This is me in 1985, standing at the door of my '84 Firebird. Wasn't I a sleek, svelte little punk? Image by Joyce Stone
Di you enjoy Thanksgiving? I didn’t. I had a plate brimming with guilt, an extra helping of disgust, and I topped it off with a bowl of frosty self-loathing. See, it’s the weight thing. As in, I’m gaining weight. After 16 years of tipping the scales at 145 pounds, I’m starting to blimp out. It’s all because I quit drinking and smoking. Seriously. Back when I guzzled three six-packs of beer and smoked half a carton of cigarettes every day, I was a slim, svelte, lithe creature who could spring from bed with an eye-popping hangover and jog five miles,... READ MORE