Smacking Fat in Its Fat Face w/ Matt

Part 3: Where the sidewalk ends, the creepy begins...

I walk roughly one-mile-and-a-half to and from my place of employment every single day. In the fall and winter months, when the air is crisp and one can feel the slightest nip at one's nose--as if Jack Frost himself is playfully chewing upon your face (perv!)--the walk can be quite pleasant. In the spring, it depends. In Summer, the walk is a grueling death march, a self-torture I endure because of a lifetime of "snack attacks." "You did this to yourself," I grumble to myself. "Don't go blaming that innocent red-haired girl and her daddy's delicious square hamburgers. They didn't force that food down your throat" But no matter the weather, I walk. And some days, I'm joined by what can only be describe as the dregs of humanity. These are their stories. Or, rather, my stories. But, actually, they are my recollections of the experiences we've shared on the long road to nowhere. Well, it's their long road to nowhere anyway. I was just trying to get to work (or my car) and these creeps got in my way or whatever. And recollections are stories, right? So these are some stories. Gah!

1. Matt and The Lady with Every Problem in the World Ever

Typically, I walk with headphones jammed in my ears, but on one particular day, not long ago, I was without musical accompaniment on my stroll back to the car. The walk proceeded without incident until I was but a mere block from my vehicle--I could see it in the near distance--when I saw her: a woman in her forties, confusedly shuffling around the bus stop. I initially made it past her--cue sigh of relief--but then an unexpectedly loud and commanding voice froze me in my place.

"Sir, may I speak with you real quick?" she asked with all the confidence of a keynote speaker at a Public Speaking Hall of Fame induction ceremony.

"As long as it's quick," I said, believing she was only going to ask for directions. She didn't look disheveled or mentally disturbed. She only look confused. Little did I know that this lady, who I will call "Fran," was currently experiencing EVERY PROBLEM IN THE WORLD EVER. Let's count them down, shall we?

1. She had just been released from police custody.

2. Her babies--of which she claimed to have four, though was accompanied by exactly none--had to sleep on the concrete. ("And you know babies can't sleep on the concrete," she informed me. As a dad-to-be, I appreciated this advice.)

3. She had diabetes.

4. She had only had a small bag of assorted Planter's nuts to eat all day. (She showed me the half-empty bag as proof.)

5. Her ID had been stolen by an individual who had also tried to murder her.

6. SOMEONE HAD TRIED TO MURDER HER!

7. She needed exactly twenty dollars. ("Or ten dollars if that's all you think you can do.")

"I don't carry cash," I told her--because I don't--and I turned to leave. "Fran" was not finished with me however.

"That's OK. There's a bank right up here. We can walk over there together and you can get the money out for me."

"I actually don't have any way of getting you any money out of any ATM," I told her--because I don't.

"Well, that's OK. When I was six-years-old I fell in love with Jesus and He's never let me down. You have a blessed day." And with that, she disappeared. I'm serious. It was, like, some leprechaun shit.

2. Matt and The Guy Who Hates His Ex-Wife and Lives in the Park

I met a man one morning--let's call him "Karl"--who needed directions to the court house. I could've easily just given him the directions and scurried away, but instead I said, "You're in luck: my office is right next door to the court house," and then gave him the directions, and tried to scurry away. He took my "right next door" comment as an invitation to become my walking buddy. As we walked--he matched my brisk, 'please-leave-me-alone-weirdo" pace--I got to know "Karl" more than I really needed to. First, I learned he was on his way to court because he might have beaten up his ex ("I didn't do nothing to that bitch!"). Next, he explained to me how much he hated the city of Raleigh. ("All this construction! Why can't I get a construction job? It's all who you know! It's not fair! I hate Raleigh!"). Lastly, we spoke of his current living arrangements. ("I live in a tent in Durham." I don't know how he got to Raleigh. Didn't want to know). I found a break in his weird, mumbly rant and explained that I needed to go a different route that day for, um, religious reasons, and left "Karl" to continue mumbling to himself.

3. Matt Narrowly Avoids a Shirtless Weirdo

Saw this guy today walking down the street shirtless carrying an armload of clothing. At first I thought he was wearing a wrinkled, peach-colored shirt, but, nope, he was just lumpy and shirtless. We did not get acquainted.

Smacking Fat in Its Fat Face w/ Matt

Part 2: Don't call me King Hippo...

Enough already with the girly dance-dance--it's time for something a little more man-sized. You know what that means: the sweet science...the old punchy punchy bleed bleed...float like a butterfly, sting like some kind of stinging insect, like, maybe a wasp or something...

I'm talking about boxing! Is there anything more mantastic? I watch two dopey sweat-glazed mooks throwing haymakers at each other in a filthy ring while onlookers scream for bloody satisfaction and I get a soul-boner. Yeah, I said it, a soul boner. It's not the kind of boner people can see poking out of your gym shorts. It's more spiritual than that, though who am I to say you can't experience spiritual fulfillment chub-popping at your local gymnasium. You keep doing that if that's you're thing, baby.

Forget all that spirity hokum though: tonight I was rarin' to do it up Tyson-style! In fact, I was excited all day long--no foolin'--knowing that when I got home this evening I was going to start my journey on the path to better living through pretend beating the shit out of dudes.

So, sure, I was a little disappointed when I was reminded that the video's title was actually 10 Minute Solution: Kickbox Bootcamp and not 10 Minutes Til You're Beating Fools Up, Son! But what did it matter really? Kickboxing is just boxing with an kick added here and there, right?

Then I met my trainer: Keli Roberts.

Now, I don't have an issue with Ms. Roberts because she is a woman--and an Australian one at that--I just don't trust people who spell "Kelly" with one "l" and an "i." That might work in Australia, mate, but last time I looked I don't see any jackaroos or whatever it is you people toss on the barbie next to all that shrimp. This is America. And in America, we give our "Kellys" two "l's."

So, OK, I'm doing kickboxing with Keli. It didn't take me long to shift into kickboxing mode. Admittedly, it isn't much different than boxing mode. Next, I have to sit through an introduction to the video that basically lays out the five, 10-minute sections I will have to conquer to become an amateur kickboxing champion probably. These sections are:

-Basic Training (Obvs.)

-Ultimate Buns and Thighs ('kay. Not entirely sure how that relates to kicking dudes in the face, but all right.)

-Arm and Shoulder Sculptor (Maybe.)

-Washboard Abs (Yes, please.)

-Fat-Burning Blast

"This'll be a breeze," I thought.

"MAKE IT STOP OH GOD I'M DYING PLEASE DON'T LET ME DIE SWEET JESUS PLEASE," I was thinking five minutes into "Basic Training."

That being said, 10 Minute Solution: Kickboxing Bootcamp is super awesome. I got a great cardiac workout and Keli, despite her one "l," is an excellent trainer/coach. I'm not going to lie, the first time out was a bit on the painful side, but, hey, I'm new to this, OK! The fact is, I did the kicks and punches, I kept up with Keli, and I didn't stop moving until the 10 minutes were up. And as I write this, I feel amazing.

My goals: Do the 10-minute "Basic Training" portion of the video every day after work; speak with my wife about pursuing ultimate buns--I already have a pretty great butt, but making them "ultimate" may cause problems in our relationship; consider having pre-fab washboard abs simply inserted under the skin.

Smacking Fat In Its Fat Face w/ Matt

Part 1: I was fine until the cat started watching...

Weight: 242 (Damn you, CiCi's pizza buffet!) (Oh, I can't stay mad at you, CiCi's pizza buffet. Let's never fight again)

In an attempt to increase the amount of physical activity I get during the week, I've decided to step out of my comfort zone and try things I've never tried/purposefully avoided before. So, this morning I sprang out of bed around 7:45 with a smile on my face and a plan in my brain. The plan: I'm gonna dance off these inches. The method: Dance Off the Inches: Fat Burning Jam with Michelle Dozois.

You may be overjoyed to learn--or possibly not--that Netflix offers a limited selection of on- demand work out videos for subscribers to enjoy, most of them being some variation on dance aerobics. I add a few to my Instant Queue yesterday in preparation. Fat Burning Jam was the obvious choice for my first dance aerobics video experience. I mean, c'mon, a jam? I love jams! Jams are totally fun. And this was a jam that burned fat. What more could you ask for? Read this description and tell me you don't instantly pop a work out boner:

Ten moves are all you need to master to start dancing your way into shape with this fat-burning funk fest from former national and world aerobics champion Michelle Dozois. With Dozois and friends leading the way, you'll learn three dance routines that you can infuse with your own personal style. Get energized for all the fanny-shaking flab busting you need to lose inches and pounds on the dance floor.

Funk fest? Fanny-shaking flab busting? Who am I to resist such promises? I'm not made of granite!

I am though mostly comprised of the aforementioned flab, so the idea of busting said flab with help from an aerobics champion and ten easy dance moves appealed to me greatly. And, hey, I like to dance. I don't do it well, but I like to do it.

The work out itself is only 36 minutes, but, man, does Dozois fill it to the brim with dance moves. And she doesn't take her time either. Dozois presents a move, she and her yoga-panted friends show you how to do it, and then you better keep up, because, seriously, they are going to leave you in the dust. I can say that I did, in fact, keep moving for 36 straight minutes, but I'm not going to lie and say I perfected each dance move. I mastered the "party march," "kick-ball-step" and the "side-to-side lunge," but I could never quite get the hang of the "box step w/ jazz hands" and I stopped trying after they added a spin.

This isn't to say Dozois is a bad teacher. I blame myself. I hate to lean on old timey sexism, but I'm a man, and a straight one at that. I can't swivel my hips. It's not because I don't want to. I physically cannot. I would love to possess the ability to move fluidly, sexily across a dance floor, like some kind of panty-moistening Latin lover you (not me!) read about in trashy romance novels or see dragging "celebrities" around on TV. I just can't! I've tried. I've never been able to dance. Scratch that: I can dance, in as far as I can jerk my body around semi-rhythmically to a handful of songs, but I can't, like, do any real dances like those aforementioned "celebrities" can. I can't even do something as simple as the box stop Dozois so eagerly and expertly demonstrated.

I couldn't keep up and I am incapable of performing even a single convincing hip swivel, but I sweated a lot and my legs are killing me, so I guess I did something right. Michelle Dozois and her MILFy pals got me started on a road to healthy living and for that I salute them and their yoga pants.

(In the spirit of honesty I should reveal that I did have to take a break from the fat burning jam to shoo my cat, as halfway through my work out he decided stretching out on the floor in front of the TV was a good idea. Lazy cuss.)

The story so far...

I know what you're thinking: "What's up with Matt? He dubs March 'Healthy Electric Penguin' month and the first thing he posts is a list of fast food he wants to eat. Then there's that stupid post about salad toppings--who in the world would put Fiddle Faddle on a salad? Dumb.--followed by the video of those two, weird Greek chicks dancing. What's so "healthy" about all that mess?"

I get it. I said at the beginning of the month we were all gonna get healhty together and I meant it. So, let's do it, people! You didn't really have to wait for me, but if you did, put your sweat bands on and dig your leotard out from the back of the closet, 'cause it's time to get physical.

To be perfectly honest with you, while my journey to a healthier life started earlier this year, the idea to turn my life around and drop some of this damn weight started last year, specifically when I learned I was going to be a father. When my wife showed me the pregnancy test, I was at my highest weight ever (I'm not comfortable sharing the number here, but I will say that it rhymes with "blue-bundred and nifty"). I decided right then and there that if I wanted to see my daughter grow up (first day of kindergarten, the prom, college graduation, wedding/commitment ceremony,etc), I was going to have to get my act together. My goal: 10 pounds a month until Quinn's birth, which would put me, if I started in February, which is exactly when I did start, at my goal weight of 200. All I had to figure out now was how to do it.

I have twice been a member of Weight Watchers. The first time, I faithfully worked the program, dutifully entered my points into the Weight Watchers database, and miraculously dropped 35 pounds in a matter of months. I was elated. I could bound up the stairs, make love to my wife, and run from Johnny Law (don't ask) without losing the ability to breathe on my own. It was glorious. I was a happy, thinner man. Then I made the biggest mistake of my life: I dropped out. I boldly explained to my wife that I had "rewired" myself--a phrase she still throws back in my face to this day, and rightfully so. "I don't need the Weight Watcher overlords to tell me what to do. They trained me well and I am ready to go it alone." I did OK for awhile, but then my wife got pregnant, the cravings started, and to make her feel less alone, I stopped caring about what I was shoving in my food-hole, and promptly destroyed all my hard work. If you think about it, this is all my wife's fault really. (J/K LOLZ)

The second time I joined it was for, like, two weeks and I simply forgot to enter my points into the grid in a timely fashion and, in failing to do so, learned that I didn't actually care. And so, you know, blue-bundred and nifty. Sigh.

So, what am I doing now? Well, I'm sort of working the WW program without working the program. I'm putting myself in the mindset that at the end of each day I have to enter my "points" into "the system," when in reality I am simply keeping a detailed log, or food journal, of what I eat and drink every day. I also keep track of my activities.

It's working. Kinda. I didn't quite meet my first goal. I lost 9 pounds in February, rather than the desired 10, but I haven't let it get me down. This month I'm focusing on adding more activities. I walk to work every day (1.3 miles there and back) and every Sunday the wife and I take a brisk 45-minute walk around a local lake. But I want to add more to the repertoire and I plan to document these activities in a new feature I'm calling SMACKING FAT IN ITS FAT FACE W/ MATT. You can expect the first one this Saturday.

So, that's where I am. This month--and maybe beyond, I haven't decided yet--I will use all of you as my accountability partners. Feel free to use me too, if you want. Together we'll keep each other honest. I'll keep you updated on my weight loss--as horrifyingly embarrassing for me as that is--as well as activities and foods I've discovered that have made the whole "getting healthy" thing not so bad. Let's do this!

Weight as of last Sunday: 241 lbs

51 Salad Toppings You Should Avoid

Salads! When you've decided to eat healthy, there is no easier meal choice than the salad. Of course, unhealthy salad toppings can turn even the healthiest salads into a caloric nightmare. We hope this list will come in handy when you eat your next salad. You're welcome.

1. shredded cheese
2. bacon bits
3. croutons
4. creamy dressings
5. Hershey's chocolate syrup
6. fried onion petals
7. Fiddle Faddle
8. Circus Peanuts
9. Fun Dip
10. deep-fried apple slices
11. Arby's Horsey Sauce
12. high fructose corn syrup
13. maple syrup
14. meatloaf
15. Pringles (specifically from the "eXtreme flavor" collection)
16. iceberg lettuce (tempura fried)
17. crystal meth
18. Gummi Bears
19. candy corn
20. candied whale blubber (not only unhealthy, but illegal in the US)
21. your grandpa's ashes
22. cauliflower (high in "yuck")
23. hot dog water
24. salted herring
25. soft-serve swirl ice cream
26. hobo piss
27. plant fertilizer
28. McCormick-brand Salad Toppins
29. McCarmack-brand Salad Sloppins
30. peanut brittle
31. country-fried ham chunks
33. brown gravy
34. man gravy
35. Advil Extra Strength
36. a whole pumpkin
37. a witch's tears
38. edible panties
39. MacCormook-brand Muppet Shavins
40. mac-n-cheese
41. double-fried pineapple-shards
42. panko-breaded mini chocolate chip muffins
43. melted butter
44. fish AIDS
45. Swedish Fish
46. carrot shits
47. Magic Shell
48. sawdust
49. salt chunks
48. gerbil farts
49. deep-fried crack rocks
50. grease-soaked kelp
51. sesame seeds

It's March! And you know what that means...

Hi, my name is Matt and I'm a fatty. Get healthy with me all month long at Giant Electric Penguin. Or, should I say...

HEALTHY ELECTRIC PENGUIN!!!

Let's do this!