Good evening my fine readers I hope that this Wednesday finds you all feeling incredibly happy, healthy and wise. If not, I hope you at least have copious amounts of alcohol available to get you through the rest of your day. As you know my recent blogs have been primarily focused on my descent into workout and healthy eating hell and I want you to know that the pain and suffering continue unabated. There is literally zero reward for this bullshit yet I continue to give it a mostly half ass effort so that occasionally someone may look at me and say, “Wow, you look a little less fat than you used to. Good for you.” In order to not bore my friends and fans with another tale of fitness terror I decided that this evening I was going to pen a blurb that I think everyone can relate to, the always dreaded trip to the grocery store. Over the last few trips to our local superstore I have noticed a few things that I just feel have to be mentioned for the benefit of society.
Let us begin by discussing the glaring difference in how both the male and female species attack a trip to the store. I am absolutely mesmerized by the female ability to turn a 6 item trip to Meijer into a 2 ½ hour shopping vacation. Understand, if I am sent to the store to pick up 4 or 5 items guess what I am going to come home with? Those fucking items. You know what my agenda is? Getting the hell out of the store in the shortest amount of time possible. I watch these lovely ladies strolling down each and every aisle, sipping Tim Hortons, chatting away with the complete strangers and I think to myself, do you not have homes? Are your children so badly behaved that you are hiding in the pasta aisle for 40 minutes even though nothing in that aisle was on your list? Meanwhile I am sprinting through the store like Usain Bolt hoping to God I don’t make eye contact with anyone I may know.
I would now like to continue my rant by calling out a few people in the store that are definitely on my “they deserve a throat punch” list. Let’s start with the evil beast that we shall refer to as the “How about I hog the whole damn aisle” person. This toolbox is the person who will park the cart right in the middle of the aisle and then shop on both sides while completely impeding traffic from both directions as if they were the only fucking person trying to shop. A close relative to this heinous monster is the shopper that treats the trip to the store as a giant social event. Stopping in the aisle to chat with everyone, asking stupid ass questions to the workers stocking the store and generally just being a menace. Listen here Barbara, this isn’t fucking Happy Hour at TGIF Fridays, how about you skip your happy ass down the aisle and save the idle chit chat for a different time, some of us just want taco seasoning and to go the fuck home. While I am on the topic of grocery store chatting can I please send a public service message to all of the hard working cashiers out there? Do me a solid and for the love of God please stop with your attempts at witty banter and heartfelt family stories in the checkout line. I am going to be honest here, I don’t give a frog’s fat ass that your family also tried the Havarti cheese I picked out or that you think my shoes are cool or you wish you could steal one of the beers I am buying because you have had a long day. I appreciate the work you do, I honestly do, but a simple, “Did you find everything you need?” Along with a nice “Please and thank you” will get our asses out of the store faster which is really the end goal here. I will now save my last throat punch for what has become an epidemic at our local stores. Of course I am referring to the shopper that shall be named, “Completely incapable of using a self checkout” person. Let me give it to you straight, if you have 326 items with 48 coupons, 9 bottle return slips and 7 rainchecks please do us all a favor and go through a fucking line with a cashier. If you don’t know what a UPC code is, go find a line with a cashier. And I beg you, if you are just technologically averse please go find the line with the eager cashier who would love to chat with you about that awesome brand of kitty litter you purchased.
OK folks, my rant is over as I think this is long enough but rest assured my keen observation skills will continue as we continue to fight the good fight towards more productive shopping. Thanks for reading and please feel free to comment and share.
Well folks this Sunday morning finds your fearless author in a bit of a conundrum. I find myself motivated to write you an inspiring tale of personal growth, heroism and the power of the human spirit. However, what you are going to get are the words of a broken man who has reached rock bottom. Rock bottom you may ask, my God what is it? Drugs? Alcohol? Common Street Hookers? Worry not my friends, although I am slugging back a beer as I write this it is none of these things. What HAS broken me down are three very disturbing words, Physical Fucking Fitness.
As many of you know from previous blog posts and Facebook updates your intrepid author has been on about a 10 week journey into the planet known as The Gym. I have regaled you with stories of my personal pain and suffering, shared with you the joys the of sharing a locker room with naked shaving guy and watching 110 pound women run 27 miles and then bench press 12 times their body weight. Meanwhile I huff and puff through the workout circuit and try not to get my fat ass ejected off the fucking treadmill. While all of this is depressing in and of itself last week began my death spiral into my current state of desperation. You see The Blonde Who Shall Not Be Named added another layer of Hell into my life when she instituted a little program called Meal Planning last Sunday. It seemed innocent enough she claimed it would help with grocery shopping, save us some money and possibly add a little better food into our diet. What she failed to inform me was that my work lunches were going to feature a steady diet of food that even a self-respecting rabbit might pass up. To say it was a culture shock to my previously Taco Bell loaded diet plan would be an understatement. I found myself in a constant state of starvation where even a roller hot dog at the local gas station was looking like a damn delicacy. I swear I was ready to risk food poisoning for some fucking carbs at that point.
So, all of this leads us to today where this guy finally hit rock bottom. It started out innocently enough, I woke up feeling great and then the blonde Voldemort (oops, I said it) thought it would be a great idea to hit the gym to start the day. I was not in the mood at all but I had skipped yesterday so it had to be done. The real problem wasn’t just in the going to gym part but the fact I was freaking starving so in a move of pure brilliance I suggested to the lovely and talented One that today would be a great day for a party sub. That’s right folks, 2 feet of glorious meat and cheese and piles of heavenly fucking carbs. I mean Michigan is playing for the Big Ten title and March Madness is upon us how am I supposed to survive this on cucumbers alone? I was actually in utter shock when she said, “Okay, I will call and order one for you and the boys since I have a busy day anyway.” Although this did temporarily bolster my mood I did still hit the gym with exactly zero motivation for any activity. I half assed the treadmill, slow walked through some of the machines all the while dreaming of ham, turkey and piles of bread. Now this is where things really go off the damn rails for your hero. We go the local superstore to pick up the sub and all of a sudden I am like a virgin in a whore house, every single thing looks like the greatest food I have ever seen. In hindsight it was like I was actually outside my body watching myself dart down aisles throwing shit in the cart with reckless abandon. Frozen Burritos? Fucking A right. Fish sticks? Didn’t even know they still made them but they are in the cart now. Hot Dogs, Buns and Coney supplies? Damn right. A case of beer and snack chips? Mandatory at this point. I finally calm down and we make our way to the checkout and the Beautiful One says, “Would you look at our cart? I feel like I just shopped for a fraternity house.” This is when the stark reality finally set in, there is absolutely zero chance a complete lifestyle change will ever work for me. Everyone has been so supportive the last few weeks with their, “I’m proud of you for sticking with it.” And of course when they look at you and blatantly lie with the, “Man, you are looking thin” bullshit. That’s great Chief but the scale still cries out loud when I step on it. I surrender, take all of your carb free, kale smoothie, plain salad shit and leave me alone to my bacon cheeseburger. I can’t do it, I admit it. Guess what, I love fucking cheese. I worship at the altar of pasta. Taco Tuesday? That’s for beginner’s bitches, how about taco week? Bottom line here is whatever success occurs at the gym will immediately be negated by the onion rings I will inevitably jam down my pie hole. You know what, I am ok with that. If this working out thing only helps me from ballooning into Jabba the Hut type proportions I guess I will have to take that as a small victory.
Have a great Sunday folks and as always please comment and share on the blog and Let’s Go Blue!