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.
Overzealous, overconfident, overactive, and today…..over reaching. I’m the biggest advocate of stepping out of the box, breaking away from the norm and doing or being different. That said, we each have our own roles to play in life. Our own talents, our own gifts. Our very own little niche.
I know, (as much as I loathe to admit it) I cannot be everything to everyone. The sky IS the limit, but the ugly truth is that the ceiling varies for different people. My gifts, my creativity, my talents will only get me so far. Your talents may or may not get you farther or faster. Everyone has a cap. I will never work for NASA, be a chemical engineer, or a college math professor. Why? Because I absolutely detest math and anything of its ilk. Besides…it’s a right brain function, and we all know artists (the left brain users of the world) can’t stand prolonged use of the right side. It just isn’t natural to us.
So I’m just gonna do me. All the things that I’m good at, my special niche in life: writing, fitness, counseling, electronics, computers, photography, fighting, loving, drinking and hell raising. and not necessarily in that order.
(did me taking an exam really just snap me outta my writer’s block?) Hallelujah, I’m back!
I had a bit of an epiphany in the gym this morning. It dawned on me that most people go their entire lives without realizing what their very own bodies are physically capable of. It’s funny to me. Mainly because in my youth, I was literally thin as a walking stick. Had it not been for that fateful day in Chicago at the Naval base, where I (a basketball fanatic) was dunked on by a semi pro player.
That pivotal moment changed me. Angered and blinded by the fact that someone broke through my defense, I subbed out and left the court…right into the weight room. while the 1st two years were a clueless waste of time, the next 13 years became a campaign to become bigger and stronger. Years of muscle sprains, tendinitis, deep tissue massages, and gallons of protein later, here I am remaining steadfast on my personal crusade to be the fittest I can be.
But not most people….the average person doesn’t think about it until a really fit person walks up next to them and then they realize “oh shit, that person is my age”. Then there’s the moment of self-pity. The envy lasts a bit longer but that too is quickly forgotten as soon as the “hot and fresh doughnuts” sign lights up at Krispy Kreme.
The human body is literally a Transformer. (Hasbro should pay me for plugging them)
It’s astounding the amount of resiliency and strength it has. It can be shaped and molded, made stronger, faster. It can endure miles and miles of running or tons and tons of weight lifting. Each and every person has their very own machine to tweak and customize as they see fit, but 89% of you don’t….okay I made that number up, but so what it’s probably higher. It’s the equivalent of taking a Ferrari and letting it sit for years exposed to the elements.
What’s it like?
Trying this diet plan and that diet pill….starving yourself to squeeze into a dress you know damn well you shouldn’t have purchased. Doing push ups before you head out to the beach to give the illusion that you work out on a regular basis. I’ll bet you 20 bucks you’ve got a guy at work that arches his back when he walks as if to imply his chest is huge.
Delusions of fitness never gets old. Promising yourself to exercise but that day never comes, or wearing sleeves so tight your hands turn blue. So what does it take to get motivated and embrace a fit healthy lifestyle?
1. you must WANT it. badly…a 6 month diet plan is going to crash like Denzel Washington in “Flight”.
2. Self Evaluate. look at yourself realistically, and honestly. Then set a goal. and just like building a house you’re gonna need blueprints to make that goal happen. You will need a professional at this point. Find a certified licensed trainer. You will only need him/her for about 4-6 months tops. listen and do everything they tell you, then rinse and repeat on your own.
3. Educate yourself in health and exercise. I’m mean really learn. Chances are your doctor doesn’t know a damn thing about fitness. Remember he’s getting paid to sell you his skill set and medicine.
4. Take a nutrition class. Trust me, when you learn that you truly are what you eat, you’ll stop huffing down pancakes, doughnuts and cookies.
5. Kinesiology, the study of human movement. When you know how your body works once and for all, you will laugh at those infomercials trying to sell you a “gutbuster 3000” and the people that buy them.
Extend your life/livelihood. Take care of your body as you would your car, house, your lawn….or whatever you deem of value and importance to you. God willing, working out and pushing my body to it’s limits will continue be a staple in my life, as much as breakfast and sex. And I’m certainly not trying to give up either of the two anytime soon.
Train hard. Indulge later.
I call “perv”, Santa…who are you really? We can’t even see your face. I know you can magically whip up some clippers and a razor. Trim that baby llama off your face so we can see you, it’s the 21st century Santa.
I always knew you were a sadist Santa. Pepper? A lump of coal? Who does that, you sick freak.
As you know Santa, me being the health nut and all, couldn’t help but notice those “rosy red cheeks”…..yeah well, I’m pretty sure that’s rosacea. Common amongst alcoholics. you should lay off the elven moonshine. How’s your cholesterol fatso? I left you Nabisco 100 calorie thin crisps and low fat milk, but you preceded to raid the fridge and demolish ALL the chicken and collard greens, dressing and cranberry sauce, and my grandma’s red velvet cake. not cool man. Next time wash the dishes.
But hey listen, I wanted to give you a heads up. I’m a light sleeper. So before you break into my house and trip the motion sensors, how about sending me a text or something before I turn my living room into a CSI episode. M’kay? Thanks.
One more thing Santa. Who’s your agent? Because the contract deals he’s making for you are unbelievable. Do you know you beat out Halloween this year? There was Christmas stuff up in stores the 2nd week in October. I thought I’d lost 2 months. That’s crazy…you, Tony Romo and Ndamukong Suh must all have the same agent. Send me his number.
All in all Santa, you’ve given me a lot of insomnia, anxiety, mental and physical duress over the years. This horrible relationship isn’t conducive to the kind of lifestyle I like to lead. Thanks for the faulty orange 10-speed (which coincidentally led to my bike vs car accident), the boom box radio that LL Cool J was so fond of speaking of. Nevermind that it felt like 30 bee stings whenever I plugged in the crappy power cord.
It’s over. You’re out Santa, like a MLB batter facing Nolan Ryan.
FYI, I registered you on that sex offender website. STAY AWAY FROM THE KIDS YOU PERV!