Ladies. where do you stand? where do you draw the line? what’s the limit of your abilities? You want to know what men talk about? “Wrote a song about it, wanna hear it, here it go.” Ok, before I dive deep into this topic let me clarify real quick. The title may move some of you to believe it’s a “thug” related blog. WRONG. Couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Ride or die chick”…..A quick google search will have you believing that a ride or die chick is a woman that will simply fight with and for her man. well…that’s the little boy’s definition. If your man is “hood”, and by hood I mean definitively: under 26, wakes up and smokes weed, and/or makes less than 20k LEGALLY, wears skinny jeans and/or sags, is semi dependent on his mother, I’m referring to him.
For us professionals….a woman who can blend in with the fellas COMFORTABLY, ie; sports, games, etcetera etcetera, attend a debutante ball with the poise of a princess, sit in on a board meeting, knock back shots at happy hour, and go from urban to proper vernacular in the blink of an eye, is a ride or die chick.
She doesn’t have to fight for/with us….although a sub compact 25 or snub nosed 38 (preferably smith&wesson) in the purse is an added bonus, albeit irrelevant.
A man wants a well versed and well rounded(not literally fat asses, log some miles on that pedometer already) mate. If you persist in keeping to some of the old ways, you’re going to find yourself matronly and alone. and who want’s that? A lot of you in Jacksonville Florida, based on all the stories I’m hearing. Yes, Jacksonville…I just put some of your trifling asses out there. Again. What’s wrong with you hillbillies and hoodrats? Thank God I imported….
All I hear is, my girl, my wife, my significant other, is verbally (sometimes physically) trying to emasculate me. Seriously? (taps the mic) Is this thing on? Ladies wanting a successful relationship “STOP MAKING A PUNK OUT OF YOUR MAN”. The very moment you disrespect his manhood, you have just pushed the emergency eject button on the relationship. …no man is going to tolerate that bullshit and remain faithful to you. Oh, he’ll still sleep with you (because let’s face it sex IS sex) but he won’t give a damn about you. Nope, he’ll continue looking for that one. His end all be all.
So…continue not catering to your man. Continue your petty games in which you seek to control, steer, and ration. good luck with that. Not all men aren’t mesmerized and entranced by the vajayjay. Correction YOUR vajayjay….there’s some next door.
By the way, to you ladies referencing that Steve Harvey book. Last I checked every single relationship is different. no set rules. no set boundaries. how can Mr caterpillar mustache interpretation’s help you? His experiences, his relationships….yeah, his advice is a solid match and will fit along perfectly in yours. Not.
My advice? No, not my advice, it’s been around for ages…”What it took to get your mate is what it’s going to take to KEEP your mate”. Switch the game up midstream if you want, and find yourself in a book club with other matron singles who hadn’t felt a man’s crotch since the Clinton administration.
Through playing wit cha’ll.
Please….shut up already, you leech, you vampire, you succubus. I can feel you draining all of my optimistic soul with your chronic complaining and pessimism. Yes life is a struggle, I get it. Just stop talking about how miserable your life is and DO something about it.
I have my own issues to contend with. I’m making positive strides forward, then you come along with your black cloud of mope and despair overcasting my day. Fortunately, I have one of those pro golf sized “mental umbrellas” to keep me dry from your gale force tirades of drama. Spare me your relationship episodes, you’re not David Duchovny on Californication. I could care less about how your wife emasculates you….wait, what did you call it, “she’s assertive and likes wearing the pants” so instead of watching the playoffs Sunday afternoon, you’re down at the flea market shopping for discounted trinkets and bootleg romantic comedy dvd’s.
The next person to attempt to trample one of my good spirited days with their “cup is almost empty” demeanor, deserves a Rick James to Charlie Murphy open handed slap. Seriously. I’m on a mission. Because your train derailed, you want to plant bombs on my tracks? If life is sooooo bad, give up. Stop trying. Kill yourself. More food for us. Still here? Pussy…or is it that your life isn’t that bad afterall huh?
The next step isn’t so easy. Depressing people travel in packs, infecting others like a virus adding to the collective. You have got to break away from the other crabs if you want to change your mindset. And don’t think they won’t notice. “why’d you stop calling? oh, you too good to hang with us now? Hey I just wrecked my car for the 3rd time can I get a ride? Hey girl, so and so was talking about you. I just wanted to let you know. What’s up man, I just quit my bullshit job. Naw, I ain’t got nothing lined up just yet tho…mind if I hang out for a few days?”
Good luck escaping. If you did manage to escape, your circle is extremely smaller now isn’t it? Google+ won’t be happy (lol if you don’t get that it’s ok, the joke wasn’t for you).
I had an intellectual discussion with a good friend of mine last night until 3am. It’s amazing what conversations stem from Grand Marnier and blue mist hookahs….I digress, where was I? One topic involved goals, aspirations, and the means to reach them. Have you met yours? what prevented you? what’s stopping you now? At what point do you concede? the conclusion obviously, is that the infrastructure of any goal you set forth is planning. Then it hit me like a ton a bricks. 35-40% of the people I knew, didn’t plan for shit. Most of them are already out of my life, the few remaining handful will probably become case studies for this blog in the near future.
It’s 2012 people. time to become extremely independent and get off the teat. Bad things will happen soon. PLAN AHEAD.(damn have I been infected by the cynics?) Time to develop some survivalist skills just in case of some post apocalyptic scenario. I recommend the three H’s. Hunting, Horticulture and Whoring…yes yes I know, I know. It was just fun to say.
Through playing with y’all.
I feel you Aretha. Without respect, a man isn’t one. Lack of it will always lead to a disastrous conclusion. Me? I’d take respect over fame and money anything day of the week.
So. What exactly is the correct path to follow when there’s a personal affront to your manhood? Wisdom dictates removing yourself from said situation. Easy if the assailant is a complete stranger, not so easy if you’ve known the individual for awhile and their viewpoint of you has changed for whatever reason. A little tougher if it’s a long time friend or family member.
Yeah, you can communicate and talk about it, but since no one’s budging, you’re back to square one. This is why brothers don’t speak to one another for 15 years a pop, or cousins only visit every other holiday. It also affects marital bliss.
So what do you do, when you are bred with a ceiling-less pride and taught to be respectful and expect it always? When the nuclear arms talk fail utterly, and war is imminent…what do you do?
It comes down to our primal responses: Fight or Flight. I’m not speaking a “physical” fight (not this time). But a fight aimed at getting the respect you deserve. Or do you take a hit to your manhood, the very core structure of who you are, and concede.
……and I ain’t about to write a damn song asking for it either.
Mid-term elections are here. Got your condoms and K-Y? You’ll be needing them….because politicians are about to rain down an orgy of spins, mud slinging, baby kissing, hand shaking, and leery smiling promises, only to completely renege as soon as they get in office. They should skip the $200 hundred dollar fundraiser dinners and take us right to the hotel, because you KNOW what happens next.
The campaign trail is nothing more than a glorified lap dance across America. “If you have money, I’ll show you what I MIGHT do for you.”
No one can say I’m not a Patriot. I’ve served this country proudly during my tenure in the United Sates Navy. But what the hell happened to the United States Congress? I remember how the Senate and the House of Representatives USED to be. Now, Congress is just one large brothel. Everyone is screwing and/or screwing over everyone else…literally. Let’s see if I have this right: U.S. taxpayers pay their salary, Congressmen in turn, listen to our needs in earnest, then decidedly do exactly the opposite. Sounds like a bad night in Vegas if you ask me.
Oh, and if you think for one second that the parties aren’t secretly working together behind our backs, you’re naive. Someone explain to me why as a nation of voters, there is only a two party system…waitaminute didn’t there used to be more? I wonder what happened to them? hmmm, go figure.
The President? figurehead, scapegoat, fall guy, patsy, mark, sucker….I could go on, but I think you get my meaning. He does nothing. He can suggest until he’s blue in the face like the Na’Vi from Avatar. Don’t believe me? ok…the military: controlled by the Joint Chiefs of Staff. the Prez doesn’t make a move without them. Laws: nope. He can’t pass a bill unless Congress allows it. (and of course Congress is bribed by whoever has a lot of money, they’re called lobbyist.) So…what exactly is he doing again? Nothing, but misdirecting your hate. Or love , if you’re into that sorta thing. You sitting down? We haven’t had a real president since Kennedy. And “they” shot him for it. Oh snap, they shot Lincoln too…and a warning shot was all it took for Reagan to play along with the program.
Rape is termed as sexual intercourse with another person WITHOUT that person’s consent. The way we’re getting screwed, somebody needs to press charges on the House AND the Senate. It’s all about money. It always was. Scratch that, no it wasn’t. “WE THE PEOPLE” use to mean something. So much so that our forefathers began the constitution with it. I am going to quote something from Franklin and Jefferson to some of you unread denizens. (pick up a history book sometimes and stop reading People magazine.)
“I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous than standing armies… if the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of currency… the banks and corporations that will grow up around them will deprave the people of their prosperity until their children wake up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered.”
“I am the most unhappy man. I have unwittingly ruined my country. A great industrial nation is now controlled by its system of credit.
We are no longer a government by free opinion, no longer a government by conviction and the vote of the majority, but a government by the opinion and duress of a small group of dominant men.”
Wow….we are soooo fucked.
Oh, one more thing: ALVIN GREENE?!? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU SOUTH CAROLINA!?!? SERIOUSLY? IT’S PAINFULLY OBVIOUS SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH THAT DUDE. THE ENTIRE STATE CANNOT NOT BE THAT BLIND. DID YOU GUYS START UP INBREEDING? SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH HIM!!!!!!! GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.
It’s hard enough to deal with hidden agendas and the proverbial knife in the back, but when you’re forced to endure the “crabs in the barrel” attitude from your own people, it really stops you in your tracks and makes you take a hard look at society, culture and regional environments….or maybe, that’s just me.
The Mason-Dixon line isn’t the only line drawn that some southerners secretly take pride in. Economic status, has always been a line that separates us…from a financial standpoint anyway. And when you successfully make that jump into the next tax bracket, you leave behind a few scratching heads wondering “how’d he do that”? That wonderment (also known as ignorance) turns to resentment. The end result? You now have a hater on your hands.
Hater ~ a person who cannot be happy for another person’s success. Instead of being happy, they make it point of exposing the person’s flaws. Their thought process isn’t really hate, it’s to knock that person down a notch.
Now, try breaking a few racial stereotype and see what happens. As a black person, go rock climbing. Or as a white person, become a rapper. Depending on where you are regionally, you’ll be known as “selling out”, or acting something that you’re not. People are creatures of habit. Change upsets their conformity (which is why a certain political figure is fighting a losing battle). When they see “different” then something must be wrong. Are we really hard wired like that?
Like I said, crabs in a barrel….my friend Anthony is an up and coming cyclist. He’s pretty good. But because cycling isn’t seen as a “black” sport, he’s operating outside of the known stereotype, he gets accused of being something he’s not.
While visiting family back home, I ran into a childhood friend. After reminiscing a bit, he pulls me to the side and asks, ” Hey dawg, so how long were you locked up for”? See… for this imbecile, military training and 14 years of bodybuilding resemble working out in the penitentiary recreation room.
This is a very large world we live in. Get off your close-minded, prejudiced thinking, one tracked, “I eat the same thing for breakfast everyday”, asses…and experience something new. Talk to someone different. Walk another route. Stop wallowing in your own ignorance and for God’s sake stop educating yourself via television.
through playing with y’all…..damn.
Any other day, I’d bypass this subject and wouldn’t think twice about it. I’m sitting at home sick as a dog, channel surfing. I see the Tyra Banks Show (damn, she is still fine!) about women loving men with big bellies. And then the subject was broached on Facebook. So I have to ask ladies…REALLY?
Because I heard a lot of lies. lies. lies. Maybe it was to save face, or maybe it was the fact that they no longer consider their lover’s body part of the equation of love. Maybe it’s all about the dollars and to hell with the body. I don’t know, I’m just trying to gain a little perspective.
See…I know without a shadow of doubt that some women don’t like skinny guys. I used to be just that. Being skinny as a rail, trying to talk to a dimepiece is a futile attempt no matter what your charming smile or winning looks have done for you in the past. Some women don’t roll that way. They want a physical man who can handle himself and be able to bring food to the table. I get that.
But beer bellies? I’m heavily into the gym/fitness thing and I am a pretty sizable guy. At 42 years old, 232lbs, I still have no gut. Am I to believe, I’d lose out to the fat guy at the end of the bar with a bucket of Natural Light beer? To quote the fictional senator Clay Davis from HBO’s the Wire, “shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.”
Muscle>Fat everyday, all day.
Guys, PLEASE do not fall into this sitcom reality TV show/facebook tomfoolery. Get your asses in the gym. Nevermind what women think….ok scratch that(what was I thinking), consider your own health for a minute. Abdominal obesity can kill you (indirectly). Not to mention affecting the lead in your “pencil”. It’s a sure sign that your estrogen levels are rising. And I’m hoping I don’t have to break THAT one down to you.
Our abs are quite useful. When you find them again, you can email me and thank me for getting rid of your back pain and improving you sex life. Abs act as a stabilizer for your torso and a gyroscope for your….hell, if you didn’t know all this time, you might be outta luck on the latter.
Ladies (just the ones that like big men), tell your man the truth, yes you want a big man for the comfort and joys of life. One that can also handle himself and protect you. A guy that can be that “blanket” you want. You don’t want a guy who runs around making jokes about his “tool shed”. Encourage your big man to go walking, ease him into the cardio. Before you know it, he’ll be able to “see” himself again and won’t have to reach blindly for it.
Am I too harsh? Probably. Am I an insensitive ass? Definitely. Listen I know there are conditions which prevent some men from exercising and/or eating right. To those guys, I’m sorry…this isn’t meant for your eyes. I’m strictly referring to those 30-40 somethings who are fully ambulatory yet down kegs of beer at happy hour, talking about “yeah I’m gonna start working out again”. Meanwhile their wives and girlfriends are on the Tyra Banks Show talking about, “Tyra, my big bellied man is putting it down”.
He’s coming back to the game. And as much as his peers will hate it, they will also welcome him back with open arms. All while making snide comments behind his back. No, it isn’t Brett Favre and it sure as hell ain’t Jordan. It’s Eldrick. And before you get your panties in a bunch asking who Eldrick is, I’ll tell you.
Eldrick Tont Woods…affectionately (and intimately) known as Tiger. Now, there is absolutely nothing about Tiger Woods that I could expound upon that the media hasn’t already filleted and gutted a million times already, except for one thing. Why he got caught. (no, not why he did it, why he got caught).
Tiger Woods is an island unto himself. That kinda makes it hard to do dirt when you’re visible from the weather channel’s satellites. Secondly, he went against the grain of every celeb/athlete’s mantra. He had no Entourage.
Entourage (read: boys who you pay and trust to do YOUR dirt and take the fall). These people are made up of people you know before the fame and fortune and when the shit hits the fan, will gladly scoop it up.
Celebs with entourages usually have a bad image of boozing party hounds, so Tiger refrained from having one, not realizing their true purpose. Damn, hindsight’s a bitch ain’t it?
But let me make myself really really clear. In no way do I condone Mr. Woods infidelities. He was stupid and got caught with his hands, feet and who knows what else in the cookie jar. Apparently, he thought he was a college frat boy. I remember my college days, (barely). I felt unstoppable. I vaguely remember my mother mentioning something about me burning out before I turned 25 (guess what mom, it was sooner…).
I didn’t have an entourage but I had friends I trusted impeccably. Question is, who does Tiger trust? It’s kinda funny though, because real tigers hunt solo, at night and ambush their prey. The two legged tigers we know use Patron Margaritas….or cereal.
If only he had one good friend to say “I don’t think its a good idea, let’s go” We wouldn’t be reading about all this nonsense now. But you know what, it’s not all his fault.
Let’s back up a sec. So the wifey had no idea? She was clueless? Yeah right, whatever. If the handwriting is on the wall, you just don’t apply a fresh coat of paint. Let’s not forget this has been going on for years, and she just now decided to bash his head in? A one eyed man with a cataract could see she didn’t care what Tiger did UNTIL it was about to become public knowledge.
So why are people so hellbent on what Tiger is or isn’t doing? Americans (some of us) are boring, mundane hum drum people who live their lives vicariously through someone else. Everyone wants to shake up their lives and do something wild and off the cuff but is afraid to. That’s why Vegas is so popular. What? you thought it was because of the casinos? Kill yourself now and help the census.
People like to commune socially. That’s why everyone is in everyone else’s business and personal affairs. And when celebrities and/or an athlete’s business come to light…oh boy, the fireworks fly. Tiger’s affairs were, socially speaking “a multiple orgasm” for the media and it’s endearing public.
The man liked to get his multicultural penis wet. He’s also given billions in charity benefiting children. Does this make it right? Hell no it doesn’t. Not at all. But tell me…what has your trifling baby’s daddy contributed other than his seed?
Stop casting stones. Welcome back Tiger.
Happy New year! It’s that time isn’t it? Time to make that new years resolution.
‘I’m gonna lose weight”
“I’m gonna save money”
and my all time favorite, (one that I can speak on) “I’m gonna work out and get in shape”.
Yay…I for one, welcome January. I’ll get all the cannon fodder I need for my blogs right in the gym. Here’s a question I’ve been wanting to ask so many people. Why do you need a certain time of the year as an excuse to do something that you’re NOT going to stick with year round only to make the exact same excuse at the same time next year? I stopped making resolutions a loooong time ago. I figured out that obviously, I never wanted to do said resolution in the 1st place or I would have done it a lot sooner.
I get it though..sorta. a new year. a new beginning. a new you. Thing is, this could work with other holidays as well.
Easter… “Resurrect a new you”.
July 4th…”Celebrate independence from the old you”
Christmas.. “the birth of a new you”
New Years is just another holiday excuse. Let me give you a few synonyms for the word excuse according to Brittanica: apology , cleanup, cop-out, cover up, evasion, subterfuge, justification, plea…see where I went with that?
Hey, if you stick with your fitness program…great, awesome. I owe you an heartfelt apology and I’ll offer you my personal help and assistance. But my money’s on the ones who just paid up for a whole year at their local gyms and will be outta there by……mmm, let’s say March. It won’t even be 30 days for some. C’mon, I haven’t spend the last 13 years of my life in a gym and not have noticed.
I see you…on the phones, wearing makeup, scoping out potential mates (ok nothing wrong with that part), socializing like the gym is a club without a liquor license. Refusing a trainer and still working out wrong, holding up the machines that real gym members need. And you wonder how can you work out for so long and not see any results.
I didn’t forget about you weekend warriors (part timers in the gym). you have a little definition, so you swagger around the gym after you bench 225, flexing like you’re in the Arnold Classic, grunting like you’re in a strongman competition, wearing your little brother’s wifebeater so you can appear bigger. Tipping the scales at 220lbs does not put you in the big boy club (unless you’re 5’9). These guys usually quit after they tear a muscle from lifting improperly.
Ladies, ladies, ladies…there are sporting goods stores that sell non-tight fitness gear. So there won’t be any need to tie a shirt around your waist to cover up all that ass you’re trying to hide. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Don’t buy it, and we won’t look. Thus negating the need to cover up what you thought was sexy in the sporting goods dressing room. If men decided to wear loincloths in the pilates class, it would take you outta your game just a little bit wouldn’t it? Mmhmm, thought so. It’s all good til the shoe is on the other foot. Or, to put in more simpler graphic terms…til there’s a large penis in your face and you begin to remember why you’re working out in the first place.
All in all, its going to be fun times these first few months. I have a few goals of my own as well. Only I made them back in October
See ya in the gym!
In less than 12 hours I’ll age another year, and yet I am completely unfazed. All the rhetoric surrounding birthdays is designed to do what exactly? The cakes, the parties, the sheer drunkeness (if that’s your kind of thing) is supposed to be a celebration of life? Or…is all the fanfare and festivities just a mere distraction from what you should be doing. Self evaluation. a gut check. I like to think of birthdays as milestone markers where I take out my compass and see what direction in life I’m headed in.
My friends think that I become a somber cynical rattlesnake the days surrounding my birthday. The truth… my eyes are wide open to everything. In my deepest moments of self reflection, I see things from an “outside looking in” standpoint where I become super critical of myself and the world as I see it. All the facades, all the bs we normally take on the chin, all the societal dances that we do, all fade away for me during this time. I gotta tell you, it’s all funny as hell. Straight up comic relief. I can’t help but to laugh at the lengths we go through. Why? to get a job? to get a date? to get the respect you deserve? to be someone else’s idea of a “good” person? Every year, I take a step away from the “norm”. And when I look back, I say to myself, “what the hell was I thinking?!”
Man, why couldn’t I have had this mentality 20 years ago? We all say it, Hindsight is 20/20. I’ve actually come to realize that wouldn’t have been a good move for me. I know now that it was, and still is the journey not the destination, that’s where all the fun stuff happens. The path lesser walked. Google maps ain’t gonna get me there.
This upcoming year I’m going off-road. See ya in 2010.
PS. Shout outs to the drunken Christmas carolers of Middleburg, Florida. FYI, ghetto rednecks, booze and a tortured version of “Silent Night” is not a good look. lmfao. WHO FRIGGIN CAROLS THESE DAYS?!? I should add…with sincerity. I still love you guys tho…
Let me get straight to it. I was robbed. My car was vandalized and some pretty nice audio and video equipment was stolen. No biggie, This is why we pay gobs of money to our insurance companies.
What I AM having, is a hard time accepting the fact that with all my size strength and intelligence, there was absolutely nothing I could have done to stop it. I cannot shake it off. As a protector and defender of my family, I feel like I was caught slipping.
I’ve been talking to and reading about victims of theft and burglary, and how they feel violated and helpless. Yep, that’s sounds about right. What’s worse, this feeling of paranoia has me extremely protective of my family. More so than normal. If I was a scary bear before, I am certainly not to be poked or prodded now.
My family as a group will be obtaining concealed weapon permits and enrolling in a firearms class (not that I need it),but since we’ve become a Glock carrying family, it stands to reason that a family that shoots together….
Overkill? Hell no. Turn your television on. Go to any news channel, and realize that your time is coming soon. It’s just a matter of time before you become a statistic. Doesn’t matter who you are or where you live, the country’s crime rate has increased exponentially over the last few years.
Even if you consider yourself safe from theft, what’s your perverted neighbor across from you REALLY thinking of you? And to you guys trying to put another notch in your players card, two words for you: Steve McNair (RIP). Is it me, or does it seem that everyone in the world has lost their damned minds.
I won’t even bring up the recession. That alone is driving the indigent to extremes never before seen. Like breaking into my car parked at a four star hotel on friggin THANKSGIVING…
All of my close friends will tell you I’m not and never will be a gun advocate. Personally, I prefer the up close and personal hands on beat down.
But extreme times call for extreme measures. I’ll be waiting, locked and loaded.
To quote the comedian, Cedric the entertainer…”I WISH a motherf%#ker would…”
Thanksgiving is upon us once again, and this year has me really really appreciating and being thankful for what I have. Most importantly in this recession period, what I have to possibly lose.
Earlier this year when my household income fell by half, I was concerned…but not worried. I knew that the one thing my wife and I share unequivocally is resilience and tenacity (ok that’s two things but whose counting) to weather this financial storm. I’m so glad we are of like minds. So when we cut out the VIP’ing, the designer handbags, my wife’s two hundred dollar jean addiction(lol), my taste for the finer wines and spirits, it was a pretty easy transition back to the mundane.
Others weren’t so lucky.
This Thanksgiving has us on the road to see family. It’s a much needed reprieve from the monotony that is Jacksonville. I’m excited. I don’t know of any family that has swagger and can maintain it for decades like ours. The bond is surreal. We owe it all to our grandmother.(rest in peace, Gertrude).
Man, I’m already hungry…I’m going to be a glut this Thanksgiving and look good doing it. If you’re in the area, fix me a plate. I’m coming to dinner. I like chicken, turkey, ham, ribs, and fish. You can keep the stuffing, I’m low carb…
Family benediction and eating aside, i’ll hit my old stomping grounds and see old friends from school and the neighborhood. Let’s be honest, this is where the show begins…the degrees, the titles, the cars, the trophy wife/husband. Because secretly you want to gauge/rank one another. Been that way since school hasn’t it?
After it’s all said and done, after all the feeding and posturing, after the show, after the pomp and circumstance…our friends and family are all we have to maintain our sanity in this tumultous, topsy turvy, trainwreck of an economy.
And for that, I am thankful most.
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.
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.
I wish I had a dollar for all the stupid things I see people do on a daily basis. Apparently I’m an alien residing on the planet O.C.D. I’m not sure what drives the decision making process in some people but damn…just breathe, slow down, fire off a couple of gray matter neurons and assess a situation before making a total imbecile of yourself.
Pet peeve #1. your car isn’t faster than mine. Stop trying to cut me off, speed up and/or block me from passing. Trying to “out accelerate” my Nissan 350z in a truck, SUV, sedan or anything else that doesn’t have over 400 horses under the hood is going to get you embarrassed.
Pet peeve #2. Women who wear makeup to the gym. Seriously. WTF is that all about? In 12 years of working out I’ve never seen anything more asinine. 5 to 7pm in the gym is like happy hour minus the booze so apparently she’s one of those DW’s. (see my last post)
Pet peeve #3. Guys who believe their own lies so much, they create their own reality. For the record, when you’re recruiting for your “multi million dollar” real estate business, it’s probably not a good look to wear Pro Keds, Walmart faded glory jeans and drive a 1987 Ford bronco that OJ wouldn’t drive. Nevermind that your flea market brand Ed Hardy actually reads “Ned Hardy”.
I know that we are driven to do strange things and act out in strange ways by our environment, hormones and senseless peer pressure ploys designed to make you act like you haven’t received home training…but I guess as long as no one gets hurt, providing us a laugh at your dumb ass shenanigans is ok. It’s all fun and games til someone gets the “brakes beat off them”.
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.