Bobby Turns 50 Today

I did not forget our intrepid detective's birthday is today, Scout's honor. I just have become the laziest person EVER when it comes to blogging these days. Anyway, I could not let the day go by without paying "homage" to the man (yes, I know full well that Bobby is a "fictional" character) who has meant so much to so many of us for the past 10 years.

I apologize ahead of time for the lack of new material utilized in the greeting card below; I have not screen capped many (if any) photos from Season 10. Mainly because my screen capping software has developed an aversion to capturing shots from downloaded video material, and partly because the passion has waned a bit. Not my "passion" for Bobby, I assure you...just the tedium of the overall capping process itself.

I likewise need to apologize for the fact that many of the photos are not "technically" of Detective Goren, but I like them, so I used them. And I do believe I need to give "credit" t0 Ruby for the next to last photo in the album; she saw VDO in Utah earlier this spring/summer, and this was posted -- pretty much -- everywhere. If Ruby happens to see this and wishes me to remove it, I shall gladly do so. Meanwhile, enjoy my small tribute to Bobby. I wonder what case he and Eames are solving now.

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Success...FINALLY!!

I mentioned, a couple of posts back, that I had started the Atkins Diet a few weeks ago...July 3rd to be precise. Now, I have battled a serious weight problem "most" of my life. I have tried - virtually - every diet known to man...and then some...with varying degrees of success and/or failure - the ultimate result being...I eventually packed all the lost pounds back on...and then some. I'm not going to bore everyone with the details now. Suffice to say, I have "food" issues, okay?

Anyway, the only reason I decided to try dieting "one last time" is because of my knees...I've simply got to get some weight off of my knees. Then there are other potential health issues that are no doubt "looming" in the background, waiting to attack. The way I see it, I'm about one bacon-cheeseburger away from a heart attack or stroke, or one giant chocolate chip cookie away from testing positive for Diabetes; it runs in my family. But the main reason is my knees. I read somewhere that every pound a person loses translates into four pounds of pressure/stress off of the joints. I could get on board with that. Besides, it's just me...I'm all I've got here in Cincinnati, and I have to be able to take care of myself, and that is getting harder to do the older I get.

Anyway, I've been on this diet for five weeks now. I did not weigh myself before I started because...well, I don't own scales; I find them depressing. If I had scales, I would be weighing myself everyday...if not two or three times a day...and then be disappointed when I didn't drop a bunch of pounds overnight. (Not realistic, I know, but like I said, I've done this diet-thing once or twice now.) Then I would get discouraged, and it would be right back to the bacon cheeseburger and giant chocolate chip cookie. I decided to let my clothes be my gauge, or - better yet - when someone noticed I had dropped a few pounds and made a comment about it, then I would know.

I suppose I should mention that I told no one that I was starting a diet. I guess after years of trying and losing and gaining, and trying and losing and gaining some more influenced my decision. Of course, a couple of people have found out...mainly because they noticed I'm not pigging out on the leftover Danish and donuts in the break room, or that I'm ordering differently when we go out to lunch together. Like I said, if someone happens to notice I've dropped a few pounds and mentions it...that will be my reward.

So, here we are...five weeks later. I know I've lost weight; I can "feel" it. My clothes fit loser, parts of me don't "jiggle" quite as much as they did before. My knees still hurt, but I have noticed a slight improvement, and I am walking "better." But no one has said a word...no one has noticed...until today.

This afternoon, due to a minor mishap in the shower yesterday morning; i.e., I bent over to pick up the wash cloth I had dropped and threw out my lower back...AGAIN...for the upteenth time in the past 35 years, I had to schedule a trip to the chiropractor. Now, my chiropractor also happens to be my landlord who I have rented from since moving to Cincinnati 14 years ago. I had not seen her since May, so I figured this would be the "test" to see if I really am losing weight, or if it is merely wishful thinking on my part.

So, I am lying prostrate on one of the adjustment tables and Joyce lifts my sweater and adjusts the waistband on my jeans to "get at" the afflicted area. We're chitchatting amicably about this and that when all of a sudden, she says, "Have you lost weight? Because you sure look like you have." I tell ya, I could have kissed her, I was so overjoyed.

And the best part is, she commented on my weight loss "after" getting a good look at my big ol' butt, which - evidently - isn't quite as big as it used to be.

HAL-LE-LU-JAH!!

I can stop obsessing about that "first" comment and get back to focusing on losing more weight. Now, if I could only figure out a way to make the "food dreams" go away; I have one almost every night. And I have an uneasy feeling that all the food I "eat" in the midst of those ravenous dreams has an evil way of winding up as extra pounds on my thighs.

An Insulting Sort Of Week

In the space of less than a week, I have been called "unfortunate" and "not pretty," and aspersions have been cast on the rural section of Ohio from which I hail. Ah, a proverbial insult "trifecta."

Here is how it came about.

A week ago Saturday, I was returning from a trip to a local farmer's market when my downstairs neighbor, Julius, met me as I was falteringly making my way up the front steps. (I have crotchety knees and a cranky lower back, making it a "struggle" for me to walk in the "normal" way...and it shows.) Anyway, Julius offered to carry my parcel up to my apartment for me, commenting that he knows how "unfortunate" I am.

Now, Julius is from Hungary originally, so his English - while quite good -- still leaves a bit to be desired. In fact, when he speaks, his "accent" reminds me of Wolfgang Puck. So, to my way of thinking, perhaps...unfortunate...was not the precise word for which he was searching, but that is the word he latched onto and thus I am labeled...unfortunate.

Then a few days later, I am having a conversation with Mary at work. Mary is about six years older than I, and is very unhappy in her job. I'm okay with mine...for the most part. It's a job after all, and every now and then it has its moments. I know that Mary "feels" that the powers that be are trying to encourage her to retire. So, I told her that Dave (our boss) had asked me twice recently about my retirement plans. Keep in mind that Dave is three or four years older than I am and says he doesn't plan to retire until he's 70, so why he's hot to know my plans I'd like to know.

So, I said to Mary, "I wonder why Dave doesn't pester Andy or Chris about their retirement plans?" And she said testily, "It's because we're women, and we're NOT PRETTY." She said some other stuff after that, but -- truth be told -- the remainder of her discourse fell on rather deaf ears. I mean, I am the very first one to say that I think I'm ugly, but to have it flung full force in my face by someone else...well, I have to admit...it "stung" just a little.

And finally, last Thursday before our quarterly Board meeting, one of the members I have known since my previous job walked up to say good morning. Then he asked me how many years it had been since I came to work in Cincinnati, and I replied that I was in my 14th year. He made some offhand comment in response to that and then asked, "Now, what county were you from?" "Lawrence," I answered. "And the county seat?" he continued. "Ironton," I said, and awaited the response I knew this would bring. Unfortunately, he did not disappoint me. He sort of half-snickered and half-laughed and said, "No wonder you moved here."

"Pompous ass," is what I wanted to say, but I just smiled to myself and thought it instead. Trust me, it is not the first time I have run up against this "city-superior" attitude. Many times I have been forced to bite back the ugliest things that pop into my head when confronted with these imbecilic comments. When I finally realized a few years back that the biggest mistake I EVER made in my life was moving to this hateful, despicable, God-forsaken town I pretty much stopped giving a rat's ass about what other's thought of my humble, country background. But I digress.

So there you have it. Three people, whose opinions don't truly hold much water with me, think me to be a wretched, ugly, country-bumpkin. Well, you know what...screw them.