less ass?

I have a huge ass. Soft. Droopy. Doughy. It started off, back in my teenage years, as the male version of my mother's ass—sort of round and pert and firm (it's a little bit queasy for a guy to describe both his own and his mom's ass that way, I realize). 

My dad, by contrast, had been gifted or cursed with the standard American skinny military man's flat ass, ripe for turning into that oh-so-famous combo among white American ex-military men, flat ass plus beer gut: the drinker's body. See, people like me, when we get fat from eating food, the fat goes all over: double chin, chipmunk cheeks, flabby triceps region, huge love handles, man boobs, big ass... but alcohol seems to like to settle mostly in the gut area. Few fat-assed Caucasians are fat all over because of beer: they're that way because they eat. And I guess, if I'm honest, I'm no exception. Dad, who's never been truly fat, has avoided the beer-drinker's fate by never touching alcohol: both of his parents had been alkies (and died of alcoholism-related heart attacks), so Dad learned early in life to treat alcohol as a poison. In a confessional moment, he admitted it was also because he was afraid that, after a taste, he might like the stuff. 

Anyway, no beer gut on Dad, and after my own stroke and heart attack, less of a fat-assed eater's body on Old Uncle Kevin. And while I still look fat (but maybe a bit thinner in the face), I think I must have lost some off my ass because the usual coccyx-protecting ass pillows at home and at the office are no longer working so efficiently. I no longer have quite the natural padding that I used to, especially as I once again approach 100 kilos (about 220 lbs.). While it's a warming thought to know that I'm losing crucial padding and slimming down, I do miss the relaxing comfort of the adipose. No one likes becoming a bag of bones. Do they?

Today, after my not-so-awesome dental appointment (entry coming soon; I don't like that hospital), I went quite carby, finally visiting my building's refurbished and reopened Paris Baguette. (There are some cute staffers, now, womaning the cash register. I feel bad for the fat girl who used to ring me up. Didn't see her. I hope she's still there, but it really looks as if they cleared out the old staff and brought in new blood.) 

Tomorrow, I'll be eating only one meal, and that will be dinner with my boss, probably somewhere in Suwon. I'll then go home and do a long walk in the evening, most likely to Hanam City, arriving in the early morning on Sunday, busing back, then napping until lunchtime and fasting for real all Sunday. Monday: eating and stairs and some walking. Tuesday: fasting plus real walking. Wednesday: eating and stairs and a little walking. Thursday: fasting and way more walking. Friday: eating and a little walking. Saturday: fasting and a big walk. Sunday: fasting and no exercise. 

As you see, I'm not normally supposed to eat on Saturdays, but I'm not treating this upcoming meal with the boss as a tragedy, and I'm in control of what I put in my mouth. A lot of traditional Korean meals are actually quite nutritious as long as one stays away from the carbs (e.g., pasta, things like gamja-jorim, those greasy yakgwa that I love, etc.). Go to a meatateria and enjoy a nearly carnivore spread (as long as you stay away from soy sauce and gochujang), or at least, keto-approaching-carnivore. 

Saturday ought to be fine, and I'm frankly curious about the new properties, one of which could be our new office for our little, free-floating publishing company, another of which (same building) might become my new residence: both larger and cheaper than my current studio. I have to think about this, though: there are pluses and minuses to moving out of Seoul, and pluses and minuses to leaving this specific location.

More later.