During a bleak period in the summer of 2001, I ballooned to 227 pounds before swearing off weighing myself. An era of minimal exercise. A steady diet of pizza, Pop Tarts and my father's Keystone Light.
About a year later, after a Men's Wearhouse tailor publicly corrected my stated pants size ("38? 'Fraid not. You're a 40."), I strapped myself to an exercise bike and didn't get off until the mid-180s.
Now I hop on the scale every Tuesday morning. For anyone adhering to a similar routine, those trendspotting gurus over at CoolHunting point us to the Celebrity Fit Scale. Instead of numbers, your weight is displayed by the name of a similar-sized celebrity. Baby Jesus to King Kong.
At my most bulbous, I probably weighed "Roseanne." Seriously, it was a lot of Pop Tarts.
Stay tuned for more "getting to know the new kid" trivia loosely tied to blog-worthy material.