the goose neck jump shot. Hell, I might even set up a folding chair with a broom in it and dribble around it a little. With a little hard work and dedication, another free T-shirt is never out of the question.<br />
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Chasing my hoop dreams and that XL T-shirt,<br />
<br />
Poolman<br />
Go UNC!jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2898976815794389714.post-73480356857697320322011-03-21T10:05:00.004-05:002011-03-21T10:29:47.795-05:00Monday 1529: The Healing ProcessHello to my dearest friends and readers, and welcome back to the rebirth of 1509 Mondays. What started as a weight loss blog is about to morph into something much more meaningful because, at its core, the 1509 Mondays represented new beginnings with each new week. I went back and reread my very first post, and I talked about how my life was finally coming together with the exception of my being fat, and that I wanted to change that part of my life before I hit 30. You followed faithfully and supported my efforts through the last blog post, but at a certain point I hit my wall, both creatively and health wise. I had a tremendous secret at the time that I was keeping, and it was really a huge part of my mission. As of Thanksgiving weekend, I had an engagement ring that was burning a hole in my pocket, and since my rededication to health was born out of my rededication to life thanks to Jenna, I had a hard time not writing about her or us and how it effected my journey. My journey was our journey, and it became increasingly difficult to not talk about my nerves and my anxieties about the upcoming proposal and everything else that was going on in my life without spilling the beans. So, I just stopped spilling them altogether.<br />
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But you all just wouldn't let it die...<br />
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So, I'm turning back to the blog to continue to chronicle my journey towards a better me. In case you hadn't heard, Jenna said yes, and we were off to the races with wedding planning. I took on the bulk of the wedding planning because I was so excited, and I wanted to keep Jenna's stress and anxiety levels to a minimum. What I didn't realize in my overzealous enthusiasm was that I was becoming the only participant in the relationship. The warning signs were all there, but I was so excited that my time had finally come. Unfortunately, Jenna wasn't as excited and was dealing with a situation that was snowballing out of her control. Exactly a month ago yesterday, Jenna decided that she couldn't continue with the relationship and needed to end it in order to keep me from getting hurt even more down the road. She didn't share my enthusiasm or feelings, so she made the decision to call it quits rather than waiting until we got closer to the day or, God forbid, after we actually signed on the dotted line.<br />
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I'm not going to lie; I was devastated. At the time I didn't understand how we could go from 120 mph to a complete stop all at once. It took me a couple of weeks and a lot of tears to realize that she made a decision that I could never have made, and that while it hurt in a way that I hadn't hurt before, I'm thankful that she was able to do it when she did. There are a lot of feelings that come with that kind of event. Although I've been reassured a million times that it wasn't anything I had done, I still felt guilty. I felt embarrassed, ashamed, sad, and angry. It was funny, because my emotional trip through the break-up mirrored my weight loss journey, and every Monday seemed to be a reset. Monday 1525 (the day after) featured the longest car ride in my life as I drove through a blizzard and ice storm by myself, trying to drive through tears, fighting off the urge to pull over and get sick. A five hour trip turned into an eight hour trip that featured NPR being turned up as loud as I could get it in hopes of drowning out the thoughts running through my mind. Monday 1526 came after my first weekend alone. I thought I had made some major emotional progress through the week, and foolishly convinced myself that I was okay to be by myself for two straight days. The result was disastrous. The negative self-talk, the constant "what-ifs" and dwellings almost totally destroyed me. I was starting to see some of the darkness creep in that I hadn't seen in a couple of years, but I was self-aware enough to not fall into old bad habits. Monday 1527 came after my first weekend where I allowed myself to drink again. I knew I wasn't ready, but I felt like I needed to prove something to myself. It resulted in me sitting in an alley outside the bar sobbing, punching the ground, and repeatedly calling Jenna over and over. It wasn't my best moment.<br />
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But something else happened on Monday 1527. I asked Jenna to call me so that I could apologize for the weekend, and she obliged. I told her that train wreck Jeff was not the Jeff that I wanted her to have as her lasting image of me. I also asked her if there was ever a chance that we could be together again as a couple, and she told me that, no, there wasn't anyway she could see it happening. With those words, it was like an immediate weight was lifted from me. No longer did I have to carry the burden of waiting forever for her to come around like I did in my first real relationship. Jenna officially set me free, and both physically and mentally I could feel myself starting to perk up. I had taken a couple of days of work off to go ice fishing at the end of that week, and even though we nearly died, it was still a fantastic weekend because I finally let myself be me again. Monday 1528 was like I was a whole new man.<br />
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In the process of all of this feeling and healing, I also had a major "life event" happen that oddly mirrored my emotional issues. The Sunday before Monday 1528 (a week ago yesterday), I was driving home from ice fishing, finally able to enjoy music again without thinking every lyric was about me. I stopped in Sauk Centre, MN, to fill up on gas. It was cold and I was only wearing a T-shirt, so I was trying to hurry the process up. In my rush to get back into my car, I reached for the receipt, quickly turned around, and got a face full of car door. I heard my nose crack and could feel the blood starting to come down my face, so I did the natural thing: I jumped back into my car so that I could bleed all over. You might consider this a stretch, but this analogy helped me a lot last week. Originally I thought I had just gotten a bloody nose and that once I stopped the bleeding, I was going to be okay (the break-up), but upon further inspection, I realized that the wound was much deeper than I had originally thought (weeks 1 and 2). Instead of doing the right thing by calling for help, I decided to tackle the issue on my own and did something reckless (drinking when I wasn't ready) and drove myself to the hospital while I was trying to stop a trauma and keep the blood out of my eyes. It turned out that I needed six stitches in my nose to hold it back together, but once those stitches were in, I knew I was going to be okay. After I left the emergency room, I called all of my friends and family to tell them about it, but to let them know that I was fine. For all of last week I had a pretty gnarly looking wound that I carried everywhere with me, but no matter how ugly it was, I knew it would eventually heal. Throughout the week there were times where it irritated me, and a couple of times where I accidentally bopped myself in the glasses and the pain came rushing back, but for the most part, as the week progressed, I began to forget it was even there. Yesterday, I got the stitches out, and while there is definitely a scar, it isn't as ugly as I initially thought it was going to be. I somehow managed to punch myself square in the nose last night when I was getting into bed, and while it still hurt, it didn't bleed or overwhelm me. There are still going to be times where I do something stupid and pick at the wound, and the scar may never go away, but I'm honestly okay.<br />
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So, here I am, Monday 1529, with a new nose and a new lease on life. I want to thank everyone for all of their love and support through it all. Your unconditional love and no-nonsense advice helped me heal at the rate I needed to heal, but still kept me from veering into a lane of depression and self-pity. I especially want to thank my parents, not only because they were in Sioux City when it happened and gave me a literal shoulder to cry on, but because they were good about not pressing the issue, even though it is in their nature to want to put that Band-Aid on my scraped knee and kiss it until it feels better. Also, either through nature or nurture they gave me the sense of humor that I've been able to use through it all. Even when it hurt the most (and even when I walked into the emergency room with blood all over my face and clothes), I was still able to keep things in perspective, try my best to keep it light hearted, and laugh my way to being better. The other great thing that came from all of this is that I'm now way more invested in my life in Minnesota. The people at work have really stepped up to take care of me, knowing that I'm kind of up here in Coon Rapids physically alone. I can 100% say that I wouldn't have made it without them, and friendships that I had pre-break up are even stronger now. <br />
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Where does that leave me and the blog? Well, with cautious optimism I'm ready to say, "I'm back (again)!" I was fairly conscious of my ability to gain 30 lbs through all of this, and I knew taking care of myself physically was essential to staying tough mentally. I slipped a little in the past week or two, and I've fallen back into the eating out all the time habits. Still, I'm not far off from where I was when I stopped blogging in December, so I'm going to jump back into this thing again and see what I can get accomplished. After all, I'm single and ready to mingle, so I've got to put my best foot forward. <br />
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Here are some things that you can expect to find in the newly reborn blog: more information about the betterment of Jeff as a whole (you guys can only read so much about my eating habits, and I can only write so much), a continued presentation of the unabashed truth, and a cautious optimism towards the future. What you won't find is whining, self-pity (well, at least not a lot), or any negative feelings towards or dirt on Jenna. A month ago I ready to spend the rest of my life with her, and while I hate what happened, I have no hate towards her. She did what she thought was best for both of us, and being a month removed, I respect her for that and still love her as the great friend she's been to me for the past three years. I truly hope she finds happiness, and I know that I will, too.<br />
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I'll leave you some song lyrics that have become my new mantra the past couple of weeks. In the midst of my iPod betraying me with five straight songs in the vein of What Hurts the Most and What She's Doing Now, I got an unexpected pick me up from Regina Spektor:<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: sienna; font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">Now, this is how it works</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">You peer inside yourself</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">You take the things you like</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">And try to love the things you took</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">And then you take that love you made</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">And stick it into some</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">Someone else's heart</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">Pumping someone else's blood</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">And walking arm in arm</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">You hope it don't get harmed</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">But even if it does</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px;">You'll just do it all again</span><br />
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So, thanks for joining me again on my journey to peer inside myself, find the things I like, and then share them with the world. It should be good for a few laughs.<br />
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With much love and thanks,<br />
<br />
Jeff<br />
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P.S.- Thanks to Jenny for pointing out the similarities of the nose/heart situations (although I totally was coming to it on my own).<br />
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P.P.S. - If you're in the market for a beautiful engagement ring, I know a guy who can get you a great deal! Just kidding, but not really.jpool23http://www.blogger.com/profile/00968548665667906959noreply@blogger.com0