Training Day
It’s week two. And I’m in the hurt locker.
You know, that special place of pain where no muscle, tendon, or ligament escapes the soreness and lactic acid build-up from weightlifting and exercise. Serves me right for “taking some time off”. Apparently, exercise is meant to be a regular ongoing thing in life. Don’t believe me? Pretend for a sec that we had no luxuries. I mean medieval times. You had to hunt your own food. Find your own water. Build your own shelter and protect it. Yeah… it wouldn’t do good to be soft now would it? Technology has made us all weaker. But I simply refuse to subscribe to “bitchassness”. (Sorry, no other word more accurately describes it).
Maybe the military had a little bit to do with my exercise mindset, but I really think it’s my competitive spirit the drives me. Lord knows, my cousin and I (sup Fred!) have been trying to “one up” each other since kindergarten. From beanpoles in our twenties, to athletes in our thirties, to serious contenders for bodybuilding competitions in our forties. We’ll be in our seventies still trying to out bench each other.
(tangent alert), is it me, or are people quick to point out the fact that you work out? Actual conversations:
random guy: “dude, do you work out?”
Me: “nooo, I’m a librarian. these muscles come from lifting books all day”.
random guy: “man, that chick is hot! She’s like a six foot Amazon!”
me: yeah, but I think she like guys that can actually sweep her off her feet and NOT get a hernia.
Okay, I’m wrong for that, but here’s the thing: fit people are only semi attracted to non-fit people. food and sex will only go so far (who am I kidding, food and sex will go a long way). It really helps to be compatible physically though.
When you hear a person saying the reason they work out and exercise is to feel better about themselves, they are only telling you half of the truth. The other half? It’s a secret.
I’ll tell you the other half when you meet me in the gym. Tomorrow is triceps, biceps, shoulders and abdominals from hell day.
Mmm, fun.
Carnivores VS Herbivores
I like meat. Correction: I love meat. To me, meat comes second only to…well, you know. Sex.
I’ve wanted to talk about this subject for some time now, so to all my vegetarian buddies who think meat is so bad for you…please listen up.
The truth? It’s the carcinogens (aka the free radicals) from the preparing of meat that is a danger. You know…the frying, the grilling, the smoking. (personal digestive issues excused).
Now I’m certainly not advocating eating raw meat by any means ( my grilled Thai chicken will make you slap someone). But, ever hear of a lion, tiger or a wolf with heart disease or diabetes? Didn’t think so.
If you’ve sworn off meat for medical or biological reasons, such as the inability to effectively break down meat and pass it….different ballgame and no slight to you. But Vegans who swear off meat just because “it’s gross” or you think all cute furry animals shouldn’t be eaten, rest assured there is no plate for you at my BBQ.
Vegans are also soft. Mmhmm, that’s right. Soft. Step up and prove me wrong and I’ll show you a vegan whose been lying to his friends and deepthroating hardees thickburgers or mega dosing a ton of protein supplements.
Simply put, not getting enough protein will cause the body to break down muscle to compensate for the lack of protein in your diet. This is known as a catabolic state. Bodybuilders hate it. Vegans revel in it. Hence the “softness”.
The RDA(recommended daily allowance) for protein is 50 grams. Really? Seriously? I average 1.5-2 grams times my lean body weight divided by six meals. You Tom Cruise’s and Christian Bale’s of the world (you know, little tv action figures) need only 1 gram per pound of body weight..
The FDA and their cookie cutter RDA’s are solely responsible for the 80% obesity rate in this country. Who needs that many carbs on a daily basis anyways? Oh yeah, wanna know why sodium and cholesterol aren’t on any RDA food chart? Because then food companies would have to clean up their act and stop serving you garbage. They pay their lobbyist waaay too much money to grease the wheels of the FDA for that.
The RDA is a joke. “Know thy self”, don’t rely on someone telling you how to eat. Discipline yourself. No one’s going to do it for you.
“You are what you eat” has never been a truer statement. Did I really say Vegans were soft?
Why yes I did…
Volume Control
You know that friend of yours that talks REALLY loud?
So loud in fact, that you have to remove the phone from your ear, or back pedal away from them to avoid the spittle? It’s not their fault. It is however, their coping mechanism. The majority of them are extroverts. Outgoing, bright, optimistic, sunny people who want to brighten your day(and move the spotlight from all the skeletons in their closets).
Go ahead, just try to get a word in edgewise on these boisterous bubbly braggadocios blow hards (say that 4 times fast) and watch how their volume increases incrementally to over talk you. A normal conversation is now a shouting match. Your friend will then pull out a megaphone to finish his/her statement FTW (for the win).
As soon as I recognize the signs (the ability to hold 3 conversations at once and lead them all), I prepare myself for bouts of silence.
That’s right, the nemesis to these amplified vocal beings…the anti-talker. If I’m interrupted more than twice in a conversation, I shut up. Obviously that individual isn’t interested in a meaningful conversation and one of my major pet peeves is having to repeat myself. Being forced to repeat myself makes me want to cripple people. (update: I’m no longer crippling people, the treatments work!) Once you stop talking, they realize their mistake however briefly. But like a broken radio knob, they return to full volume in no time at all.
There are SOME advantages to having a loud talker around.
Planning an event? Just remember it’s good to have at least two or more loud talkers at a party or function. Ensure there is an even number of them and your party will be a success as they cancel each other out simultaneously livening up the scene.
This can sometimes backfire however, creating another insidious loud talker: the alcohol induced loud talker.
Oh yeah… now you have to contend with breath, spittle and at times become a leaning post. Because drunks wobble. There is nothing you can do but shred the napkin (aka the coaster) that your drink is sitting on and stuff it in your ears to protect your ear drums. A face shield would be nice, but it’s not too aesthetic in social settings.
Remedy: Introduce him or her to the person next to you and excuse yourself to the bathroom. Works like a charm, trust me. Let them slobber and shout all over that person.
The Chameleon and the Hater
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Yeah…i’m sure that applies to the 99.9 percentile, but let’s talk about the “haters” for a moment, shall we? 1st, let’s define the modern term “hater”. We all heard it in some form or fashion, in a literal or theatrical sense. But let’s break it down for the less urban demographic:
Hater
Noun;
1. One who hates.
2. (slang, pejorative) One who expresses unfounded or inappropriate hatred or dislike, particularly if motivated by jealousy.
Great. we all can define what or who a hater is. But what the hell do haters and chameleons have in common? I’m getting to that but first let’s define what a chameleon is.
Chameleon
Noun;
1. A small to mid-size reptile, of the family Chamaeleonidae, and one of the best known lizard families able to change color and project its long tongue.
2. A person with inconstant behavior; one able to quickly adjust to new circumstances.
Now….When you have an individual that can’t stand the ground you walk on, and will erase every footprint you leave behind, all the while secretly admiring your swagger, taking notes on your designer fashion, the books you read, eyeballing your tech,wearing your cologne, mimicking your kung fu (well, feebly at best): Hater/Chameleon hybrid
I find it amusing these days. Something that used to send me into beast mode, simply makes me smile and shake my head. Even more so; I’ve come to take pity on them. Maybe it was a bad childhood. No friends, no girls, you know…”the straight home from school get your ass in the room” kinda childhood. No interaction with peers…no wait. No EQUALITY amongst peers, will drive you to do weird things. The hater/chameleon hybrid has to imitate everything it sees in order to give the perception of being able to relate. Yet, to see the Alpha (ha ha) do things it will never attain: the winning touchdown,getting the really fine girl, and getting the respect of all the guys is enough to set the hater’s blood boiling, sending it into an ADHD (Attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder) rage.
Here’s what’s funny though. the hybrid believes that it’s invisible. It thinks that we can’t actually see it wearing our style, our gear, studying our moves. It doesn’t know that we can see it spreading hate and discontent behind our backs. It doesn’t realize we can hear all the things it’s saying to place itself in a positive light meanwhile working to place us in a negative one.
I was once told that success was measured by the amount of haters you had. Really? Because it gets old after awhile and you just want to recommend therapy to the hater. Waitaminute, hater rehab….that’s not a bad idea.
What’s that smell?
I’m really trying hard to be as unbiased as I possibly can when I say this: Ladies…desperation is not a good look. I should probably elaborate a bit more, “being desperate in getting a man” is not a good look. Yeah, I know there are guys who are just as desperate, but I’m not one of them and I’ll be damned if I hang around those losers, so I ain’t writing about them…yet.
I can smell it you know (no, not the Dolce & Gabanna or that Avon knockoff), the desperation. Seeping outta their pores like next day tequila. That 4th quarter hurry up offense to score…A woman’s game clock, it’s a shame there’s no overtime…. Ovaries, apparently are like time bombs. You gotta use em before they explode. Huh, who knew?
Almost every time I’m out, I get that look. You know the look I’m referring to: that extra linger-look away-then look again-smile look. It’s THAT look men love to get. It brings back that untainted school boy in all of us. That “yeah, I’m the sh*t” feeling.
It’s the wild eyed, “I haven’t had any sleep because I can hear my fallopian tubes cracking” that scares the bejesus out of men.
I had a T-Pain experience at Chili’s the other day. Hanging with the guys, killing the 2 for 1 all night drinks specials when the bartender says “a lady is buying you a drink”. Cool, I turn down nothing but my collar…
It happened in slow motion (at least for me it was). I saw the approach, I saw the smile, I saw the switch in her hips that screamed “I’M FERTILE”. Then I saw the look of disgust when she caught the light’s reflection from my platinum diamond wedding band. It was like someone had messed up her $85 dollar perm. She wasn’t even cordial when I offered to return the favor. Maybe it was the walk of shame back to her table or the giggling schoolboys that my friends turned into.
Most of all, I’m sure it was the disappointment. I felt bad for her in a sense. She looked weathered/tired in the dating game. You know how desert travelers see mirages and get that burst of excitement and energy only to find out it’s nothing there? Yeah, like that.
What can you do? As long as we have the genetically encoded primal need to procreate there will always be trials in finding a mate. That goes for both men and women, but its just funnier to me when women have to do “the walk of shame”. Divine retribution? maybe.
