Time of my Life

I had some spare vacation days to use before the end of the year and between them and the days we get off for Christmas and New Years I had a nice stretch of 8 days off.

I didn't do a whole lot. Unless you count battle with the little mouse army gaining territory in the front room. Did you know they will go so far as to try and remove their fallen comrades from the field of battle? I was shocked too and thought that maybe this particular mouse army had evolved and developed their own form of ceremonial burial... At least until I found one of the corpses hidden behind a box with his head still stuck in the trap and the rest of his body missing. Now I've realized I'm fighting with an army of cannibalistic mice who aren't afraid of death and it's freaking me out a little.

I think the thing I did most over the really long weekend was hang out with the dog... Or at least it feels that way. I can't remember him ever wanting to snuggle up close or sleep in my lap but it seems that's all he wanted to do. While it could all be a result of the 65 degree temperature in our little house and his genetics coming from a place where it never drops below 85, it was nice to feel like I had a dog that loved me.

Feeling loved and rested I'm now ready to return to work.

The battle rages on:

The latest mouse assault was successful and has claimed more territory, this time in the kitchen. They have successfully broken through my barricades and defeated the sentries I had posted under the kitchen sink and have now claimed the trashcan suffering only one casualty.

Defensive tactics must be improved. We cannot afford to lose any more ground.

A mouse commando, who is clearly a member of a special forces unit, has been spotted on the shelf above the refrigerator.

He must have scaled something like 550 mouse feet up the back of the refrigerator without a climbing harness. Undoubtedly the work of a skilled commando. I can only hope he was just a scout and not setting up some kind of booby-trap under the cereal box.

Nicole and I have fallen for the great Ian Cooke this past week. He's an incredibly talented musician and his music is like nothing I've ever heard. It just so happens he's playing the Botanic Gardens tonight one block from our house.

Incredible.

Nicole and I are going to Orlando tomorrow for a little vacation. Work has been real stressful and I feel like I could use a nice getaway. It should be nice to see some 80 degree weather and spend time on the beach with her (yes, I know there isn't exactly a beach in Orlando but it's damn close to the beach considering at the moment the closest beach is just over 1,000 miles away).

Can't wait.

Just a few short days ago I was driving a convertible with the top down on a beach in FL. It was about 80 degrees and life was good. Now I'm back home in CO and at work, watching it get colder by the minute outside.

Vacations are nice.

I woke up depressed this morning. Maybe I'm having vacation withdraws. I did dream that it was summer and I was like 16 again and hanging out with all my old friends. I didn't find it depressing, rather enjoyable. Maybe I was subconsciously protesting the coldest night of the year.

I'm hoping another cup of coffee will help me feel better.

I don't know about any of you but my whole "good eating" plan went right out the window when the holidays showed up. I think I had a weeks worth of calories at the company holiday party alone.

I had been slightly scared of the scale considering my binge eating for weeks on end and my complete lack of motivation to hit the gym. Finally, while in Florida on vacation, I got up the courage to step on a scale.

Now, prior to my lapse of self control I weighed in at 177 lbs. By no means is that thin but I had managed to lose something like 8 lbs and I was damn proud of myself.

While standing in my grandmother's bathroom in Brooksville, FL and feeling pretty good about myself and my little vacation to a place where it never drops below 50 degrees I decided to step on the scale. It wouldn't have been so traumatic had the scale been a normal one. Rather, because my grandmother is in her mid 70s and can't see a traffic signal from a block away her scale has abnormally large numbers. So, when that 5 inch tall 186 came spinning into the little display window I almost fell over. I think 186 lbs is the most I've ever weighed. 186 LBS!!! That's only 14 lbs shy of 200! I'm 5 feet 7 inches tall!!

I guess the fact that my grandmother is a banquet chef and made us Eggs Benedict every morning for breakfast wasn't helping my fat situation. Nor the fact that I had TWO servings of it for breakfast.

Jesus, you all must think I want to die in my thirties.

Well, since my shocking weight discovery and our return from FL I've once again regained control of my stuffing-food-in-face addiction and have gotten back down to 178 lbs.

Now to just get to a normal BMI.

First, God damn is it cold.

Second, anyone remember what a goofball you were in middle school? The painful process of trying to discover your own identity and looking like an idiot while doing it?

In 6th or 7th grade my friends mother bought me a Dennis Rodman jersey and matching shorts. I was so in love with my outfit I wore it nearly every day. Then, to make matters worse I thought it would be a good idea to cut all my long hair off and just leave the bangs, you know, like the Mexican gangsters used to do. Then, couple that with my sweet pair of Nike Cortez (the gangster nikes) and I was the definition of middle-school-retard.

I remember wanting all that stuff so I could feel like my Mexican peers and maybe blend in a little and avoid all the crap they'd been giving me. Now, I realize it probably only made them beat me up more.

Here's to being an adolescent goofball!