June 10, Day 95, 240.0 lbs, 37% bf

Dear Diary,
What a f***in day!?! I hit the scale this morning and only register 240 lbs. This is not a celebration. I'm not bragging or boasting I'm just saying. I feel like a new person. A 240 lb virgin if you will. I can't wait to get to the 230's. I seriously don't even remember being there the first time around. I was 210 getting married, then next thing you know I was 240. Huh? Still stuck on the virgin thing? Look, its not that kind of virgin, but I figured you and the scale would understand. "Yeah, well, virgin's not a dirty word. You know what's a dirty word, is a**hole, and that's what you guys are." Stop acting like you don't understand. I'm gonna have to cut you guys off if you keep acting stupid. I'll be on my own like Michael McDonald. We'll be up to talking divorce and we aren't even marrriiiieeddd! I love some Michael McDonald, even downloaded his greatest hits last night, but "if I have to hear "Yamo Be There" one more time, I'm going to "Yamo" burn this place to the ground." It's good stuff, but it ain't no muthaf***in riding music. Hell, I don't listen to music when I ride with the E.B.G. Just watch some good tv. Last night while watching some Superman cartoons I rode for 23 miles. Nice brisk pace. Huh? No, I said brisk. Like the iced tea, not bris. Speaking of bris, how was your visit to your cousin Torah? Oh. You "touched a guy's balls once in Hebrew School." "You're gay now?" Not that there's anything wrong with it, but I already knew. Oh. You're not gay, just celibate... "I think... I mean, that sounds gay. I just want you to know this is, like, the first conversation of, like, three conversations that leads to you being gay. Like, there's this and then in a year it's like, "Oh, you know, I'm kinda gonna want to get back out there, but I think I like guys," and then there's the big, "Oh, I'm... I'm... I'm a gay guy now." I'm gay for saying that? How? How do you know I'm gay? Because I like Coldplay? Ok. Maybe you're right. But it's only one song. A**hole. That's why I don't like you. Which technically proves I'm not gay and you are. You are an a**hole and I don't like you, but I am an a**hole and you love me. Ipso facto, fatso. Huh? Admit it. You know you love me. See I told you. You're gay. And you're fabulous. I say that because I see you macramed yourself a pair of jean shorts. Seacrest out, b***h!