Hey all… it’s Tuesday, the day we snoop through Noah’s diary. Why? Because we can. And because cartoon characters can’t sue for invasion of privacy.
Tuesday, January 13, 2026, 11:15am: Ugh… day 13 of no cheeseburgers… the funny thing is I usually only have them every couple of days but still.
Gigi knows the drill, at least. Ever since me and Ruth got together 10 years ago, come January my order changes from a cheeseburger, fries and a Coke to a salad and a water.
It’s worse now, of course, because Ursula’s older and sometimes comes with me to Gigi’s joint to hang out with Adam and Glen and Gigi. Like last week when some of her after-school activities hadn’t started yet, and Ursula doesn’t like cheese on her burger but even so: when I gotta watch her eat a burger and fries and I gotta smell it… and then eat my salad and pretend like my insides aren’t dying… ugh.
Well, I guess it’s no different than when Glen always orders a cheeseburger in January to torture me when the rest of the year he usually has the fish and chips or chicken strips… but it feels so much worse when it’s my own flesh and blood doing it. On that note, Adam usually gets the grilled chicken breasts for protein loading for bodybuilding, but he also orders cheeseburgers in January… grr…
But it is what it is. And I gotta squeeze my butt back into my smaller tight leather pants before wedding season kicks off. The Knotheads’ first wedding gig is Valentine’s weekend, but the bride wants us to dress up like horror movie characters for the Friday the 13th wedding. And the actual Valentine’s bride on Saturday paid for us to wear the giant heart costumes (except for Mike because it’s impossible to drum in those, so Mike just has to wear a red shirt and one of those headbands with the hearts on springs… you’d think he had to wear the giant heart outfit by the way he’s bitching, of course), and the Sunday bride paid for the Sesame Street costumes.
Which is to say it’s fine if I don’t fit into my tighty whitey wedding leather pants quite yet, but there’s a wedding gig in late March that specifically requested the all-white leather 80s rocker costume package. And I still got a 2” gap before I can button those up.
So… no cheeseburgers for a while yet.
Adam keeps trying to bully me into pumping iron with him but I told him: if I pump iron and get all swole up, I still won’t be able to fit into those tight white leather pants. In fact, it’ll be worse because I probably won’t even be able to get ‘em up over my quads then.
There’s a reason I’m a yoga and walking kinda dude.
Now, Howie—for once—had a sorta good suggestion: get a pair of those 80s leather pants that just laced up the sides so then I can eat cheeseburgers and I’d just lace the sides a bit more loosely.
Problem is then my cheeseburger blubber is gonna bulge out the sides between the lacing. Also, the ones I saw online all still had a normal waistband and some still had a leather panel under the lacing so the lacing doesn’t really help with cheeseburger bloat.
And they’re, like, $300 US. Which I can write off for taxes but then I might as well just get a second pair of the wedding white leather pants I already have but in a fatter size. And I already have 8 pairs of leather pants: 3 black, 1 white, 1 red, 1 hot pink, 1 silver, and 1 gold.
Still: the whole point is I’m supposed to be in better shape, not just buy more pants.
And to make matters worse, now Ursula keeps whining at me about some stupid pizza joint with rats. And I told her: I bet a lot of them have rats in the kitchen. We just ignore that and hope the health department’s been by to do inspections.
Dunno why she’d want to go to a rat-infested pizza place but I guess it must be a viral trend or something.
Point is: it doesn’t help the diet when the kid keeps asking about burgers and pizza.
But at least I am down a pound since New Year’s.
