Skinny Jeans Make a Man Wanna Holler

Part of getting serious about losing weight means I'm gonna go back to my roots and see where my head was when I decided I was gonna get my waist down to a 32, as per my SKINNY JEANS, via my posts for The Fashion Herald. Here's what I wrote last year. And no, I'm not near a 32 waist :(

I’ve been asked by the good people over at the Fashion Herald to do some guest-blogging; a combination of bull-in-a-china shop-trying-on-jeans and my resolution to lose weight this year. I believe the phrase “Fashion Week video segment” was bandied about as well. I’m not sure what Fashion Week is, to be honest I think I'm confusing it with Fleet Week, but if it means I’ll be hanging out with the Victoria’s Secret Angels and fending off Tyra’s advances then I’m up for it. Well, or for rubbing butter all over my body while a coupla ensigns from the USS TOO MUCH put their anchors away, if you know what I mean. You say Fashion Week, I say Fleet Week, either way I'm already horny.

As I said, I’ll be doing a weekly check-in over there with my weight. I’ll be doing exactly what I did for 2 months this summer: taunting Cub Scouts with my adult-sized penis. Hiyooooo!!! I’m kidding!!! Of course I mean working out, no beer, eating fruits and vegetables in normal, human-sized portions. And by “human-sized” I mean portion sizes that humans eat, not my usual “ground beef the size of a human.” And while this summer I failed miserably, putting every ounce I had lost back on with a vengeance, I at least proved to myself that I COULD do it, that it is actually possible for me to eat like a human. Apparently I’m buying a pair of “target jeans”; ie jeans that I hope to fit into at the end of said diet. Not, unfortunately, “Target jeans”, meaning I could buy one of those huge 99 cents bags of popcorn while shopping at Target for jeans. Sigh. Life: a fickle mistress.

It looks like my waist right now is a 42…I reckon it should be 32. My inseam is 32, and as a young buck I remember being horrified at the prospect of having the waist number higher than the inseam. Waist number passing inseam number meant you were a fat, big tub of chicken skin that would never see a woman naked, take your shirt off at the pool or, more importantly, see a woman naked. And of course the last 15 years of my life have borne this theory to be true. Crap. Life: a fickle mistress you’ll never see naked.

So at the end of this fat tunnel I’m looking to fit into the ol’ 32-32. That’s ten inches off my waist. I don’t really know what that means or how much weight that translates into. Although if you noticed I bypassed a chance at a “10 inches in my pants” joke there. And a free new pair of jeans is coming along just in time – I usually only keep maybe 2 or 3 pairs on my active roster at any given time, and I’ve just worn a hole through the crotch of one of ‘em. This happens to every single pair I have, and it’s completely due to the fact that I spent 99% of my waking life clawing at my nuts. Seriously. At any given moment, my hand is on my package –scratching things, moving things around, whatever. And the thing is I always scratch even though I never itch. To see me scratch, you’d think I spent a year in Da’Ning in a tent with Bill the Cat. I can’t ever for the life of me remember a moment I’ve ever thought “hey, my nuts itch…I should scratch…” No, it’s always “…well, I’m awake, might as well have my hands on my balls as much as possible…” So invariably the crotch wears out and I gotta get new jeans. Hmm. Maybe instead of worrying about losing weight I should address the fact that I play with my balls so much throughout the day that I literally rub through thick denim. Interesting.

So anyways, keep checking out the updates over at the Fashion Herald. Wish me luck!!