As you may or may not know, I recently celebrated my 26th birthday on May 27th. The day after, a few of my friends took me out to the bar to celebrate my birthday. It was probably the most eventful birthday I've had in a long time, but it made me realize something. It made me realize that I'm not like most other people, especially people my own age. I'm seeing this more and more the older I get. You probably have no idea what I'm talking about though, so here is the story.
My friends Frank, Joe, Allen and Mike took me out to a bar for my 26th birthday. Now, I can count on one hand the number of times I've been in a bar, and the same can be said for the number of times I've ever drank alcohol, so I didn't plan on drinking at all that night. My friends, however, had other ideas. I told them though, over and over again, that I didn't want to drink for various reasons (chief among them being I didn't have the money). These protests fell on deaf ears though. "It's your birthday," Joe said, "you have to drink," so I finally relented to the peer pressure and let him buy me a shot. Well, that was a mistake I'll never make again. Since Joe bought me a shot, I could hardly refuse when another friend offered to buy me a "birthday" shot. It would be rude of me to refuse. So, I ended up having to drink four or so shots of unknown potencies (no one would tell me what was in them).
After that, Joe pulled another fast one and told a guy we both knew, named Chad, that it was my birthday. Chad then offered to buy me a shot called "Three Wise Men." I had no idea what was in it, but I couldn't refuse a shot from Chad. You see, Chad is one bad ass mother fucker (and if you somehow come across this Chad, I mean that in the best way possible). I used to play Little League baseball with Chad, and he got kicked off our team because he nearly got into a fight with an umpire. We were like 11 or 12, and he almost came to blows with a grown man. And if our coach didn't hold him back, there is no doubt in my mind who would have won that fight. Chad would have beaten that man to a pulp. So, as you can see, Chad made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Luckily for me though, someone decided to sing "Street Fighting Man" on karaoke, so a bar fight broke out shortly thereafter. I didn't see who was involved in it, but it wouldn't surprise me at all if it was Chad. Anyway, that fight saved me from drinking a "Three Wise Men" which, looking up the ingredients right now, was probably a good thing. I thank the karaoke gods for that!
Okay, so what's the point? I know it took me a really long time to get to it, but here it is. I realized that night, more than ever before, that I don't like to drink alcohol. I don't like the feeling it gives me. I never have and probably never will. Now, don't get me wrong, this isn't some moral crusade against drinking. I have no problem with other people who drink, as long as they do so responsibly. I just don't want to be a part of it. And I know that makes me super lame, and I know that it isolates me from the vast majority of people my own age, but I can't help how I feel. Drinking just isn't for me.
Anyway, if you made it this far, thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to read this. I'll try next time to have a better blog entry than this. This was just something that has been bothering me a lot lately, so I felt the need to write it down.
Showing posts with label Me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Me. Show all posts
Friday, June 04, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Happy Birthday To Me!
I have a tradition every year on this date. I stay up until 1:05 AM. Why 1:05 AM, you ask? It seems like a pretty random time to stay up until. Well, at 1:05 AM on May 27, 1984, I was born. I'm not sure how many people know the exact time of their birth, and I'm not even sure how accurate the time of birth is on your birth certificate, but I stay up until 1:05 AM just the same. I've been doing it for as long as I can remember, and this year was no different. I guess I'm lucky I wasn't born at some ungodly hour, like 4:30 AM. That would be a bitch to stay up for that.
Anyway, I have nothing else to say really. I'm going to my favorite restaurant, Outback Steakhouse, for my birthday. I've been there twice already this past week. I wish people would space out my birthday dinners a little more. I would prefer to go once every four months or so, instead of going three times in the span of seven days. I guess you can't look a gift cow in the mouth, or something. And it's also important to remember that people in glass houses sink ships. And a penny saved is worth two in the bush. And don't cross the road if you can't get out of the kitchen.
Okay, I would just like to leave you with a fun fact. Well, it's probably not that fun, but it is a fact! I was born on May 27, 1984. My sister was born on October 9, 1985. My brother was born on April 18, 1992. What do those three dates have in common? If you know your times tables, you will soon see the connection. The numbers 9, 18 and 27 are the first three multiples of nine. I wish I was better at math myself. If I was, I could figure out the odds of that happening to three siblings. Probably one out of a million (so you're telling me there's a chance). Ten internets goes to the first person who can tell me what movie that last line is from.
Well, that's all I have to say for now. You stay classy, San Diego!
Anyway, I have nothing else to say really. I'm going to my favorite restaurant, Outback Steakhouse, for my birthday. I've been there twice already this past week. I wish people would space out my birthday dinners a little more. I would prefer to go once every four months or so, instead of going three times in the span of seven days. I guess you can't look a gift cow in the mouth, or something. And it's also important to remember that people in glass houses sink ships. And a penny saved is worth two in the bush. And don't cross the road if you can't get out of the kitchen.
Okay, I would just like to leave you with a fun fact. Well, it's probably not that fun, but it is a fact! I was born on May 27, 1984. My sister was born on October 9, 1985. My brother was born on April 18, 1992. What do those three dates have in common? If you know your times tables, you will soon see the connection. The numbers 9, 18 and 27 are the first three multiples of nine. I wish I was better at math myself. If I was, I could figure out the odds of that happening to three siblings. Probably one out of a million (so you're telling me there's a chance). Ten internets goes to the first person who can tell me what movie that last line is from.
Well, that's all I have to say for now. You stay classy, San Diego!
Sunday, May 02, 2010
You bastard...who is fat
I experienced something this weekend that I never want to go through again. Before I talk about that though, I need to provide a backstory. Here it is, for your reading pleasure (or displeasure, I'm not here to tell you how to feel as you read).
Just about all my life, I've been the proper weight. Not skinny or anything, but the right weight for my height (I'm about 5' 6"). However, within the last three years, a certain life circumstance has caused me to gain quite a bit of weight. I don't want to get too personal here, mostly because I don't think other people care about my problems (they have their own to worry about after all) and partly because it would take a little while to explain, but I had (and still have, to a certain degree) a severe case of depression, along with a few other problems. I've always had these problems, off and on, for as far back as I can remember. A work related stress escalated these problems into full gear though, about three years ago, and that's when the weight gain began.
When I was skinnier, I weighed about 150 pounds. I never really paid much attention to my weight back then, so I don't know for sure, but it was around 150 pounds or so. About six months ago, I weighted as much as 195 pounds. In less than a three year period, I gained 45 pounds (that's roughly 15 pounds a year, for those of you who are mathematically challenged). Part of the reason I gained so much weight was a certain depression medication I was on (it caused me to feel hungry all of the time). I don't blame the medication solely, it was mostly my fault. I didn't show any self restraint and I didn't exercise at all, so I was more to blame than the medication.
It doesn't really matter how I got fat though. What matters is, I was a fat bastard, and there was someone I had to get in touch with and forgive...myself. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and start doing something about it. So, last December, I decided to run on the treadmill once a day. I started off slow and worked my way up. I missed four of five days of the treadmill around Christmas, but I didn't let that discourage me (like I normally would). In January, I gave up drinking pop and kept running on the treadmill, even though I missed a week of it because I was sick. In February, I started to run on the treadmill twice a day. In March, I started weightlifting with my dad, along with running on the treadmill twice a day on most of the days I didn't lift weights. In April, I got one of those exercise balls and I do that on occasion. May just started and I plan on swimming in the pool once it gets nicer. On most days, I feel like nothing will stop me from getting back to a more proper weight (I still have plenty of self doubting days though).
As of right now, I am down to 172 pounds. Somehow, I fit into most of my old pants, even though I'm probably 20 pounds heavier than when I last wore them. Everyone tells me that muscle weighs more than fat, but that sounds like one of those cliches to me. It's like that trick question, what weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of steel? The answer is, of course, they both weigh the same. In any event, I still have a bit of a gut, so I still want to lose more weight. My goal is to get down to 155 by the end of the summer. I don't know if it's realistic or not, but I'll be happy if I can get close.
Anyway, enough of the backstory. What I really wanted to talk about is this. On Saturday (yesterday), my mom and dad celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary. We threw a party for them, at a hall, and about 70 people showed up. I knew most of the people who came and they knew me. Not all of them knew me in both weight classes of my life, but some of them did. Most of the ones who did commented on how much weight I've lost. The first few who made these comments didn't bother me that much, but as the night went on, I got more and more annoyed. It became awkward for me. It was kind of like that Big Boy commercial, where the fat guy tickles Big Boy, and then Big Boy tells him he's not ticklish, but the guy keeps tickling him anyway. That's what it was like for me, I was tired of people pointing out my weight loss, even though most of them weren't rude about it (although some were). And I'm sure most of the people were just trying to make conversation, not trying to annoy me. By the end of the night though, I was tired of being tickled.
After last night, I've come to the realization that I never want to go through that again. I'm going to turn that negative experience into a positive and use it to motivate me to lose more weight. When I was younger, I never had to work at staying the proper weight. I ate whatever I wanted and rarely exercised. Now, I have to work at it, so I need all the motivation I can get. I'm going to think back to that night every day and use it to keep me going. When I wake up in the morning, and don't feel like exercising, I'm going to think back to that night. When I get a craving for something I shouldn't eat, I'm going to remember that night. Any time that I feel like I can't do it anymore, I'm going to recall that night. That night will be my rallying cry, from now until forevermore (I always wanted to use forevermore in a sentence).
Well, that's all I've got to say about that. If you made it this far, thanks for reading. And until next time, you stay classy, San Diego.
Just about all my life, I've been the proper weight. Not skinny or anything, but the right weight for my height (I'm about 5' 6"). However, within the last three years, a certain life circumstance has caused me to gain quite a bit of weight. I don't want to get too personal here, mostly because I don't think other people care about my problems (they have their own to worry about after all) and partly because it would take a little while to explain, but I had (and still have, to a certain degree) a severe case of depression, along with a few other problems. I've always had these problems, off and on, for as far back as I can remember. A work related stress escalated these problems into full gear though, about three years ago, and that's when the weight gain began.
When I was skinnier, I weighed about 150 pounds. I never really paid much attention to my weight back then, so I don't know for sure, but it was around 150 pounds or so. About six months ago, I weighted as much as 195 pounds. In less than a three year period, I gained 45 pounds (that's roughly 15 pounds a year, for those of you who are mathematically challenged). Part of the reason I gained so much weight was a certain depression medication I was on (it caused me to feel hungry all of the time). I don't blame the medication solely, it was mostly my fault. I didn't show any self restraint and I didn't exercise at all, so I was more to blame than the medication.
It doesn't really matter how I got fat though. What matters is, I was a fat bastard, and there was someone I had to get in touch with and forgive...myself. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and start doing something about it. So, last December, I decided to run on the treadmill once a day. I started off slow and worked my way up. I missed four of five days of the treadmill around Christmas, but I didn't let that discourage me (like I normally would). In January, I gave up drinking pop and kept running on the treadmill, even though I missed a week of it because I was sick. In February, I started to run on the treadmill twice a day. In March, I started weightlifting with my dad, along with running on the treadmill twice a day on most of the days I didn't lift weights. In April, I got one of those exercise balls and I do that on occasion. May just started and I plan on swimming in the pool once it gets nicer. On most days, I feel like nothing will stop me from getting back to a more proper weight (I still have plenty of self doubting days though).
As of right now, I am down to 172 pounds. Somehow, I fit into most of my old pants, even though I'm probably 20 pounds heavier than when I last wore them. Everyone tells me that muscle weighs more than fat, but that sounds like one of those cliches to me. It's like that trick question, what weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of steel? The answer is, of course, they both weigh the same. In any event, I still have a bit of a gut, so I still want to lose more weight. My goal is to get down to 155 by the end of the summer. I don't know if it's realistic or not, but I'll be happy if I can get close.
Anyway, enough of the backstory. What I really wanted to talk about is this. On Saturday (yesterday), my mom and dad celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary. We threw a party for them, at a hall, and about 70 people showed up. I knew most of the people who came and they knew me. Not all of them knew me in both weight classes of my life, but some of them did. Most of the ones who did commented on how much weight I've lost. The first few who made these comments didn't bother me that much, but as the night went on, I got more and more annoyed. It became awkward for me. It was kind of like that Big Boy commercial, where the fat guy tickles Big Boy, and then Big Boy tells him he's not ticklish, but the guy keeps tickling him anyway. That's what it was like for me, I was tired of people pointing out my weight loss, even though most of them weren't rude about it (although some were). And I'm sure most of the people were just trying to make conversation, not trying to annoy me. By the end of the night though, I was tired of being tickled.
After last night, I've come to the realization that I never want to go through that again. I'm going to turn that negative experience into a positive and use it to motivate me to lose more weight. When I was younger, I never had to work at staying the proper weight. I ate whatever I wanted and rarely exercised. Now, I have to work at it, so I need all the motivation I can get. I'm going to think back to that night every day and use it to keep me going. When I wake up in the morning, and don't feel like exercising, I'm going to think back to that night. When I get a craving for something I shouldn't eat, I'm going to remember that night. Any time that I feel like I can't do it anymore, I'm going to recall that night. That night will be my rallying cry, from now until forevermore (I always wanted to use forevermore in a sentence).
Well, that's all I've got to say about that. If you made it this far, thanks for reading. And until next time, you stay classy, San Diego.
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