I'm Whacked - Part II

     Where our story last left off, I was faced with the choice of how to deliver my “sample” to the doctor’s office after my recent vasectomy. The sample is to determine whether the procedure worked, you know, to make sure I don’t have any “Michael Phelps” swimming around inside of me. So I decided to go to the doctor’s office on my lunch break today and of course, it couldn’t just be a simple visit….go figure.

     Let’s start by saying that I was a nervous wreck the entire morning at work, thinking about what I was going to have to do and where I was going to have to do it. My stomach was hurting and I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Even as I’m driving over, I’m even more nervous. I park in another doctor’s office parking lot because there is no parking in my doctor’s lot. Of course I’m waiting for a security guard or cop to come over and say, “you can’t park here unless you’re a patient.” What do I say? “No problem officer, I’m just here to rub one out, I’ll be back shortly.” Luckily, no one hassled me and I made my way into the building.

     The elevator ride up to the 4^th floor took forever. It was God awful. When I finally reached the 4^th floor and I’m getting ready to walk into my doctor’s office, I’m thinking to myself, please don’t let there be a waiting room full of people and a full staff behind the desk. Please! Please! Please! Well, I got half my wish. Only 3 people in the waiting room, but 3 behind the desk. Now the hard part, telling this young lady why I was there. 

ME: “I’m here to give you a sample.” 

HER: “a urine sample?”

ME:  thinking to myself, “really, I have to say it out loud. God, you either hate me or have a kick ass sense of humor.” I say to her in the lowest, softest voice I can muster: “semen.”

HER: “oh, you had a vasectomy.” 

ME thinking to myself: “Bingo honey, thanks for screaming it, now let’s get on with this nightmare.”

HER: “I’ll take your sample.”

 ME: thinking to myself: “really, I’ve got to explain to you that YOUR OFFICE PROCEDURE requires me to give it to you straight from the tap?” I don’t say that, what I say is, “no, the doctor’s nurse said the sample has to be less than an hour old. “

HER: “Oh, really?”

ME: thinking to myself: “no honey, I just prefer jerking off in local medical facilities, I’m strange like that.”

    

      Of course she has to consult with the other two young ladies to find out where to send the gray haired guy to go “wax his carrot.”  As she leads me back to the very rear of the office to what I’m assuming is a private area, I notice that it’s right next to the break room. Beautiful, just beautiful!! And of course, it’s 1:15, so someone’s in there having lunch. Just my freakin luck. So I close the door, check the lock twice to make sure no one can open it and I try to get myself in the mood but the entire time I can hear someone putting food into the microwave, slamming the microwave door, etc. “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!!  I just want to spank my monkey and get the hell out of there!!”

     Fast forward for your benefit.  I’ve completed this nightmarish task, which wasn’t easy, strategically I mean.  But I get it into this little cup and it’s important that I preface this last part with this…I’ve been a salesman my entire life. Eye contact is something vital to me. I don’t like people that don’t make eye contact and I make eye contact with everyone. The eyes are really the window to the soul. Impressive, right? Pretty deep for a jack off story…ok, back to the story. As I’m walking my sample up to the front desk, I almost dropped it off like a relay runner handing off the baton to the next runner. I couldn’t make eye contact with any of the three up there. I’d give a million bucks to know what they were thinking, it had to be hilarious. I know I’d be mocking the Hell out of me.

     So now I begin the “walk of shame” back to my car. Here’s another difficult part to this story. I have to GO BACK TO MY FREAKIN JOB NOW!!!! This isn’t like I went home for a crazy or romantic “nooner.” Nooooo!! I choked my chicken and now I have to try and resume my normal work day. Yeah, good luck with that Dave. All I know is that sample better come back negative of any live swimmers because if I have to go back and do that again, I’m bringing a dateJJ

I'm Whacked

  

     I don’t normally run story ideas by members of my family before I write them, mainly because I don’t care what anyone thinks. But I’m having a dilemma and it is so personal that I needed to ask my oldest daughter what she thought. As we were walking tonight I laid out the idea and I wasn’t even half way through telling her when she stopped, bent over laughing and said, “you have to write about it.”

     I only write about things that actually happen to me, I just sprinkle a little bit of sarcasm over the story to give it some flavor. Well, this dilemma I’m having right now needs no sarcasm. This could actually be a sitcom episode. And if I see it on TV, I will sue. A few weeks ago I had a vasectomy. I know that I always said that I would never, ever do that to myself but the realization that I’m only 6 months away from my youngest daughter’s 18^th birthday and realizing that after that birthday I will never, ever have to pay another child support payment. When I saw the light at the end of the tunnel and thought that my 50^th birthday is coming up on August 20^th, I knew what I had to do. I had to make sure that I never had to pay any woman another child support check and the thought of lugging diaper bags and strollers around at 50 makes me want to swallow a bullet and I LOVE kids. I discussed it with both my daughters beforehand and they said with a resounding “YES” because in their words, “we aren’t babysitting or even acknowledging you or the baby if you get some woman pregnant.” Ahh, the sweetness in my two bitches, oh I mean daughters.

     So skip past the actual procedure because I’m trying to block that out forever. One good thing though, if I ever had any questions on whether I was gay, I can tell you now that I’m definitely not. After having a man fondle, grab, pull and basically abuse my scrotum for 15 minutes, in the words of George Costanza from Seinfeld, “it didn’t move.” OK, so I didn’t skip past the procedure. Now, here’s my dilemma, finally. I have to take a sample in to my doctor’s office so they can check to see if I’m completely sterile. Sounds easy enough, right? Well, if I lived back in Turlock, where my doctor’s office was 7 minutes from my house, it wouldn’t be a problem. But nooo, I live in the North County of San Diego and the doctor’s office is almost in Downtown San Diego, a good 30-45 minute drive, if I’m lucky. So, I thought, OK, I’ll “do my business” in the cup, put it in the refrigerator and take it in the next morning, simple. As I’m reading the instructions I notice it says that the sample has to be less than an hour old. OK, problem. This eliminates the plan of taking care of business at home and driving to the doctor’s office because by the time they get the sample and test it, it will be well over an hour and I want an accurate reading.

     So I’m left with 3 choices that I can think of.

Choice #1: park in front of the doctor’s office and whack off in my car. Well, other than the fact that it is illegal and I’d probably get arrested, it’s just super creepy. Choice #1 eliminated.

Choice #2: my doctor’s office is only about 10 minutes away from my work. This would mean I’d have to whack off at work. Again, not another ideal situation for me to be in. Yes, I could try to explain to the onlookers/co-workers that I am strictly conducting a scientific medical procedure, I don’t think my HR department would care for this one. Although, I didn’t read anything in the company handbook about masturbating at work, so I may not be breaking any company policies. Yeah, Choice #2, also eliminated. Choice #3: do it in my doctor’s office rest room. This may be my only option.  But how weird is this going to be? I walk in and ask, “may I use your restroom, I need to give the doctor a sample?” Of course my doctor’s office staff is all women, so I have to try to set up some sort of ambience behind a door when I know the office staff knows what the hell I’m doing in there. I’m not sure if the doctor’s office allows the staff to “assist” in any way, but I’d be afraid to ask. “Excuse me, receptionist, would you mind coming in here for a few minutes and disrobing for me?” I see restraining order written all over that plan, but the doctor’s office is my only real option. I’ve never actually done “that” anywhere but in the privacy of my own home, although there was that one time I had too much to drink and I…..oh, never mind. Man, what a dilemma. I think I need to call George Michael and ask him what he would do in this situation……wish me luck, I’m gonna need it!!

Hi, I'm Uncle Asshole

My oldest nephew Mark is only 8 years younger than me, so he grew up basically like my little brother. He has a very loyal group of friends, like I've had my entire life. They've all called me "Uncle Dave" and "Uncle Dave" has always had a habit of telling it like it is. This is where I got the "asshole" moniker. As I've gotten older, I've tried to hold in my true feelings and be more diplomatic, in serious situations, not funny ones. You know, I'm trying to be a "kind and gentler Uncle Dave." Well, tonight my nephew had a graduation party for his daughter and I was forced to tell one of his drunk friends to "shut the fuck up." Go figure, I hurt the guy's feelings and he left the party with his panties in a bunch. Let me tell you how this came about and you be the judge.

My nephew has this fringe friend from high school. In order to keep his anonymity, we'll call him Dickhead, in order to not offend him. So Dickhead hasn't spoken to me or my nephew in about 5 years. My nephew is the opposite of me. He is the nicest, sweetest guy in the world. You could punch Mark in the face and the guy will buy you a beer and ask you why you felt the need to punch him. He's a lot like my Dad was. Unfortunately I wasn't born with this trait, thus the reason why people either love me or hate me. Let me explain the way Dickhead behaves in the words of my politically correct nephew. He says, "you can't be rude and abrasive and overly opinionated and also be over-sensitive." This is very true. If you are going to dish it out, the way I do, you have to be able to take it. And as anyone who knows me, my writings, or my Facebook page, you know I can take a lot of abuse and usually come back with something funny. So, back to Dickhead.

Tonight I was sitting on the couch watching the Cubs and Red Sox play. I purposely stayed out of the way because I knew Dickhead was in the house and I didn't want to start any trouble during my great-niece's graduation party. Dickhead, who by the way showed up at the party already drunk, decides to plop his ass down right next to me. Again, this is a guy I already don't like and haven't spoken a word to in 5 years and he sits down next to me and with no exaggeration, begins to berate me about the Cubs and how much they suck for the next 20 minutes. I am being nice at this point. I'm not getting rude, I'm listening to him, responding back with points about the Cubs rebuilding, etc. He won't stop and the game is on and anyone, male or female who is a sports fan knows you don't talk during a game, you talk during commercials. So as Dickhead continues to berate my team, I'm texting my daughter Nicole with this message, "tell Mark to get this guy the fuck away from me right now!" 

Dickhead gets up and leaves and I'm assuming Mark has spoken to him, but the next thing I know, Dickhead sits back down with another beer and says, "we're gonna finish this discussion about the Cubs." At this point I finally snapped. I believe my response was, "look, I haven't spoken to you in five years and the first thing you do is sit and trash talk my Cubs? I don't give a shit about your opinion and I want you to shut the fuck up." That's it. That's all I said. Hell, I believe the Pope says that to his Cardinals regularly. Well, I may be mistaken on that point, but you get it...:) This happened in front of 5 or so witnesses in the room who got to see the entire show, from front to back, so they know I tried really really hard to not be Uncle Asshole.

Well, I end up sitting there feeling guilty now for hurting this drunk Dickhead's feelings. Should I feel guilty? Did he deserve it? I don't know. All my nephew's friends said he deserved it and he's been drunk at every event since he's come back into the group again. For me the bottom line is my nephew and his wife Rebecca weren't mad at me at all, in fact they felt he deserved it. What would you have done in that situation? Have any of you ever had a situation like that and how did you handle it? Please go to my Facebook page and respond to this. Let me know. Don't worry, Dickhead isn't a Facebook Friend, but I believe he is accepting Friend requests as we speak...:)

Is Anyone Out of Our League?

Everyone who knows me or my writing knows I love to people watch. Beautiful, ugly, fat, skinny, young, old, black, white, Asian, you name it, I watch it and God knows I'll mock it. Today during lunch I realized that as a man, I'm 75% ashamed of my own gender and 25% of me feels really curious about us. Here is why:

At my job we have over 600 employees but we have one young lady, probably mid-20's or so, who in my opinion is beyond gorgeous. I don't just throw words around. If I think you're cute, you're cute, etc. This young lady in my opinion is stunning, breathtaking, just absolutely a vision of beauty. OK, you get it, right, she's nice to look at. But the young lady is super nice and has a really great personality too. Go figure, right?

So today I'm in our in house Bistro (which is pretty freakin nice). This young lady is sitting by herself eating her lunch and reading a book or something. She is so beautiful, to be honest she could have been reading Popular Mechanics and I wouldn't have noticed. I give her a wave and smile like I always do and keep my distance because as my daughters have warned me, "Dad, don't be overly nice to young girls because they'll think you're creepy." So she smiles back and continues on reading. I get my lunch and sit at a table in her vicinity. As this young lady is trying to eat and read, I didn't see a 5 minute period go by where some guy, young, middle-aged, you name it, didn't come up and interrupt her with some dumbass line, "hey, whatchya reading?" Or "how's work goin." Then they just stand there....like she's gonna bust out and visit them on Fantasy Island and say, "you know, since you're standing here anyway, would you like to sleep with me sometime?" Ah, nooo, aint' gonna happen.

This is when I began to think, do us men, really believe in some small or even infinite way, that we might have a shot with someone so beautiful? Hey, growing up I was always overweight and I dated some pretty nice looking girls and women and I attribute all of it to my sense of humor. Yeah, I know I'm stunningly handsome as an older guy now, but I'm not gonna fool myself into thinking it's anything but my sense of humor. That's also when I began breaking it down. 75% of me thought, these guys are pathetic and embarrassing. Then 25% of me thought, well, you never know. I've met women who think Jim Belushi or Jack Black are absolutely hotter than hell, so maybe older, uglier or even younger, uglier guys might have a chance, right? Either way, I had a good time witnessing this Sociology experiment right before my very eyes.

So what do you guys think? Are men just embarrassing themselves approaching women who some believe might be "out of their league." Are there women out there reading this who honestly believe that some men are "out of their league?" Be honest. I myself growing up never thought anyone was out of my league and I tried to instill that in my 3 nephew's minds. Never think a girl is too hot for you. As for me now, as a guy who’s about to turn 50 in a few months, my daughters have messed with my head so badly about this whole “creepy” thing, that I’m afraid to say anything to any woman under the age of 50. Thanks a lot girls…Dad appreciates all you’ve done for him. Hell, they're probably saving me a lot of embarrassment.

Please Define "Creepy"

Being the Father of two teenage daughters, I’ve recently been getting a crash course in “Creepy 101.” Now, I’ve grown up, as we all have, knowing what the definition of creepy is. Webster’s defines creepy as, “producing a nervous, shivery apprehension.” and “of relating to, or being annoyingly unpleasant.”

OK that said, I’m currently 49 ½ years old. For all of you new parents out there, that’s 593 months, and according to my 17 and 19 year old daughters, speaking to a woman/girl under the age of 30 will make me appear to be creepy. OK, I’m exaggerating, they didn’t quite say that. What they said is “don’t give a young woman under the age of 25 any type of compliment because they will see me as creepy.” Now this really bothered me because not only have I been a salesman all my life (I was talking people into stuff when I was 5), but I come from a culture that is very complimentary to others, even if we’re full of shit, we still give you compliments. So, now, if I’m talking to a young lady and I think her hair looks good, I can’t say, “hey, I really like your hair,” because obviously it must mean, “I’m an old creepy guy who wants to have sex with you.” But, I can definitely tell a woman in her 70’s, “hey, I really like your new walker.”

I’m really curious how other women, besides my daughter’s, feel about this subject. Where is the line I shouldn’t cross? Is there one line or does every woman have her own personal line? I mean, I understand if a man of my age was glaring or staring at a young woman or making truly unwanted sexually suggestive remarks, then yes, that is creepy, but will all women under the age of 30 or so take any compliment from an older guy as “creepy?” In 2010 I spent a year back in college while I pursued an acting career. I met some really awesome young ladies, many of whom are Facebook Friends with me to this day. That was about the time my daughter’s began giving me my tutorial in Creepy 101. I didn’t want to offend or come off as creepy to anyone, but my personality of complimenting not only women, but people in general was now in jeopardy. And I would continually go to my older daughter as almost an “expert” in various situations, so she could advise me.

 Taking a step back and giving those of you who haven’t known me most of my life some brief history.  I was raised in beauty salons. My Mom owned one in Chicago, even though she didn’t do hair. My parents bought it so my oldest sister would have a nice place to work. Then when we moved to Turlock, California, my sister eventually opened up her own salon, which she owned for almost 20 years before going to work for Redken. I was about 2 years old when my Mom bought the first salon, so I was a toddler on up, running around salons. I had a very strict Mom and two older sisters. I’ve always joked that I’m living proof that you can’t “turn gay,” or that “environment turns people gay.” If that were the case, I’d be on my 3^rd husband right about now, or wife, depending on what kind of men I chose to marry. But, one thing I did learn from being raised in salons and around all women was how to compliment them and make them feel good about themselves. My Dad also helped in this area and I think genetics played a part. As a young man, I’d watch my Dad at work. He spent 45 years in the grocery business and believe me, no one could charm women like my Dad. I’ve watched him make 400 pound, uglier than hell women blush because he just told them how pretty they looked today. Or, how he would tell an 85 year old woman, “honey, if I were only 40 years older or you were 60 year younger….” The women all left my Dad’s line with giant smiles on their faces.  I guess I inherited that from him. But, I learned from my Mom and sisters what not to say and do.

But that means nothing now, because I’m not a 25 year old man with flowing brown hair. I’m a 49 year old man, with gray hair and a gray goatee and telling a woman that “she looks really pretty today” or “if I were 20 years younger..” just doesn’t work and is “creepy.” I guess I’m just gonna have to keep my mouth shut (which is impossible for me) and in August when I turn 50, start going to Bingo halls and Indian casinos and start hitting on the senior ladies. How’s this sound, “hey Gladys, I’m Dave and I really like the way your gray hair shimmies off your dentures.” Oh yeah, I can see it already, I’m gonna love growing old. All I can say is this, since my daughters have all these rules for me now that I’m single and they don’t want me to ever get remarried, they’d better be there for me when I need my diaper changed. Hey, now that’s creepy..:) 

Will Power - (Written 11/15/2011)

Through this journey that I’ve been on for the past 81 days, I’ve learned a lot, not only about weight loss and its effects but also about my will power, something I thought I didn’t possess.  I was wrong and tonight once again I proved it to myself.

     One of the ways I’ve been able to lose 36 pounds (as of today) is that I do not eat dinner anymore. Dinners I’ve realized were a big part of my problem.  Not only here in San Diego but even back in Turlock when I was married. My soon-to-be ex-wife was a wonderful cook and now my two sisters here in San Diego are also amazing cooks, so I’ve never lacked for food. As in Turlock, dinner here is served rather late, due to the fact that my sisters don’t come home until later in the evening and dinner isn’t usually ready until between 7 and 8pm. Now you add lack of exercise and the fact I used to eat very large portions of whatever I was eating and combine that with a late dinner, well, you can see how I easily ballooned up.

    Gaining my will power wasn’t easy. In the last 81 days I’ve purposely stood and watched my family eat and didn’t touch any food. It pissed them off to no end having me stand there and watch them eat but I needed to do it. I couldn’t run away every time food was around. I said I wasn’t going to eat dinner anymore and I have always been a man of my word. Hell, I can go into a batting cage and hit baseballs for up to 12 hours without stopping, this shouldn’t be difficult. But oh how difficult it was.

     Last Saturday my family went to Fullerton to watch my nephew Matthew appear in a play at Cal State Fullerton where he is getting his Bachelors of Fine Arts degree. Matt was great of course but before we could see him we had to go out for Mexican food. Well, it was almost 7pm and even though I love Mexican food, I sat and watched everyone eat. It was pure torture. I love chips and salsa so damn much and like any addict, I can’t just have a few or even just one. I’m an all or nothing kind of guy, so nothing it was. I survived and like every other morning for the past 81 days, I woke up feeling awesome, hungry, but awesome. It’s so cool to weigh myself every morning and see that my hard work and suffering is paying off.

     Well, tonight was beyond torture for me. Kami and I went to Costco to get a few things, water, which I now drink a ton of, and a rotisserie chicken for my dog Lola. That’s an entire blog post by itself. So we get the chicken and it smells heavenly. And then we get in the car and Kami opens it up to eat the skin off the top. Lola doesn’t eat the skin, so with Kami eating it, it doesn’t go to waste. Kami then decides that she wants In and Out Burger. OK, it’s another smell that might kill me but will definitely test my will power.  The line in the drive up is ridiculous, so we go inside where there are only two people in line. She orders her food and we sit and wait for her to-go order. She’s number 92 and the first number they yell out is 87, so we have a little while to wait. As we’re waiting, we’re sitting with a straight view of the preparation area and I found myself lost in a deep stare as they were making the burgers. I lean over to Kami and say, “I feel like I’m watching porn.” She of course is mortified by her embarrassing Father who she says doesn’t know the volume of his voice. I know the volume, I just don’t give a shit who hears me. I then lean back over and say, “oh make it slow, make it slow, put it between the buns.” She tells me to shut up but this time she’s laughing because damn it, it’s funny. I said, "that would be good stand up comedy material." She agreed. Well, my daughter was with me so I wasn’t able to climax (joke). I would never climax in an In and Out, but how ironic and fitting would it be for me to bust one in a place called In and Out?

     So now we’re driving home and we’re about 10 minutes from the house and I am stuck in a car with the smell of a hot rotisserie chicken and an In and Out burger and fries. I survived!!!!! I made it home and I didn’t eat anything. I have officially become stronger than my desire for food and tonight was the ultimate test. See, who else but Dave could turn a trip to a fast food restaurant into something sexual? Man, I could have a lot of fun with Wendy..:) 

Funny Man Gets Serious for a Change - (Written 10/5/2011)

Forty days ago today I went to the doctor because I thought I was experiencing symptoms of a stroke. It was really scary for me. My vision was getting blurred, my blood pressure was through the roof, my arm was getting numb and I just felt dizzy and really crappy. Thanks to the Internet I was able to scare the crap out of myself by self-diagnosing. So 4 days after I thought I was having a stroke, I decided to go to the Urgent Care. I know, I'm a dumbass for waiting for 4 days. The truth of the matter is it was the day before my 49th birthday and I had a feeling they were going to admit me and I didn't want to spend my birthday in the hospital. It's bad enough I'm going through the final stages of a divorce from a woman I still love I didn't want to compound it by spending my birthday in a hospital bed.

So, I told my daughter Kami and she came with me to the Urgent Care. They checked me out and Yada Yada Yada, I didn't have a stroke but they recommended I go to my personal physician. He couldn't see me for another week or so and when I did get in the first thing I did was stand on the scale. Now, I've always been a big guy. The last time I was skinny I was 11 years old. I spent most of the 1980's lifting weights, so I have a large frame but over the years I've progressively gotten heavier. It never affected me because I was always able to date, marry two beautiful women and have two beautiful daughters. My weight never hindered my social life, so I never gave it any serious thought. I'm not a smoker and I drink alcohol maybe once or twice a year and my only real vice is food. I'm Assyrian and our culture has kick ass food and I love bread and rice. I could go on but I won't, you get the idea.

So, at the doctors office I stood on the scale and at that point I had what is known as an epiphany, or a life changing experience. I weighed 281 pounds. Now, I'm a big fan of Kevin James. Some of you know him as The King of Queens on TV or Paul Blart, Mall Cop from the movies. I've always been told I remind people of him because I'm big and funny. I bring him up because last month I saw him on Dave Letterman and he looked amazing. He really slimmed down tremendously. When Dave asked him how and why he did it he said he had gotten on a scale and weighed in at 290 pounds and the thought of weighing so close to 300 pounds really effected him. I had the exact same experience. I was devastated, blown away by what I saw.

As I spoke to the doctor it became obvious that this is why I was feeling like I was having a stroke. When I sat and thought about what had gotten me to this point I realized that the reasons were glaringly obvious. Now, I've never been a guy who believes in diets or weight loss companies. Weight loss and gain are common sense. When I gain weight it's because I'm eating more and exercising less, you know common sense. So, when I decided it was time to lose weight, I did what anyone with common sense would do, I began eating less and exercising more. You see, I'm a creature of habit, like most of us are. I had set myself up in a negative pattern of behavior. Since I decided to try to become an actor I'm home most of the time when I'm not driving to LA for work. I found I was drinking a 32 oz coke every day, just one but I found out that one 32 oz coke had 1000 calories in it. I usually ate fast food about 3 times a week at least and I enjoyed a box or bag of candy 4 or 5 times a week, you know, M&M's, Good n Plenty, Mike n Ikes, you name it. I didn't exercise at all, even though I live in a canyon with streets that go up and down and would be perfect for exercising.

So I came home and like the anal retentive person I am, I created an Excel spreadsheet, bought a new scale and began a daily monitoring of my weight. Long story longer, I'm 40 days into this "common sense diet" and I've lost 25 pounds in 40 days. I haven't had a Coke or fast food or candy in 40 days. I walk 2 miles a day, run on some days and drink nothing but water all day long. I feel amazing. I was getting tired doing the simplest things, like putting on and tying my shoes, drying off after a shower, ridiculous things we all take for granted but that extra weight was causing it. My goal is to lose 50 pounds so I’m halfway there. I don't want to be skinny. I think men that are tiny and skinny look weird and I don't want to be skinny. Like Kevin James once said "I just want to be able to brush my teeth without my stomach jiggling, after that it's all maintenance."

So the most serious part of this column is what got me here and it's what I mentioned briefly in the first paragraph. I'm divorcing a woman I'm still madly in love with. Our divorce was caused by my inability to get along with her children as they got older and into things I didn't agree with. My poor wife had to choose between her kids and myself and I don't blame her for choosing her kids, I would do the same in that situation. She is an amazing Mother to them. We've been separated for two years and we can never get back together because of the hatred her kids have for me and the negative feelings I have for them but it hasn't stopped me from continuing to love her. When I met her 10 years ago it was in my sister's backyard at my daughter's birthday party on July 4th, 2001 I fell madly in love with her and married her two years later.

So, now I have to get on with my life and I can't let my depression over divorcing the love of my life effect me like this any longer. I want to be around for my two daughters as they grow up, graduate from college, get married, have kids, become professionals, etc., and I can't do that if I'm 300 pounds and lying in a coffin. I'm sure there were a lot of times during this column I could have been funny and made fun of everything I've gone through, but I chose not to this time. It feels really good to get this off my chest. I guess this is my "therapy." Hell, it worked, I feel better and I didn't have to pay a deductible or co-pay!!  Saaweeeet!! I'll write more when I've lost 50. Wish me luck, I'm gonna need it.  Dave