Someone once said “House guests are like fish; they stink after three days.” Now, don’t get me wrong – we’ve got some absolutely fantastic friends, and I’m thrilled whenever any of them makes the trip out to visit us. Humorously, since we moved to the rather phenomenal Bay Area, and have a house with a rather comfy guest room, the amount of emails and calls we’ve gotten from family and friends alike that involve the words “So I was thinking, it’d be really cool to hang out, maybe I’ll buy a ticket and come visit!” have skyrocketed.

I mean, c’mon. This place is fantastic! You’d be nuts NOT to visit!

The steady stream has kicked our arses and left us jaded, though. In 2009, we had nine different visits from various folks and couples. And that’s not even counting locals like Professor Mike, who’ll crash here on occasion. Nine!!!

Ordinarily, the visit is fantastic. It’s fun, invigorating, and enjoyable. And I like to think that we do what we can to make sure our visitors have as good a time as possible. But Christ if the occasional one comes through that just takes the piss.

Caveat: It’s not someone who would be reading this blog.

Sinbad – shitty comedian, shittier houseguest?

Friends and family share. No problem with that. But fuck me if it doesn’t piss me off when someone rolls through and takes advantage of it. The beer fridge gets decimated, we get eaten out of house and home, and after they’ve left with a mumbled “thanks for letting us crash” we pick up the pieces from the trashed bathroom and spare room that looks like Led Zeppelin just stayed there. I mean Christ, we tell everyone to help themselves, but most folks have the common sense to maybe toss a six pack or two into the beer fridge if they’re indulging, or replace a few of the groceries, or offer to take us out to dinner, or something.

I dunno. Maybe I’m overreacting, or maybe I’m just jaded from having so many visitors in a relatively short time.

Oh, and happy new year!!

Okay, we love you guys, all three of you reading this. But seriously folks, we need a break!! The visits of Alex, Bennie, and Michael Whaaaaaatbridge have been documented, but it doesn’t end there. No, sir! Last week, Nacho’s friend Amanda was in town for the weekend. Soon as we got her out the door, the phone rings – it’s Mikey!! Mikey!!!! He was nosing around online, found a great deal on a rental car and tickets, so would we mind an impromptu visit? Course not, come on out!!

In fairness, we had a blast with Mikey and Asia in town. I’ve forgotten how much I miss that kid, and both T and I love Asia to bits, thinking she’s a great grounding influence on him. (He’s still a smart-arsed goofy little douchebag, in case you were worried.)

But folks in town – 4 of the past 7 weekends we’ve had people spending the weekend with us, and the other three were spent with us out of town – means we not only get much needed downtime at home, we’re also constantly being strayed from our diets. Somehow managed to work around it for the first few weeks, but absolutely not this past two. Still, that’s a small price to pay for having people you love in town – but rest assured we plan on being in hiding this upcoming weekend, salads in hand.

(Seriously tho, folks are more than welcome to come visit. We’re honoured that folks think highly of us enough to make the trek!! We just didn’t plan on having a constant stream for two months!)

Ooop, gotta cut this short and go grab the mutt from daycare!

The main reason I tend to be a fat b’stard is because I eat when I get stressed.

I’m not talking about stress levels when you have a deadline at work, or are engrossed in a football match. No, I mean stress as in SERIOUS situations. Life changing situations.

For example, it’s no coincidence that I chubbed up three times in my life. First, when my parents died. Second, when I moved to America. And third, when T and me decided we’d get married, find new jobs, move cross-country, and buy a house in Marin County. In the space of a year. Both times before, I cut the weight as soon as I dealt with the issues at hand – and now that we’re here and things have settled down, I’m dealing with the third “chubbening”. But now that this crap’s started at work, I’m noticing I’m slipping. A weekend down in Santa Cruz with Professor Mike saw me crack open one too many beers. And by one too many, I’m talking about a dozen over the course of this past weekend. Plus a bottle or so of wine. (Holy shit, I drank a lot this past weekend!) And add to that, the focus I’ve had the past three weeks slid around like Stephen Hawking on ice (without snow tires). It seems that the weekends are my downfall, especially when I’m not at home. That’ll be remedied this weekend, when I plan on staying the feck home for the first time in a month.

So am sure that when I sidle up to the scale this week, I’ll be suitably annoyed. I’m kinda hoping that venting about it here will help.

Work’s still on tenterhooks. We had a conference call yesterday to address the “situation”, mostly in the words of El Presidente “To calm folks down”. Of course that worked well when he said that even though he was “pretty sure” that the worst was behind us, in terms of cutting staff, he couldn’t rule out that it might happen again. And since yours truly was the one closest to the old heave-ho without getting it, I’m feeling AWESOME about that! There’s talk about changing our retirement plan from the absolutely free, ludicrously extravagant version to something a bit more normal – which shocks me. In my eyes, that should have been the first thing that went. Don’t get me wrong – love me my bennies, but I’d rather pay the mortgage, thanks very much. But alas, our office is made up primarily of folks who are dancing around retirement age, so of course it makes more sense for them to prefer to boot people out the door into this economy, than give up an ounce of the good stuff. That’s another pet peeve of mine – there’s so many folks who are at, or beyond, retirement age at work. And yet they continue to work, raking in their salaries, ridiculous retirement, and fattening social security, milking every last drop possible – while the younger folks in the office work for far less money, struggle with mortgages like yours truly, or now find themselves unemployed.

Awesome.

Aaaaanyhoo. In other news, the Premiership’s over for another season. Not officially, but it is for Liverpool – with United clinching their 18th league title, and 11th in the past 20 years. Us Liverpool fans are understandably miffed about it, and many absolutely refuse to give any credit whatsoever to our mortal enemies, citing that the best team most certainly didn’t win. Of course, my opinion is that the league table never lies, and that we left it too late to show the sort of form we’re capable of. But it’s in the past now, and all we can do is look forward to a Summer of silliness and irritation – where we begin by being linked to the likes of Carlos Tevez and David Silva, but will probably end up with Gareth Barry, an elderly Spanish former international, and some kid who nobody’s ever heard of, but honestly, he’ll be the next big thing (before disappearing into the reserves, and being sold on in two years, hopefully more or less breaking even…)

Off to ride today with JB. First time on the Turner in almost a year. I’m both looking forward to it, and dreading it. As I’ve said in the past, JB’s not only an expert rider, but is fit as all feck when it comes to riding (funnily enough, I can run him into the ground at footy, even though I’m lugging around 30lbs of chubb!) which means that the reminders I’ve given him about “Look man, bear in mind I’m fat, I’m NOT fit, this is my first time on the bike in a LONG time so I’ll be rusty as fuck, so for the LOVE OF GOD take it EASY!!” will last about five minutes. Ah well, only thing I can do is get back in the saddle, and it’ll come back.

Speaking of which, better get some work done before I disappear for it…

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Now playing: Oasis – To Be Where There’s Life
via FoxyTunes

Had one of the funner weekends I’ve had in some time. Ben arrived Thursday night for a long weekend, and Michael made the trek up from Ventura to hang out as well. Professor Mike was in the mix for an evening too, but bailed early for work – the pussy. The three of us are all going through adjustments, so to get together I think helped out a lot – at least it did for me. Nice to know that there’s always folks around (even if they’re miles away) that you can shoot the shit with and feel good around.

As to be expected, beer was flowing freely, with a field trip to Russian River Brewing and Bear Republic on Friday, as well as plenty of 12oz curls back home courtesy of the beer fridge. And we ate well too, as usual, with a big ol’ grillfest on Saturday night beating the shit out of substandard Lococo’s pizza the night before. We did manage to get a little bit of hiking in, out in Point Reyes, although hardly enough to burn off a beer, let alone all the crap I ingested over the weekend. Clicky piccy…

So I was driving Ben to the airport that Sunday night, talking over some of the crap on our minds on the way down. The drive home was sullen and annoying for me after I got him there safe. I’m furious at myself for getting so overweight. It’s not that I’ve let 10lbs creep on, I’ve got a good 40 I need to lose. What’s even worse was that I knew I had to lose 30 a year ago. And 20 the year before that. I’ve seen it coming, known I’ve needed to deal with it, and just… haven’t. That’s not like me at all. (Seeing those pics of me above didn’t help either)

So I got home, and had a sit down with Tracee. Neither of us are happy with the way things are – we’ve both chubbed up considerably, we’ve both talked about dealing with it, but we just haven’t – and I explained how upset and frustrated I was because of it. And, let’s be honest – I’m sure Tracee would prefer it if I looked like my old self instead of a lardarse, and I gotta admit, I miss the more streamlined version of Tracee I met back then. We’re on the same page, and we resolved to do something about it, starting immediately.

My beloved breakfast sandwich has been replaced by eggwhites, boiled pinto beans, and a little bit of Gimme Lean. Lunch has been salads, fruit, lean protein. Dinners the same. The beloved beer fridge is off limits for 8 weeks. Two days of soccer, two days of getting out on the bike. And the thing is, it’s not a chore. It’s like my mind’s finally got to where it needs to be to get rid of the flab. I’m not even tempted by the usual crap. Don’t get me wrong, a burger sounds good, but getting the weight off sounds even better, so in my head it’s no contest.

As a little motivation, I’ve set a goal. By September, I wanna do the Tabeguache ride in Fruita. 84 miles of hut-to-hut mountain biking over four days (with plenty more available at the huts afterwards), followed by a massage and comfy bed at the Gateway Canyons Resort. It got written up in NG Adventure last year, and it’s something I’ve always wanted to do. At $645, it’s a little steep, but the nice thing about this over the San Juan Huts is that this is completely all inclusive, and there’s absolutely no logistics needed – the outfitter does everything, from stock the huts to cooking the breakfast and dinners. Hopefully I can talk Michael and JB into it…

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Now playing: Led Zeppelin – Good Times Bad Times
via FoxyTunes

Aaaaaaaaarg!!