I am on a mission and I need your athletic support.
Two long years ago, my fat ass lost 80 pounds, making it a thin ass. I didn’t do this by binge drinking or snorting coke (preferred post-modern methods), nor by ye olde time methods of alchemy (divining brake fluid and Sudafed into crystal meth). People have always asked what my secret was, but I’ve been afraid to tell them for fear that it may get out and take off, causing fat people everywhere to diminish both their bellies and my glory. But today, I shall grant you access to the newest method of weight-loss you’ve never heard of: eating right and exercising. Who knew it actually worked? Besides me, I mean.
After that, it was supposed that I may indeed have Celiac Disease. I had these symptoms, yada yada, and the diet really helped. The diet is really the story here, though: no wheat.
Sounds easy enough, yeah?
It’s not.
You find that wheat is in almost everything. And if it’s not a direct ingredient, then it’s used in the preservatives. And if not there, then it’s used in a spice that’s in the dish to keep it from clumping. Or hell, it’s even in the fucking box the shit came in. In fact, I think I breathed some wheat in just now. Also, no beer. Even hard liquors are iffy. They’re made from GRAINS, people!
I followed this diet for a year and a half, reading every ingredient on every label (which all equate to plastic, by the way… everything is plastic… except the wheat). Imagine cutting out all breads. The first week was really rough. People think I make this up, but I really had dreams about people stealing my donuts and I would wake up so fucking pissed. That tapers off once you realize everything’s plastic. But it’s still hard.
Fastforward to this year: I find out I do not, indeed, have this horrible disease which requires you to learn all kinds of terrible things about the foods you eat. I do have something else, but it’s not nearly as terrible to manage. Just more expensive.
What this means is: DONUTS; SANDWICHES; ROLLS; COOKIES; FOOD. And in the end, I have gained 25 of those terrible pounds back.
Great, after I threw away all my fat pants.
Starting tomorrow, I am eating nothing but ricecakes and air until I’m back into a 34 jeans. This shouldn’t take too long. I think, “if only I were an alcholic…” I would have another vice to turn to. That’s kind of a joke.
So if you’re with me or you see me out, from now on I want you to slap me and tell me how ugly I am. But you have to do it before I start eating, otherwise you’ll just make me cry and eat more.
Thanks!
Working for a small company really sucks. There are 60 +/- employees, but it’s “family owned and operated since 1925″ or some shit. Well, that depends on how you define “family,” but what it means for sure is that nepotism and bullshit run high. Anyone with the right last name is in a position of management, including those who married in, God save their souls. The “family” itself is crazy - they’re white trash dressed up in money and crucifixes.
I remember that day in June 2005 when it was announced that “Junior” would be the new General Manager. We all had to force an impromptu look of surprise that, on average, fell somewhere between “drowsy” and “my asshole is burning.” It wasn’t convincing. If only his mom’s plastic surgeon was there to give us all a shot of botox…
Anyway, it’s been downhill since then. Sales are down $6k+ per month. Morale couldn’t be worse. Employees come and go through a revolving door because those of us who weren’t slowly acclimated to the bullshit still have enough integrity not to let the door hit them in the ass. Blame, of course, rolls downhill.
It must be hard mustering up enough dignity, or denial, to continue showing your face at a job that everyone knows you were merely handed and have no business having because you haven’t worked a day in your life. When I look at him, all I can think is “I have no respect for you whatsoever” followed by deafening silence and an utter halt of all brain activity. He brags about how he started out at the company “sweeping floors.” You think maybe that’s because you were 16 and that’s all you could do? Twenty years later, I’m not convinced he could even do a good job of that.
He’s on vacation right now, though, and he’s not the least bit missed by anyone. While flying to their destination (not sure), I know they decided to make a detour for Tahoe for a few holes. I think it’s obscene. Two things, really: being that rich, and golf.
Congratulations are in order for a certain Mr. Albert Gore. I’d like to simply state my support for his non-candidacy. The man has become a beacon and I feel like the Presidency would diminish that. Washington is useless, it may as well stay that way under one of the robots running for the Dem ticket.
Here’s a line I’d like to hear from one of them during a debate: “All the abortion rights and gay marriages and guns and wars in the Middle East and border fences and healthcare in the world won’t mean a thing when Earth as we know it dies and takes most of us with it.”
OH SNAP.
Today’s fortune cookie SAYS: “Take that chance you’ve been considering.” Oh, the irony. I’ve been so busy trying to merely maintain the status quo that considering a “chance” hasn’t even been in the stars. Or has it..?
The thing is that I’m sick of my job. My tasks themselves are tedious from the mere repetition. That’s to be expected with almost anything, I guess. Since I started working at this place almost three years ago, I’ve dreamed of leaving with a bang. Nailing my 95 theses to someone’s forehead and promptly exiting stage left.
But beyond the monotony, the situation I’m in is just really unfair. Half the time I’m not even needed, and so I spend my days looking for ways to keep myself busy. The result is depression and sloth. I think to myself, “look how you’re wasting your life.”
The machismo in this place is also wretched, although I’ve become kinda used to it. I can hang with it. Teeth-grinding, I can hang. I’m not exactly out at work, but I’m definitely not in. And I can take the gay jokes that go around. I’d be a hypocrite not to. Usually I just change the subject or tell “dead baby” jokes, which always get mixed reviews followed by deafening silence - also known as “my happy place.”
But when somebody drops an F-bomb, it’s all I can do not to go postal.
This happened twice yesterday.
Lately my dream of leaving with a bang has morphed. Instead, I’d rather collect my belongings after hours and merely disappear without a trace, a sound or a goodbye. No fanfare or ovation. Just…gone.
In an ideal world, I’d quit working altogether to go back to school full time. Or just travel. Anywhere, really. Anything would be new. But in this world, I’m stuck at what is seeming more and more like a dead end job because I need my health insurance.
Damn, this world sucks.
