IT Guys Rock

IT guys..you rock! I'm a computer geek myself, but there is a whole other class that I like to call the computer-douche. No where else in the world will you find 300lb, pimple faced asses so full of themselves and their "knowledge". Knowledge that only came to them by way of dateless Friday nights and countless hours entrenched in "Guild Wars" building up their level 77 Paladin Shadow Mage.

This is a long one, but classic. The more you work with computers, the funnier you will find this. Stick it out for the duration. It is worth it.

Battle with Hair

My battle with hair is both manifold and multiform. Ridiculous growth and outrageous loss both plague my early-30’s body. It is worse than puberty….and I still have acne. My back looks like the beach of Normandy, 1944. My frontal baldness has subtly crept up on me, taking an unostentatious widow’s peak and turning it into something of which Bram Stoker would be proud. If I place my index fingers at the two furthest points from my face, where my forehead stops and my scalp begins, I am literally pointing to the back of my head. Outrageous.

So let’s head south. I am able to grow some facial hair, but my nickname is “Captain Patchy Beard” or “Burbs” so it isn’t exactly manly growth. My ears need weekly trimming and my nose hairs make me look like I have tiny hedgehogs burrowing into face. I’ve never had chest hair before but that is changing too. I’ve had exactly eleven nipple hairs since “the big change” when I was 14 or 15 years old. Yup, six 3” fly traps encircling the left nipple and five 3” stringers on the right. I plucked them on occasion and sometimes shaved them when they started to catch on my long sleeve button-ups, but they were basically harmless. I now have two perfect rings of fire at the exact edges of my areolas. The circles are complete and full. If you found them in nature, you would step inside and make a wish. I am also getting a nice inverted triangle betwixt my man-boobs similar to Zangief of Street Fighter, but instead of a curly bushel, Magnum P.I. style; I have long, straight, black silkies, matted to my chest with sweat and exuded oil. It is disgusting. So I now have to shave my chest and nipples regularly being careful not to uncap the whiteheads with my Mach3.

Sorry, but we are continuing south. My lower body is nothing less than Yeti-like. I have gobs of hair bursting from my pudgy hocks. My nethers, if left unkempt, would ensnare cotton, paper, lint, insects, really anything within its Velcro-y grasp. So I have to do a little tuck ‘n tails as well. Men, you may think it feminine, you may think it gross, but trust me, you have got to spruce up the undercarriage. Dude, you are disgusting, and sweaty, and rank-ass-stanky and all that hair is just holding onto your filth and smell like an enormous moldy sponge. Grab the clippers, set it to a 2, and get to work. Remember that loose skin is an electric clipper's prey, so do what you gotta do to protect yourself. Your women will thank you…I promise.

I’m fighting a battle that I can’t win, but I will continue the fight. The day I give up the trimmer is the day I start wearing pants with elastic waist bands. If this is what it is like at 32, what the hell is it going to be like at 42?

Whale Tail.

You people need to understand a few things when it comes to clothing choices. First, fashion is not universal, what looks good on one rarely, if ever, looks good on the masses. Second, less is not always more, especially if you are trying to act sexy. Third, have someone take a picture of you from the back or side, so you get true view of what you have to work with. Then, deal with reality, not fantasy.

Admittedly, I dress horribly in out of date clothes, so I am not speaking to trends at all. I am only talking about certain clothes on certain body types and being honest with yourself about what you can and cannot pull off.

The major type of clothing that seems to confuse people is the sexy wear, so I’ll address that here. I am a man, so I think I’m the one you are trying to impress which makes my opinion worth something. Plus, I’ve talked to enough guys to know that these feelings are somewhat universal. Here are a few categories of what you think you look like and what you really look like.

Sexy thong vs. Whale Tail

Sexy Back vs. Muffin Top

Belly Shirt vs. I Shouldn’t be wearing a Belly Shirt

Cleavage vs. Dear Lord, put ‘em away

I think you people wear these clothes because you want to look sexier, but you are doing exactly the opposite. You are accentuating the bad and moving from looking sexy to looking like a bowl of raised dough wrapped in rubber bands. Skinny Jeans are for 1% of the population and tube tops are for even fewer. There is something sexy about all women, figure out your asset and flaunt it..but put the rest away. Spandex is a privilege, not a right.

Wii Fit?

The outrage over the Wii fit is awesome. I love how everyone is so concerned about the computer machine telling their pudgy little ones that they are overweight. We have heard for years that you have to be so careful about giving teens and tweens a poor body image. You should never mention that they might need to stop at that third bag of Doritos, if for no other reason than their little cheese crusted digits can’t even open it. Greasy equals slippery.

We have established that I am a hog, but in the early days, back in the 7^th grade, I had no idea. My mommmmy always told me I was skinny even when my waist size exceeded my inseam length by double digits. I was a round mound of rebound and it took a devastating conversation with my brother to turn things around. It worked, through high school anyhow. He basically walked in on his lunch break from work and saw me sitting on the couch double fisting a bag of Cool Ranch for breakfast. Yes breakfast. It was noon, but I just gotten out of bed what with it being summer vacation and all. He called me the fattest little piece of crap he had ever seen and if I didn’t get my lazy ass off the couch, I would never have a date, let alone a girlfriend. Ok, it was brutal and I still cry myself to sleep some nights thinking about it, but it worked. I started running, started lifting, started watching my intake, and high school was a much better place for it.

The obesity rate in kids is epidemic. It makes the anorexia problem almost statistically irrelevant. Childhood Type 2 Diabetes is growing faster than Rosie’s…well, you know. Nintendo just used a BMI calculation for its game. The USA came up with this method to quickly rate your weight. So why are we the ones whining? Everyone knows that the calculation doesn’t work in all cases, but it is a place to start.

I don’t want everyone to have a bad self image, but people need to be realistic and help their kids eat right and get a little exercise. Boycotting the one and only game that might actually get your kid out of his seat and moving might not be the best plan of action. You may save their feelings, but they will likely die of heart disease….fair trade?

For those of you that prefer to drop your Wii in the trash and pursue a workout video for the kiddies, I added one. Low impact and the kids will feel great about themselves.

Self Loathing + Self Deprecation = Fat Bigot

I guess my last post was a little mean spirited and exposed a little of the fury that smolders beneath my dermis. My wife also mentioned that it was offensive to the overweight, elderly, the poor, people with tats, the hairless, and basically 75% of the population. So I guess it is time for a little background info about my state of mind and physical self.

I’m balding, can’t be helped. No reason to put a tat on a 14 inch arm. I’m mid-30s, aged like I’m 40+. Friends say I live in a slum, not going to change soon. I am like 75% of the population, but there is one item on the list that is in my control. I am a fat pig.

You may think that bigotry against fat people is reserved for the 140lb spandex wearing guy doing high knees after his morning eight mile run. It is not. My personal battle with weight rolls back to 7^th grade when I hit my pupa stage and my little pot belly began. Oh, I’ve gone psycho several times and lost weight, but I am in a cycle of gain and loss like few ever see. In my world, I call it cut cycle and bulk cycle, but really it is a mask for outrageous gluttony and my love affair with pastries, followed by extreme exercise and self loathing. So, I am up 25lbs in the last 6 months. I’m disgusting. My ass looks like Ricotta cheese in a plastic bag. My distended belly is reminiscent of Papa Noel. My nipples, which are now the size dinner plates, hang off of me like lead weights pulling themselves toward mother earth. The zipper tangs on my dress slacks look like they are in a serious game of “Red Rover” and my pubis lard is “Coming right over”. It’s bad, the madness has got to stop.

As my reflection widens, so does my loathing of the lard and the self deprecation begins. Then, by proxy, my universal fat bigotry oozes from my oily pores. Yes, I’m an oily one. But it works, at least temporarily. I am not the touchy feely type that needs a soothing back rub or a “You can do it” pep talk to get me motivated. I need someone in my face calling me that Michelin Boy that I am. I don’t always have a good friend around to fill this void (they tend to move away), so I have to self-motivate. As I hit the weights, I repeat mantras like “Hey Fatty McButter Pants, how about another rep.” or the always effective “Maybe you are breathing so hard because of the fat crushing your windpipe” or, my favorite at dinnertime “Would you like to shovel some more butter on that pile o’ taters?” This method always gets me a few more reps, a little more weight on the bench, or a few hundred yards more on a knee crushing jog. This is during my cut cycle, of course. When I drop some weight and my arms shrink to a hearty 13 inches, I’ll start another bulk cycle and will be back to double fisting bear claws daily.

So please don’t misunderstand, I know you can only call someone fat, lazy, and utterly disgusting if you are yourself…so get to work, fat-ass.