fatty. no good for you.


“So when you hear this Autumn song…clear your heads and get ready to run…

...so when you hear this Autumn song, remember the best times are yet to come." - Manic Street Preachers, "Autumnsong"

I'm in a simplifying routine.  My personal Twitter has had its tweets vaporized.  My Facebook is deactivated.  The important things are my work and my routine, and both need greater discipline.  I've gone as far as to reach out to an ADHD coach to help me with these issues.  Frankly, I just need to get better.

I undermine myself at every turn, however.  While my last post shows I broke up with my girlfriend, I didn't fully purge her from my life.  Two weeks ago, I said the meanest thing I've ever said to anyone in my life to make sure our breakup stayed final.  It lasted until that Thursday, when I picked up my remaining belongings in exchange for a chair I bought her that she decided first she didn't need, then somehow was a necessity the day after.  Tonight, in no uncertain terms, the phrase I used was "Go away."  I'm hoping it sticks.

The two things I need to parse are the damage and the lessons learned.  I think the damage is mostly financial, though I'm sure there's more there.  The lessons learned will go here too, but not until I take the opportunity to talk plenty about my penis.

So enjoy the ride....on my penis.


Filed under: Dating, Life, Sex No Comments

“As though you were born, and so you thought: The future’s ours to keep and hold…

...A child within has healing ways.  It sees me through my darkest days." - The Verve, "Catching the Butterfly"

I've ended things with my girlfriend...several times over the last 3 days.  The sticking point is respect.

This journey of self-improvement has been stagnant: I don't have the opportunity to work out, and I'm eating less than responsibly.  My weight is basically unchanged: 272 at last check.

Ultimately, I believe I want to be happy.  The tortured soul and martyr thing is a bit played out.  Happy is a bit of a moving target, sure - but I have recollection of what I need to be there.  It always starts with me.  It usually ends with me ignoring myself in favor of something significantly less important.  And I'm getting close to doing exactly that.

Saturday began in terrible fashion, but I'm not telling Saturday's story yet.  I felt horribly disrespected by an event, she apologized for what she had done, and I had to examine if this relationship had any future.  I wasn't sure.

Just after midnight today, my girlfriend told me that I wasn't going to be able to keep my friendship with someone I've referenced here as one I've been interested in.  Last year, this was the friend that propped me up and gave me confidence enough to function.  I couldn't date someone now if this friend wasn't there for me then.  It's that simple.

She should be grateful.  Instead, she won't tolerate this person in my life on any level.  No one will make that decision for me.

Prior to this going down, I had a real commitment to my girlfriend - one that I had every intention of honoring.  Simply, she was my girlfriend, there would be no one else.  No cheating - not physically, not emotionally.  I may not have been perfectly prepared for a relationship, but I knew I needed to do this regardless.  I felt had someone very special on the hook, and I didn't want to miss my opportunity with her.

I did what made sense.  I have very little in the way of regret here.  I'm attractive enough to be viable for a relationship.  There will be other opportunities; there always are.

I tried. It didn't work.  I go on.

Filed under: Dating, Life 4 Comments

I posted this on Facebook. I’m sharing it here too.

I totally get the idea that female lawmakers are introducing bills to limit Viagra access to give men a taste of how irresponsible it is for us to pretend we know what's best for women and limit their access to birth control and abortion.

I don't like that it's not really the same thing, though. Viagra, while it does offer other benefits beyond its common use, isn't as commonly used for the "off-label" benefits as birth control. I'm not even going to attempt to draw any comparison between abortion and Viagra, because I'm completely lost on that one.

The fact is guys don't get women's issues. We can't empathize, we never will. I don't really expect a woman to understand the miracle of an erection, but if it's there, and we say "let's do it", then we know they appreciate it. All we as men can do is let women tell us what's important to them, and act accordingly. It's not our place to second-guess their conclusion.

This brings us back to 2/16 and the Congressional hearing featuring all men who were there to talk about birth control. What the fuck do we know or understand on the topic? One thing I did pick up in high school having an irresponsibly great understanding of parliamentary procedure  is that any good legislative process has to consider the rights of the majority, the minority, individuals, the absent, and group as a whole. We could not do that without the presence of women in that hearing.

The fact that this was allowed to occur is the reason we have this ridiculous bickering back and forth now, and we're fully prepared to set gender relations in this nation back 50 years if we keep this up. Please, show respect, and don't let this happen.

Filed under: Life, Sex 1 Comment

This is the second best I could do…

I was going to prepare a much nicer, epic, and emotional post about the biggest and scariest thing I've gone through in recent years.  I chose not to in favor of a little bit of a look into how big an asshole I really am.

I'm obese.  Not overweight, but cheese-in-my-veins fucking obese.  My weight is down a little bit (it's hanging in the low 270s) - but I'm still 100 lbs. away.

...and I don't deal well with fat chicks.

I should put an asterisk there, because it's sort of an arbitrary term that is a challenge to express properly.

Historically, girls of marginal attractiveness have been drawn to me.  Now, I'm open to several different body types, races, hair colors, and the like.  I really only have one 2 total non-starters: Ridiculously fake breasts or a penis.  Both are immediate disqualifiers for me.

I started a match.com account up last week early Monday morning.  Since I'm me, and I am criminally tactful, I've had three dates - the last of which was last night.  That's 12 calendar days by my count.  I've had a deluge of "winks", but they are without fail girls that I couldn't see myself with.  Mostly because I don't think we could both fit in the same picture.  Not everyone is going to be a potential connection, but I don't understand the common underlying feature that nearly all the women who would approach me share: a disproportionally large bottom half that recalls images of a sausage casing overflow or that pink goo McDonald's called chicken.

The first girl...did not match up well against her photo, and was very bottom heavy.  She was also at an age that gravity had taken a lot from her.  It was also unclear how well she maintained other parts of herself, as she had more than a few stray grey hairs on her head.  However, I proved that I can do just as much damage stone sober as I can drunk.  She asked me to set up Netflix Instant on her Wii.  I spent fewer than 15 minutes setting up her wireless network, and getting her Wii configured for Netflix.  I should have left when I finished.  I'll let you fill in the blanks...but I was irresponsible in accepting her gratitude.  Moving on...

The second girl I went on a date with decided we'd go to a burger bar.  Normally, I do OK in the context of similar establishments.  Not to endorse a restaurant, but Red Robin allows substitutions of the BOCA burger on all their burgers, and they have a really awesome spicy burger that is just amazing.  This place was not even remotely vegetarian friendly, and they still botched my order just a touch.  Poor dining choices aside, this girl happened to be a bit more pretty, younger, and had let me know she lost a lot of weight in recent months.  Good on her, seriously!  However, she too suffered from that ill-defined bottom-heavy build that just...doesn't do well for me.  To frame it a little differently, her top half had similarities to Adele - great face, bone structure, fairly dramatic eyes and lips.  I adore Adele, and would be more than happy to be involved with her.  However, this young lady's bottom half was more like a Dell computer - a collection of spare parts, poorly organized, probably incompatible, and destine to be useless in about 3 years.

I maintained a facade of interest, thinking it best to "keep options open" since I haven't been able to demonstrate how much of an absolute catch I am to anyone in years.  And then last night happened...

I met an amazing woman a few years younger than me.  She happens to be quite intelligent, a vegetarian, and every bit as ridiculous as me.  She's also absolutely stunning.  Our date lasted over 10 hours, of which 95% was talking.  As far as I can gather, any and all perceived chemistry was mutual - but I'm not going to get into specifics yet.  I've had about a half dozen significant relationships, so it does happen that I get a fair amount of what I want.  However, given the delicate balancing act that is the first few weeks of dating, I'm keeping feelings and word selections metered right now.  It was an incredible time, and we've planned to go out tomorrow night.

I'm a jerk.  I'm clearly saying terrible things about people who I hope never hear them, as they surely deserve better.  Attraction is something that really can't be helped.  I'm not sure how much of it can be conditioned or massaged.  However, I feel compelled to be honest about what I'm thinking and feeling, as it becomes a written record for me to better understand myself.  This year is about being honest with myself, who I am, and what I want.  It is not a time for compromise on any level.  It's a time to reassert who I am and what really matters to me.

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“Blame, Deny, Betray, Divide….

...A lie, the truth, which one shall I use?" - The Afghan Whigs, "Blame, Etc."

On October 21, 1996, 6 days before my 17th birthday, I was run over by a truck.  According to the police report, it was 6:51 PM.  I was on my bike, trying to make a left turn to get myself to the motel I was staying at with a friend while we were trying to figure out an apartment situation.  I had 2 CDs with me - The Afghan Whigs, "Black Love" (from which the above quote was taken) and Iggy Pop's "The Idiot".  Music history buffs know the Iggy Pop album as the one on Ian Curtis' record player as he hanged himself.  I guess I'm lucky I only brought the CD version.

I had figured life out by the time I was 16, or so I believed.  I lived modestly, as I had little choice.  I was fiercely independent, renting my first apartment as soon as I had enough money for the expense.  I was focused, forcing myself to graduate high school a year early to hit the working world a year earlier.  I was in ridiculously good shape, biking 20-40 miles every day.

I lost it all in a matter of seconds.

While I wouldn't stay with my parents after the accident, I went to stay with a teacher who had heard about what happened to me.  She was an amazing teacher, probably the single biggest influence on my way into the world of employment.  She directed me into Future Business Leaders of America, where I found improbable success.  I stayed in a spare room, paid a token amount for rent and food, and tried to figure out my next moves.  She encouraged me to get my driver's license.  On my second try, I passed the exam, and started looking for full time work.  I was reluctantly assimilated, with the faith that I was doing what was best for myself.

I never felt like I was quite right for this world.   I had very few friends, and I mostly didn't like the ones I had.  Even the one I was staying with at the motel was a spoiled piece of garbage and his mother was footing the bill for his stay.  I never wanted to learn how to drive; cars were terrible, polluting monsters.  I was never concerned about money, just as long as I had enough.  Some days I wish the 16 year old version of myself would come over here and kick my ass, reminding me of who I really am.

Instead, I climbed "Honky's Ladder" (another Afghan Whigs reference, because I could) and got the car, the job, and a life that could be the envy of many.  I've never dealt well with this.  At first it was guilt: the thought that I had any entitlement to a good salary without a full education made no sense to me.  Then it was self-loathe: I found nothing I liked about the person I was anymore.

I was never a big consumer of alcohol until I had a fairly devastating relationship failure in 2005.  I've done an awesome variety of drugs, but alcohol was the one that allowed me to fully forget my life and loosen me up.  This week it reminded me that trying to escape my life through the abuse of alcohol just makes it worse, and puts unfair burdens on the people I care about and love.

I woke up Wednesday morning in a hospital with no idea how I got there.  My shirt no longer had buttons.  My keys were gone.  I had $10 left in my wallet.  I called a friend, who happened to be drunk herself at nearly 7AM, begging her to come get me.  When she wouldn't, I became verbally abusive and threatening.  I left another friend voice mails with an awkward combination of tears and whining.

I took a cab to my car, called roadside assistance, had the car towed to a dealership where they made a new key and alarm fob for me, and then took a long drive of shame home, knowing I could never do this again.

I'm sure I still had alcohol in me when I made an inflammatory public post extending a "fuck you for not caring about me"-type message.  If everyone cursed me out, or if there was no response, I surely would have deserved it.  Instead, people have reached out to me.  At some point, I've made friends, and I owe it to them and myself to get better.

I started this blog with self-improvement in mind.  This changes nothing.

Filed under: Alcohol, Life, Music 5 Comments

Epoch Fail

Often I think I was born too late.  This comes into play mostly when I look at my favorite musical artists and bands.  The Rolling Stones peaked in 1972.  The Velvet Underground broke up in 1973.  Punk effectively imploded in 1977.  Ian Curtis died months after I was born, in May of 1980.  The greatest post-punk records all came before 1986, when I was 7.

I rarely think I was born too early.  There was an age of consent joke that should have gone here, but in all honesty - there are very few women more than a few years younger than me who excite me.  It's always been that way.  The girl I've spent the better part of 15 months infatuated with confirmed to me she was just over a month my senior this week.

I'm mostly sure than had I been born about 1975, I'd probably have been one of those Internet success stories that would have made me a multimillionaire by now.  A little capital and a few people who believed in me when I was younger and MySpace could literally have been *MY* space.  Or I would have sold a variety of domain names for hundreds of thousands of dollars based on nonsense speculation.

It would have been terrible for me had I been that successful early.  With the limited success I had as a young adult, I made more than enough mistakes.

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