Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Just Some Random Thoughts

Dear Diary:

I am a very private person

Yeah, I know you are shocked, aren't you?

It's is very hard to see if anything is bothering me, if you were to look at me. Maybe I am just designed that way. Some people are. I remember oh, about a decade ago when I was working in the bar business, my good friend/roommate and I were interested in the same girl. My buddy also was in the beginning stages of dating another girl. Anyway, he got both of them, and I had no one. I remember him asking me if I was upset about it, and I told him, "If I was, you would never know." To which he replied, "Yeah, I know."

I also do not like being the center of attention. In fact, I hate the thought of a group of people looking at me. Speaking in front of large groups is not a fun experience for me, although I have gotten exceedingly good at it because of my job.

Where am I going with all of this? I really do not have any idea.

But anyway...

You could call me an introvert with extroverted tendencies, maybe. I am no hermit. I just have a life of routine. It helps me keep balance with the part of my life that is anything but routine, and in fact, carries with it a high level of ongoing stress. This is one of the reasons that my latest gym/eating routine, which requires a high level of discipline, does not bother me nor make me uncomfortable whatsoever. Maybe it's because the process itself requires my mind to take over. I actually find the process itself quite calming, and actually, fun. I mean, while everyone was trying to get home and deal with the storm, I was happy as a fucking clam sweating my ass off at the gym tonight. And the place was practically empty, so I didn't have to wait for shit.

Yeah, I know I am fucking weird. I will admit it.

Now, circling back to the whole keeping my emotions, thoughts, internal.

Lately, yeah, I do have reasons, a few in fact, to be utterly annoyed. I have reasons to be downright disappointed in people. You see, I hate mixed signals and people not keeping their word. To say that I hate when someone says they will do something, and then disregards it, or hopes I forget that they said it, would be an understatement. I have a pretty decent memory. Hell, I can tell you where I was when I turned three, and what my birthday cake looked like.

I am also put off by people who seem to constantly be looking for the next best thing. Maybe that is a result of my divorce, or even maybe that is a result of being moved around as a kid while my dad worked his way up the ladder in his chosen field. Maybe to me it just demonstrates a lack of commitment. I also find it a bit selfish. I think people in general need to be happy with what they have, not with what they hope to have one day. Because thinking about tomorrow is nice, but tomorrow doesn't mean shit if you get hit by a bus today.

Circling back again, there is a very high likelihood that I will never tell those who annoy the shit out of me with their actions just what it is on my mind. I guess I am just not good at expressing myself, at least not when I open my mouth. Hell, sometimes not even when I just open my mind and let the keyboard do the talking.

Or maybe I just don't think they deserve to be let in.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Pain

Dear Diary:

Pain is the result of having your world turned upside down by one health related train wreck after another for four solid months.

Pain is waking up, and starting a new routine.

Pain is eating the same thing over and over again.

Pain is counting, religiously, the amount of calories in any given thing.

Pain is limiting calories to under 1800 a day.

Pain is being meticulous is consuming enough nutrients while minimizing caloric consumption.

Pain is in the process of tweaking said new routine to get it down to an exact science.

Pain is preparation, and study.

Pain is working a full day with distractions and meetings and organizing and paperwork and strategizing and teaching, while staying focused on that singular goal that is worth more than money or recognition.

Pain is going to the gym every day, regardless of the time.

Pain is feeling they are all looking at your fat ass while you huff and puff and sweat like a whore in church on Easter.

Pain is finishing the time on the treadmill, knowing that the time on the elliptical will hurt even more.

Pain is burning between 700 and 900 calories, every day.

Pain is getting home late, and eating dinner consisting of vegetables and a store bought low calorie frozen dinner and then preparing breakfast and lunch for the next day.

Pain is showering at night to cool off, and going to bed sore.

Pain is waking up the next day, and doing it all over again.

Pain is fucking glorious.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Awww, Aren't You Acute

Dear Diary:

Well it turns out the reason that I sound like I smoke 4 packs a day is that I have acute bronchitis. To say that I am annoyed by this would be an understatement. To say that I am frustrated by this would not be an understatement. To say that my chest feels like someone has cut it open with a meat cleaver, reached in and grabbed everything, pulled it out, jammed it back in, set it on fire, doused it with alcohol to put it out, beat it with a baseball bat wrapped in sandpaper, and stomped on it for good measure would also not be an understatement.

Seriously, what next? Can I please, catch ONE fucking break?

Just one? Not even a big one. Like a small one. Tiny even. Minuscule if you want.

Comedy of errors starring me.

And.............ACTION

Friday, January 14, 2011

Mythical Creatures

Dear Diary:

There has been much discussion as of late, or rather I have just really noticed a string of connecting stories in the blogosphere (that's how it's spelled, right?) surrounding what is apparently a mythical creature. A unicorn in fact. What is a unicorn? Well, apparently according to those who have written and/or discussed the topic, is nothing more than a man, who is single, employed, and slightly taller than a woman, in the dating pool. Oh, and heterosexual. Can't forget that part. These are apparently the basic criteria.

So let's examine this for a bit, shall we?

For one, there has to be, and obviously is, more criteria that creates such a mythical creature. Hell, I am slightly taller than a lot of women (even when they are in heels), employed, heterosexual, and single. Now granted, I removed myself from the dating pool because I needed a break, but it wasn't like I had a harem of women banging down my door when I was an actively swimming in that pool. So, I fit the basic criteria. Am I a unicorn? But if I throw in the fact that I am divorced, overweight and have introverted tendencies, does that make me less of a unicorn? But what if I can cook and own my own home? Does that make me more of a unicorn?

Which begs another question. Are all unicorns created equal or not? Is a single, 6'3, dark haired, light eyed, single, never married, doctor, who volunteers with sick children and sings in the church choir more of a unicorn than a 5'11, blond but with a slightly receding hair line, light eyed, divorced, highly successful CEO of an Internet start-up, who could stand to lose a few pounds, with vacation homes in Paris and the Bahamas? And if all unicorns are not created equal, is there a point system? Is there a way to move up and down the point scale? Does it come with a handbook? Are there charts? There had better be some fucking charts!

But let's be honest for a minute. The concept of unicorn itself is a myth. Why? Because initial attraction boils down to looks. Human beings are superficial in that respect. I mean, a guy could make a woman laugh like he is a comedian, have romance down like he is Casanova, be tall, employed, single, and straight, but if he looks like he was set on fire and put out with a bag of quarters, he's fucked, and I don't mean literally.

And it works both ways. A girl could laugh at dick and fart jokes, drink beer, be fun to be around, and could suck the chrome off a bumper, but if she looks like a gargoyle, yeah, well, guys will pass.

Unless you are taking one for the team, and in that case, you will just drink more.

But if women get to make up some type of list of basic qualifications, should guys be able to make up a list of basic qualifications? What shall we name this mythical creature of basic qualifications? What will comprise the list of basic qualifications? I think Dave Chappelle probably has the most honest list there is, so I will basically stick to his. A guy just wants a girl that will suck his dick, play with his balls, make him a sandwich, and not talk so much. We shall call her a mermaid.

Why a mermaid? Because the odds of mermaids actually existing are about slim to shit, just like a fucking unicorn.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Fuck You Mother Nature

Dear Diary:

I feel robbed. Seriously, I do. This is just not fair. I hate being teased, and this is twice now in less than a month that I have been teased to the point of excitement and then let down. It's bullshit.

WHERE IS MY SNOW?!?!?!?!?!?!

Yeah yeah yeah. People around here go absolutely batshit crazy when there is even more than a dusting, but I for one enjoy shoveling snow. I find it relaxing. It's therapeutic. And even though I am still getting over a bad cold that has me coughing and sounding like a 4-pack-a-day smoker, I would have been out there shoveling and loving every minute of it.

BUT NO!!!! Only what, and inch? You cannot shovel an inch of snow. An inch of snow won't even last 24 hours in most cases (as I look out my window at the office it is practically gone now). I feel robbed. Cheated. This has to be the only place on earth where more than a couple of inches is considered way too much to handle (and yes I am obviously talking about snow...perverts).

Mother Nature, you lying cheating bitch you. Heartless banshee. Can you please get off your ass and send me a blizzard? Thanks, much appreciated.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

I'm A Big Fat Fucking Baby

Dear Diary:

Like most men when they get sick, I can, and oftentimes do, turn into a big fat fucking baby. Although I would argue that you would too if your chest felt as though it were being repeatedly stabbed with a large sharp object every time you cough.

Now, I could sit here and further detail the feeling of having a fever that actually makes your eyes burn, or what is it like to feel that you have been beaten with a hammer right between the eyes because the pressure in your sinuses literally wants to make you stab yourself in the face. But I will not.

What I will say though is that this is a pretty shitty fucking way to start off a new year.