The Chronicles Of A Loser

My only two blogs for the month of July thus far have been indicative of my month in general; angering, irritating, expressing disgust with women and the crap they put me through. Today warrants a different kind of feeling, however, one of achievement, a sense of can-do with a little bit of "f*** the haters, I'm getting better." That comes from the random moments of vanity when my body seems to show me another improvement or a different scope of how far I've come since New Years Day 2006. There was a time when viewing my feet was out of the question. I remember it well, I'd look down and just see belly. I remembered that episode of the Simpsons long ago when Homer could no longer read his weight on the scale due to the fact his gut was obstructing his view. That was a sore spot for me among other bodily issues that I didn't see fit to try and change until I got tired of being ripped on for my size and of course the complete horror I felt when I stepped on the automated scale 01/01/06 and saw three dreaded numbers that I would vow to NEVER see again.

Flash forward to this past weekend. As usual, my weekends are rather aimless and full of random, the perks of being in between college and hopefully soon enough, the working world. I stepped on something in my bedroom and looked down to see what it was, when it happened. Ten toes and a little bit of skin were visible to my four eyes. I thought it was a product of me being bent slightly in natural form, but I stood straight, lowered my eyes and got the same results. I am well on my way to getting rid of my hangover; my belly hangs over my pants. NO MORE! It's a great feeling. Along with various reflective windows along my walking path around Dover, I can take a look and see that my silhouette is no longer that of Alfred Hitchcock, but that of someone who's coming down a lot in his weight.

I can safely say (although there's a week left in July, I won't get too far ahead of myself, lol) that when I step on the scale the morning of August 1st, my weight will start with a 2 for the first time since the summer of 2000, which was the last time I went on a mission to drop some pounds. That was my first time being that doggone heavy and the shock scared me into about 40-45 pounds of weight loss that summer. I picked it back up that fall and then some over the next five years, which led to me deciding to get myself together, year round. Even if I do have to spend some time at home once I leave school in the middle of August, I'm working on a plan so I don't fall off and ruin the great gains I've made so far.

I'm definitely of the understanding that I still have a long way to go in all facets of my body and my mind. The challenge of toning up the areas where I've lost weight still looms overhead, as well the will and the desire to continue to eat healthy and not stuff my face with the food I loved so much (which will definitely be at my disposal at home), and to keep the general focus and optimism I didn't even know I had until I started this entire routine.

I remember when I was packing for school last August and I packed up three pairs of jeans that I didn't even try to squeeze into because I knew they were a lost cause. I only put them in there just by chance. I thought about it and said "I'm gonna make at least one pair of these wearable again. I have to." 11 months later, all three pairs are loose, comfortable, and yep you guessed it, wearable.

Being a loser in this case isn't a bad thing at all.

This Just In...

I'm tired. Damn tired. Beyond tired of people trying to piss on my head and tell me it's raining. Tired of people wanting to blame me for things that go wrong in my life that I have no freakin' control over. Maybe it'll be different when Chris Stevens isn't here to kick around.

Quick Hit

As Vanessa suggested that I stopped holding my tongue, this brief rant will commence in 3, 2....

Women are full of it. On a particular site I visit often, where I got my last entry topic from, this one brother was being attacked for being shallow because he married his wife based on her small size and her affinity for keeping herself small. Women started harassing dude, asking him would he leave his wife if she ever got up to a size 20, why are men so shallow and wanting to be in control of women's bodies...you get the picture.

At one point do women realize that the strict standards they themselves employ are just as hard for men to meet as men's standards are to meet. Damn that, women's standards are harder. Of course there will be the argument that less-than attractive men have outrageous standards for the kind of women they want. I offer this as a rebuttal; shut the hell up. Like women who are average or below average don't have ridiculous standards.

You know the type, chicks whose breath smells like they've been sucking on shit-flavored Altoids, wearing shoes with their ashy heels out look like they just finished running in flour, all kinds of bass ackwards foolishness going on, and they say "If he ain't this tall, got this much money, drives this kinda car, looks like Boris Kodjoe, we don't want no bother." Right, and I suppose a man is going to want to put up with chicks who can't keep their legs closed for a dude with a bank slip with at least five digits before the decimal, chicks that always have something bad to say about the next person, chicks that live for drama, etc.

And as I've said on many occasions, women are a walking contradiction when it comes to body image. Women who are 250-pounds plus with 38A bras are always calling some dude fat and out of shape. Well I don't see Boris, Morris, Michael Ealy or Denzel running over to your fire-hydrant shaped asses either.

Moral of the story; women should shut the hell up. Rant over.