GOD DAMN GENETICS: Season Finale: Is there a fat gene? If so, I have it.

"Hi Oprah, I noticed that you can get pretty fat too."
"Hi Oprah, I noticed that you also can get pretty fat."

I’ve been fat my whole life. Born at 9 pounds, I grew into chubby toddler and was fat throughout adolescence.

Hovering around 300 lbs. in high school led to my first diet.


After my freshman year, I decided enough was enough and started looking into diets. As a self-professed food-addict, I chose Atkins as it was sold to me as a “eat until you’re full” type of plan. I spent the summer eating as much meat, cheese, and eggs as I wanted. I lost 60 lbs.
Needless to say, I didn’t stick with the diet. It gets old, fast.
I maintained my weight loss for the first year or so, but gained back 35 lbs. over the next couple of years.

At the end of a long term relationship when I was 23, I decided I should try to fix myself. At a weight of 265 lbs. it was time to cue the next diet.


The diet was simple. I just wouldn’t eat anything for three days out of the week and practically whatever I wanted on the other four. Worked well, lost a whopping 75 lbs. over the course of six-months. Maintained my all-time low adult weight of 190 lbs. for a year, then started to lift weights and eat every day, causing a gain of 45 lbs. over the next twelve months.

In the "best" shape of my life at 205 lbs.

On January 1st, 2012 my weight was up to 235 lbs. I decided that didn’t work for me and it was time to diet again.


I haven’t been as die-hard about dieting this year. I am back down to 210 lbs. but lost the weight much slower.  Too many weekly beer induced binges (for the blog!) led to massive weight fluctuations.

The bottom line:

I’m addicted and allergic to tasty, tasty food. It makes me swell up. So does beer.
Exercise makes me feel good, but then I just eat more, as I’m hungrier.

I would love to hit my goal weight of 170 lbs. in 2012.

If only there was some sort of diet and exercise plan that was free, effective, and hosted by a charismatic fat man that I can relate to.

If only…

If only…



GOD DAMN GENETICS: Crooked teeth are un-American.

I empathize with Asian girls.  I know that is a broad statement, but I really mean it.  My lovely Asian ladies, I know the struggle babies.  You know the grill is jacked, but you gotta show it off.
You can’t hide behind your hand forever.

In America, perfectly straight, bright, glowing teeth are a sign of wealth.  A boost in confidence and charisma with every smile.  Life is grand when you’re of middle class wealth and white (ASSUMPTION.)

One of these caucasians is not like the others.

God damn genetics.  My parents took me to the orthodontist when I was twelve or something, and we left with a rough estimate of $10,000 worth of work needed to be done.  Needless to say, never did get those braces.

I can’t really blame my parents for being broke asses.  I can relate, I work a full-time job and don’t really have that kind of money either.  And that’s without a house and kids.

While it should be noted that I have no grasp on basic economics, I’m estimating that with inflation included, braces and sculpted white teeth will cost me $105,000 by the time I’m financially stable enough to obtain them.  By that point in my life, my teeth are going to be falling out anyways.

So I guess these will be the solution to my crooked teeth.

God damn genetics… Imma be one handsome old man.

GOD DAMN GENETICS: You have hair just like your uncle Mike.

My uncle Mike is bald.  Well, was bald.  He’s dead now.  I guess he’s still bald though — so I stand behind my first comment.  Anyways…

My mother is a stylist.  That’s a dumbed down word for beautician.  She has given me every haircut I’ve ever had, besides one.  Around age 10, she made the comment, “You have hair just like your uncle Mike used to have.”  This scared me.  He was bald then.  And as previously discussed, bald now… but you know, dead.

Around the age of 17, I first started to notice that my hairline was creeping up.  Whatever, Caesar style that shit forward and move on with life.  Around 23, the hairline was creeping further and a monkey butt was forming in the crown region.  Whatever, buy some minoxidil and dab it on. Now at 26, I feel like I’m starting to get to the point where I should just shave it off.  Every hairstyle feels like a cover-up.  Every day I’m swirling hair to cover up what some doctors describe as “a big fucking forehead.”

God damn genetics.  As if things weren’t complicated enough.  Now I have to design haircuts with different lengths and sweeping processes.  At what point do I break out the razor and rock the chrome dome?  If only my uncle were still alive to give me some much needed guidance.  Rest in peace.  Gone and never forgotten.  In loving memory of my uncle Mike and preteen hairline.