Tag: motivation

A Fire Under My Arse

As I woke up feeling completely refreshed for the day at the everlastingly early hour of 9pm, I decided to do things different. This whole equinoxial load of crap had been taking its toll on me. Science says it has to happen but the far trappings of my mind are pure fire and brimstone.

Half and half? Half and half, you say? Well fuck that. Would you really want half and half in your daily life? I mean sure if you are my father you can put it in your coffee. The real world outside of your morning joe says oh the fuck no. Your wife is pregnant, so that is good. But the other half of you is on Maury being told emphatically, “You are NOT the father!!!!”.

You could have only gotten half the answers right on a test. You work at a bank and randomly decided to give half the people the right amount of money. You get halfway to an orgasm. So yeah the general principal does suck a hell of a fucking lot. I want things to be whole. I want myself to be whole.

Truth is when it comes down to it, we are all just a bunch of fragments bunched up into the frame that we were given. Molded together however we so choose to be.

Enough of the crap though this is not why I am really here. I am ready to have a bowel movement. The good kind. The kind a doctor would loom over the toilet bowl peer down at and say, “Why that is a healthy shit sir!”

Don’t you worry though my friend. I am not taking it on you, you or you (yes you, you lazy fuck you know who you are). My sphincter has its eye set on one person and one person alone. That is you Ms. Tori Amos. (thank you Less for getting me all riled up)

The thing is though I haven’t really always hated Tori Amos. In fact, I was one of her biggest fans. I bought all her albums, her b-sides, went to the shows. I even planned to follow her cross country, but alas that is an ill-fated tale for a blog never to be written.

I will say one nice thing about her though and a bit of a counterpoint to Less. Yes, her lyrics are extraordinarily vague but half of artists out there are vague as fuck and then the other half are Justin Bieber and friends. This is actually one of her stronger points. If it’s all spelled out in black and white sure more people might relate. Vagueness does inspire a certain group of haters. I should know I prefer to be vague as it is much better to maneuver around half truths, unspoken words, and the like.

Still though for years and years, I had this deep admiration for this woman. Call it youthful ignorance, call it what you may. I met some of the best friends I had ever had because of the love shared for her. It was a bit Me and A Gun.  Other times it was a Sorta Fairytale and A Cloud on My Tongue.

That all changed on one fateful night. Ten years ago. I still remember it like it was yesterday. I got to meet my hero or well anti-hero. I did not know what to expect.  Someone who was charming and wanted to meet her fans was a good start in my head. I did not want to come across as too cheery but who am I kidding? There is only person in the world who can make me that cheery. Thank you Molly.

This waif of a woman walked over. She was a hell of a lot fucking smaller then I had ever imagined. I mean she is a woman and I did not expect her to be Brienne of Tarth. She just looked like someone who I would walk up to on the street and be compelled to pull a cookie out of my pocket and feed to her. That cookie, you know, I may even have to chew it for her. I instantly knew what the song Girl Disappearing was about it. It was about this cokehead chick.

So you know the celebrity jitters like instantly wore off and my mom’s voice saying, “If you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything” came rushing through my head. My friend Taylor spouted off some kind of soapy bullshit and had me take a selfie. Then it was my turn. I may have said something nice or how my other friend plays her by ear I’m not really sure. She was just so uninterested that I kinda soaked in the same general vibe. Maybe she caught my aghast scowl.

That night changed me. It was like the last bit of childhood naivety being ripped from my chest. It started the moment I was 10 and found out on the news that the Tooth Fairy was a fraud. It ended with you Tori Amos.

I must say as uninterested as you were meeting the fans with your generalized look of Feed Me, I’m A Professional Widow on your face you did put on one hell of a show. In fact the best I had seen until I had the chance to witness Pearl Jam several years back. It was a cold rainy autumn evening and the playlist was reflective of the sort. Then the song that changed it all played. Famous Blue Raincoat. It was the song that played my innocence off the stage, out of the building, into the ether.

I cannot blame you for all this directly so maybe this blog is more of a Hershey squirt and less of a dirty Sanchez for you. I probably should be thanking Leonard Cohen just as much for that song, but it was you who took me there.  I guess that song playing itself out with my one of my greatest loves I will ever have taking his life and the other love in my life rapidly becoming dead to me.

I could not relate as much to your music, mostly the new albums you dropped. In just that one moment, something shut off inside of me. It may be a good thing, there’s been more calculation and clarity since that moment. I guess opinions vary on the end of innocence.

Everything though about that night. I had to wear sunglasses at the show because of the lighting, I realized that my epilepsy was real and would have to live with it. Just so much of a flood of horseshit that at the time I could not even recognize. So Tori Amos… I have a few choice words for you. Fuck you. Thank you. I’ll Make Sure to Wipe.

 

By Spacedog

Fat Shaming is Motivation You Fucking Cowards by Spacedog

It was 4 in the morning at the end of December, but the one thing I was not doing was writing a letter. I was a bit mortified of what stared back at me in the mirror. Mainly because it was a lot larger then I was used to. With a great deal of sloth and investments in GrubHub, I had packed on roughly 40 pounds in the past year. I wasn’t quite sure what I said about a year before that resulted in the great big “Fuck It” but it happened.

So as people began their New Years resolutions trying to better themselves, improving the world and living with more virtue the only thing that struck me was this. Let’s go all in. I wanted to see what would be like to be super fat. Well on the edge of morbidly obese that is. I decided to get started right away.

For the next month I wanted to see what it would take to do so. More then likely I probably ate roughly 6 months worth of food and consumed 2 years worth of alcohol compared to what I was accustomed to at my normal weight of 160. The goal was to pack on enough weight to hit 250. I ended up at 248 for a staggering gain of 28 pounds in one month. I tried hard at those last 2 pounds but honestly I felt horrid and miserable the entire time and needed it to end as soon as possible.

I cannot fathom how one would willfully ever decide to get this large on their own without going into a complete freak out panic mode. I literally was going into one the second week in. Sure if I had stayed drunk the entire 30 days, I probably could have gained more weight but I wanted to at least have some idea how these extreme excess weight made me feel and not be in some perpetual blackout.

The somewhat average weight and height of 5’10 and 200 pounds being a male in their late 30s gives one a certain anonymity. As I got slowly heavier and heavier it gave quite the opposite effect.  I got disdainful stares. I no longer could slink my way into doors at the convenience stores with people next to me. I no longer received the same niceties when frequenting retail establishments. I got stuck wedged between a toilet and a door on a bathroom floor. It goes on and on.

I signed up for a fatty cattle call hook-up meat market app called Bigger City. I really ginned up my profile, well instead of interests or anything interesting I just listed food. Instead of a headless torso, I just put up a picture of my giant ever-growing gut. Immediately I got 5 responses. I was a bit taken aback but willing to listen to what these “chasers” had to say. For those of you unfamiliar with gay slang, a chaser is someone that specifically desires a fatty. I will not bore you with the first 4 responses but the response number 5 was a humdinger.

Apparently, this is a thing. I shouldn’t be surprised that anything is a thing these days with the billions of people living in our world. I’m sure someone out there shits in their meatloaf and feeds it to their unsuspecting family or there is someone that only eats bagels they allow to soak in beer overnight. This man wanted me to come over and basically feed me copious amounts of food. I really thought about doing it for the sake of the blog but discomfort and a preference to feed actual whales rather then this whale being fed turned it a big hard NO.

Another harrowing encounter was at a nightclub. This was one I totally brought on myself early on evening before the drunken blackout occurred. I went with a sober friend to a local nightclub called The Raven. My goal. Attempt to find the hottest guy in there, preferable younger, to just make overt sexual advances at in the hopes of rejection. While being more of a local stop and less of a destination for perfect tens, I found someone that reasonably looked like a 9, though my sober friend said 7 or 8. Good enough I thought. I casually passed by and for the first time in my life I sorta made a half hearted “woof” sound at him. Personally, I think that gay mating call is not only retarded but like retard with an IQ of 70 so not like functioning retard.

It all happened quite quickly and fast after that. Much I do not remember. The drinks are quite strong at the Raven, enough so there is a 3 Long Island Ice Tea max and you are cut off. I’m pretty sure I must have been somewhere deep in my third. Anyway I’m not really sure what was said but eventually I go out for a cigarette with this guy after buying him a drink. He went into some winded diatribe about how I personally was what was wrong with the gay community and why would I ever think someone like him would ever consider a beached whale such as me. Now normally, this would leave me dejected but it was exactly what I was looking for. Mission accomplished. Thanks for the motivation green eyes.

So now that I am morbidly obese (I just barely made it at 35.4 BMI and probably higher body fat at least in the middle) it is time to cut out the bullshit. It really will not be that hard. While a bit disconcerting that I cannot really handle doing more then 5 minutes of my Insanity and Tapout DVDs nor 98 percent of the crossfit activities I am foaming at the mouth to do I kind of accept it. Losing weight is honestly the easiest thing in the world. I am completely fucking tired of people who moan and groan and bullshit about this all the time.

The worst are the ones who say, “I hardly eat.” Hi, if you are 300 pounds and staying that way and not bound to a wheelchair or on some shitty medicine then guess what you eat too much you gluttonous fuck. Get up, move. Shut your pie hole.

Even worse are the women who gab and gab and gab on the treadmill while walking at not even 3.0 mph, try 2 mph. If you are 500 pounds you or can barely walk you get a pass but seriously no pain no gain. If you do not bleed, do not sweat, do not get the chubrub thighs, or get a little bit angry move along. I hear the diner down the road has great cream pies.

I’ve done this before. Lost 60 pounds, gained 80, lost 100 gained 120. I am officially done with the seesaw. I wanted this time to be more dramatic though. I have personally visited three of my exes in the past week so they can experience the full glory of the horror. I want to smear myself in their faces when I am through. Well not really. It just is some great motivation. What good is it to do something completely dramatic if no one is there to bear witness. It is no fun indeed.

Anyway this is easy people. This isn’t finding your Romeo and Juliet soulmate. This isn’t searching for the ultimate orgasm. This isn’t auto fellatio on your tiny little dick. This isn’t going from a homeless mute to an Academy Award winning actor in less then a year. It is too fucking simple.

One last thing I’m actually no longer 248 pounds. Down to 233 now in a little under 3 weeks. I’ve entered a few cash weight loss competitions and sadly I may have to eat more then the 2000 calorie a day diet I am currently on as to not lose too much weight and get disqualified from one of them. It is a bit ironic that I may have to literally stuff my face again because I am doing too good of a job. I haven’t a drop of liquor in 3 weeks and fear I may have to drink quite a lot of rum to even have the desire to consume so much food. Life is not always fair, even for those who choose to thrive.

By SpaceDog