Weekly Weigh In: Week 8

This weekend saw the return of glorious progress in the quest to lose weight. I'm down to 178 and a 37 inch waist. Whee! I haven't seen a weight in the 170's for a couple of years now so I'm quite excited. I was also glad to see that my week of no progress wasn't repeated as I wasn't relishing the thought of trying to figure out ways to mix things up. I'm now three pounds from my weight goal of 175 however unless that loss of three pounds comes with a couple of inches off of the waistline, I will most likely continue dieting until my gut is a little smaller.

This was a high point in what can be described as a very uneven weekend. Friday night I set about seeing if playing bass in Rock Band on Hard is hard (it is) and all I got for my trouble was a busted Xbox. Luckily it wasn't the dreaded red rings of death, just a general hardware failure, but the end result was the same, namely I had to pack up the 360 and send it to Texas where it'll sit for two to three weeks. I have other systems on which to play games, which is good, however I was looking forward to putting the nail in GTA IV's coffin. Guess those stunt jumps and pigeons will have to wait a bit longer. In the mean time I'm playing God of War II which is OK and soon will have to start reviewing We Love Golf.

Saturday was the weigh in, so yay for that, but then Saturday night my daughter's high temperature from earlier in the week reared it's ugly head putting the plans of seeing The Dark Knight on Sunday in jeopardy. My reaction to this piece of bad news was to not sleep well for the rest of the night until 5:50 when the stupid carbon monoxide detector started chirping every 30 seconds to tell us that the battery was going. Shortly afterwards the dog decided to smear poop all over the carpeting necessitating an ass bath for him and a cleaning of the carpet, and this was all before the kids woke up. As callous as this sounds, I honestly can't wait for that fucking dog to die. He has ceased to bring anything to the table but shit stains and odd growths on his back. My wife still enjoys his company for some odd reason, but I guess it bodes well for my body's eventual slide into disrepair.

Luckily come Sunday morning my daughter was doing well so we headed out to buy Ben some school supplies and my insistence what we go to a different, rarely tread Walmart was rewarded with the Animated version of Jazz, the only figure I had yet to purchase. Double whee! He is much smaller in vehicle mode than I imagined and his transformation is very straightforward but he's Jazz and he comes with nunchuks, so I don't care.

Sunday night Linda and I went out to dinner and saw The Dark Knight and I have to say that every review I've read of it was spot on. I was concerned going into it that it wouldn't live up to the hype, or that I'd seen everything in the trailer, but this movie was so different from what I thought it was going to be, that it was like never seeing a frame of film before sitting down and watching it. Rather than rehash what I'm sure you've read elsewhere, I'll just say that it was brutal and harrowing and like being kicked in the stomach for three hours, but in a good way.

Today is similarly uneven as a trip to Target yielded a new Universe 2.0 Transformer, but our medical insurance company has denied the claim for Abby's therapy sessions because insurance companies were spawned in the pits of hell and are staffed by demons with shit spewing cocks for brains. Apparently they'd rather we stick a tube in her stomach and feed her that way than pay for some therapy sessions, because that makes perfect sense. I hope they all die. Did you get that, warrantless eavesdropping fuckwits?

Grrr.