An update post

G'd'evening, to any and all who may be passing through. Thought I should check in, rather than remain awol and risk losing the last few who still tune into the many ramblings of Confessions of a Blogophobe from time to time.

Not much to report, I'm afraid, so if you're reading this hoping for grand declarations, you will be sadly disappointed.

Just a bunch of meli-melo bits and bites.

The worst of winter seems to be finally behind us, though March is roaring in like a lion up here in these parts. Much snow has fallen in the last week, but at least the sunny days are taking care of it quickly.

Oh how we yearn for shorts and sandals, barbecues and bicycles, or a combination of any or all of the above. We are restless, from a long winter spent going nowhere but down to the basement and up to the bedroom. Seems that's how all our evenings go. And in the cold winter dark, to boot.

Is that what they call cabin fever?

I have been killing time much like I did last year, plugging into my P90X workouts with stunning regularity yet again.

I have sweat my ass off.

I should be pleased but it's the gut I want to lose, and that, for the time being at least, just doesn't seem to be happening.

For all my huffing and puffing, progress is delayed in the belly-off, six-pack fat-attack department.

Discouraging and disheartening, a little bit, but I keep reminding myself that good health doesn't necessarily have to materialize in the form of a washboard stomach. If the old ticker is ticking better because of the time I log in the gym, then I come out a winner no matter where I notch my belt.

But still, by now I thought for sure I would be lifting my shirt, Situation-style, to impress Hot Wife and all her girlfriends.

If you don't get the Situation reference, count yourself lucky.

The Sitch is but one of eight slimy scuzzballs sharing a pad down by the Jersey Shore, with all shenanigans chronicled weekly on MTV.

My name is Chubbs, and I am an addict.

[Brings hands to face and weeps uncontrollably.]

And like any good addict, I have done my best to bring my entourage down with me.

It began with Hot Wife, carried on with the Mother of Many, and now I think even my folks, The Moustache and The Banker, have gotten over the initial shock of Snooki to skim through their cable package searching for MTV.

What is this world coming to when six well-adjusted adults can sit in a hotel room for an entire afternoon, glued to the self-professed guidos on TV during a Jersey Shore marathon.

Because if the charge is watching self-indulgent wackos with far too much interest, for far too long a time, while sharing almost far too many drinks, we are all guilty, your honour.

But what a grand time we had during a weekend whirlwind in The Big Smoke, Hot Wife and I, the Mother and Father of Many, The Moustache and The Banker, stepping away from life as we know it to sample life in the fast lanes of professional sport.

A family tie made it possible for us to step behind enemy lines and into the lair of the Leaf, and we confess, the whole experience made an impression. With allegiances to the hometown Senators on reprieve for the weekend, we managed to reluctantly root for old Bluey to come out on top against the visiting Penguins.

There were no full-on Go Leafs Go chants from this guy, but still, it was as close as I probably will ever come to experiencing a Leaf game as a fan of what has been, for the past decade, the franchise we in these parts tend to salute with middle fingers up.

It helps that we got the royal treatment, and peaks into the private parts of the Maple Leafs rink.

Back home now, more than a week removed from our frolic to the big city, we wait impatiently for our next weekend away, this one to the backwoods with four dear friends, to repeat the clowning around and all 'round good time we had together in the same spot last fall.

Then, a month after that, we fly away to Sin City, because Hot Wife ultimately broke me down with her persistent pestering for a Vegas vacation.

Sure, P90X can help with strength, but no exercise program will ever deliver results that can counter a determined wife.