Much Rather Be a Teddy Than a Polar Bear This Season

You know what? I'm getting tired of talking about how much I walked or worked out in this blog, and I'm pretty sure you are, too (all five of you intermittent Big Bear Blog readers). So we'll get that out of the way first and move on to other things. Went to the gym Saturday (December 5) because that's when I felt like going this week, worked out my chest, back, shoulders and arms in that order, stepped on the scale and was not surprised to see I'd gained four pounds (now weigh 337). After Thanksgiving and the days that followed, I earned every pound I gained. I took a hiatus from night walks, going to the gym and better food choices and enjoyed myself some fried chicken, chocolate chip muffin tops, honey BBQ Fritos, BBQ potato chips, etc, etc. I thoroughly enjoyed them, too.

But the other day as I sat here writing this blog during lunch, my belt was on its last notch, my pants felt a bit tight in the thighs and I starting to consider that it's time again to start having wheat bagels for breakfast instead of muffins and plain sliced chicken instead of fried. And although I would rather go home, climb into bed and under the covers with my familiars and watch TV until I fall asleep, that would setting a poor precedent. Besides, I've done plenty of that over the past week and a half already and if I let myself, I can very easily slip right back up to 378 (or more) by Spring and I don't want to do that.

It's easier to get out of bed in the morning and go for a walk because all of my defenses and excuses aren't awake yet, but in the evening, there's plenty of "reasons" for me not to set foot back out the door once I've gotten home. It's much easier to lie in bed like a Teddy Bear and be all warm and cuddly, but since I'd prefer to do that with my Bear partner who lives several states away and we won't be vacationing together for awhile, instead I'll brave the cold for a walk and drive to a much warmer gym and be a good Polar bear. Not to be confused with Bi-Polar Bear, by the way (which, depending on who you talk to in the Community, could either be a Bear who's manic-depressive or an older bisexual Bear with graying to white hair! You know, like Santa! (The latter, not the former; remember, he's a jolly ol' elf, and a big ol' Bear to boot.)

Meanwhile, I have managed to steer clear of Christmas cheer for the most part this Yuletide season. Yes, my mother did drag me to see Disney's A Christmas Carol and despite my aversion to most things Jim Carrey (I prefer his serious films like The Majestic and The Truman Show to his slapstick schmuckery), his voice was tolerable, I enjoyed the new 3-D effects and the Ghost of Christmas Present, although clearly in a manic phase, was a Bear showing an abundance of thick and curly chest hair through the front of his festive frockery, assuring me there were some Bears on the animation team much as they were on The Lion King (according to the "making-of" documentary I saw on HBO once).

However, the movie lost me when the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come (for which Carrey was credited although the Ghost only pointed and never spoke a word!) pointlessly chased Scrooge through the streets of London in a carriage, shrunk him with a magical whip crack so he went gliding down a pipe and then got stuck in the ring of a bed curtain his maid stole from him after his death (even though he had been incorporeal throughout his other visitations). It was all downhill from there; too much disbelief to suspend, and the ending echoed my father's annual sentiment that Christmas is all about commercialism, which is just fine with Pagans like me who don't want to keep Christmas in our hearts all year long. Besides, as I annually tell my sister who believes I became a Witch just to get Yule and Christmas presents (sure, I get Yule presents...on Christmas morning!), all the secular holiday traditions from trimming the Christmas tree to hiding Easter eggs are Pagan in origin.

Speaking of carols that have little to do with Christmas, I did try an alternative to traditional carols I learned of from one of my favorite authors, Laurell K. Hamilton, called "A Very Scary Solstice" from the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, and although I did enjoy The Carol of the Olde Ones, it was still a carol, however feral.

The closest I felt for any song this season was Josh Groban's version of "O Holy Night." Mr. Groban's exceptionally beautiful voice had me tearing up in my car one morning and with a little reworking of the lyrics ("in sin and error pining", for example), the song could very well be about the birth of the Sun God (when you're in the minority, sometimes you have to rework things in your own image or you feel left out in the cold.)

I do have some things to be grateful for this Yule besides spending the holiday with my family and welcoming the lengthening days in the New Year (and decade) to come. Although my present temporary position is coming to an end this coming Friday since the University I work for has hired one of their employees to replace me per their policy, the woman who moved forward from this position has another temporary position available while one of her workers will be on maternity leave, and after two weeks of vacation (collecting unemployement), I will begin another six-month position with the Office of Education in the New Year! YAY!

So I will continue to try and balance my eating with exercise (by the weigh, still on a plateau of 337 as of 12/10), enjoy my unemployment and employment and surf the Yuletide through a sea of Christmas. And if it all gets to be too much, screw it; I'll just take a long winter's nap! Happy holidays to all, and to all a good night, woof, and blessed be.

Thanksgiving Thursday Weigh-In (11/26): The Bear Blog is Sharper Than the Bear Brain/A Tale of Two Turkeys

As mentioned in my last blog entry, I was a good Bear Thanksgiving morning. Threw on my T-shirt and shorts (it was unseasonably warm that day), did a full walk on the track with a book (tried out my new booklight Tuesday night and discovered that although I was able to read, I couldn't see the side of the track and was veering all over causing a potential hazard to other nightwalkers), went to the gym for a full upper body circuit, and stepped on the scale. Still on the plateau: 333 pounds. I was happy not to have gained any weight and went home to feed my familiars some turkey-flavored treats and tuna (it's Thanksgiving for the little ones too, and Gods know I'm thankful for all the warmth and unconditional love they give me every day) before getting ready and picking up my uncle to go to my parents' house for our feast.

While helping my mom in the kitchen, she asked if I exercised that day; I told her I had and there was no change on the scale. But then my mind turned into an abacus for a moment. I thought back to the most I'd lost this time around (324) and that I'd gained 11 pounds since then. But 333 -324 was only 9 pounds, and since I weighed 335 the week before, I realized (as you may have after reading the first paragraph here, O faithful but few blog followers) that I'd actually lost two pounds. Cool!

Then, keeping in mind that Thanksgiving was sacrosanct in celebrating the holidays, I proceeded to thoroughly enjoy two heaping platefuls of turkey, stuffing, sweet and mashed potatoes and gravy, biscuits and a delicacy in our house, cauliflower and cheese casserole. I even had a few string beans as garnish (my family accuses me of despising vegetables, but the truth is I enjoy all the iron-rich vegetables kids hate, such as broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cabbage and cauliflower). Since my mother is an excellent cook and my skills in the kitchen aren't too shabby either,dinner was delicious.

It was the company that left something to be desired. My mother invited two of her brothers to join us, and just as I'd developed a begrudging respect for one uncle who has taken more than he's given over the years but recently found himself a job, she reached out her helping hands to another brother who perhaps should have remained persona non grata. He showed up with nothing but a six pack of beer to support his alcoholism, provided the perfect foil for my father as they tag teamed my mother making misogynistic remarks toward her about how inept women are (and when she tried to defend herself, I made it clear to both of them that was in fact what she was doing), and although my mother wants the TV off during family meals, he declared he would sit in a certain chair to watch the game while we ate because he had money riding on it. Later, when the course of conversation veered to the concerts that Beyonce' and Paul McCartney were giving that evening on TV and my father wondered what Paul needed the money for, Uncle Schmucky barked, "Yeah, or Elton John. FAGGOT!" So, besides the six pack, he also brought homophobia to the Thanksgiving table.

There was a short pause as the rest of my family, who are aware that I'm gay, took this in and kinda waited to see how I would react. Mind you, I hadn't talked to Schmucky beyond shaking his hand and saying hello while I was busy in the kitchen because I don't like him or the way he treats my mother who charitably invited him over because his former wife and children want nothing more to do with him. While I continued to enjoy my meal, I processed Schmucky's outburst. I wasn't shocked or mortally offended by his outburst because a) Schmucky does as Schmucky is; b) he has nothing useful to say anyway; c) I'm sure Sir Elton has been called a faggot many times in his life to his face and behind his back and we weren't expecting him to drop by; d) it wasn't directed towards me; e) as a homosexual, I choose how I label myself and which terms I do and do not find personally offensive; and f) Schmucky is not worth my time, effort, energy, breath, or any more space in this blog except as a charming anecdote.

When everyone started playing poker after dinner, I went to the computer room to read my current digital issue of "A Bear's Life" magazine (I'm a Tarot reader, not a card player). My mother came in to chat with me later and said, "I didn't know how you were going to react. I thought you might just say to him, "I'm gay, you know." I told her that her brother is an idiot, I didn't want to ruin dinner with an argument and couldn't be bothered trying to educate that drunk anyway, don't appreciate him commandeering the TV when he comes over and didn't know why she invited him in the first place (although I do understand her heart's in the right place, but with the wrong people). He was still there when I left and my mother foisted her other brother on me for a ride home, but I was thankful to return home to my babies who are much better company.

It's getting late, so until tomorrow night's weigh-in, good night, woof, and blessed be.