The Things We Do

You know you're not complaining about this. Look at him, how can you?

When I start to get into a slightly depressive funk, like I was over the past couple days, I’m ok now (I think), things start to run through my head that I don’t necessarily like so much and then I tend to do things where I just wonder what in the fuck I was thinking. Here is one wonderful example, and, yes, it explains completely whey there is a picture of a shirtless Chris Pratt.

Thursday night I went to see the premiere of Guardians of the Galaxy at our local (shitty) mall. I didn’t necessarily enjoy it as much as I should have, because I have had quite a bit on my mind lately, so I plan on watching it again in the future because I’m sure if I see it in a better state of mind I’ll be able to enjoy it much more than what I did. During the movie, though, there was a scene, not the one pictured, where Chris Pratt comes walking into the picture shirtless. Normally, I wouldn’t have given two shits about it, but I also wasn’t in what I would describe as a normal state of mind. He’s standing there, all muscular and hairless, and the only thing that is running through my head is, is that how a man is supposed to look? I don’t look like that, ipso facto, I do not look the way a man is supposed to look.

I am two things that he is not:

  1. Flabby
  2. Hairy
Yes, this is stupid thinking on my part.

Please remember, I was not in my normal state of mind. 

We’re going to spend a little time talking about some personal shit here for a few minutes. Or maybe just a few seconds, I think it all depends on how fast you read. Maybe the faster the better.

Way back in the summer between 4th grade and 5th grade, I managed to put on a bunch of weight. I honestly can’t say how much, but it wasn’t good. I don’t know how it happened, probably spent the whole fucking summer sitting on the couch eating potato chips or something, but it happened. Because of this, two things happened. Well, I guess one other thing, because I already mentioned the first, I put on a lot of weight. Because my skin stretched out as quickly as it did, I’m sure you know the secondary results, stretch marks. Yea for fucking stretch marks. I also lost all confidence in myself as a person sometime around there, too. I don’t know if the weight gain is directly related or not, or if something else happened. This was like 25 or so years ago, man, so I really don’t remember completely. Anyway, rapid weight gain, that’s what we’re talking about here.

I carried this extra weight around for far too long, never losing it, never actually trying to lose it, and hit a maximum weight of somewhere around 230 to 235. I suffered from dickydo. I wasn’t happy about this at all. I still never really did anything about it. Hell, to be honest, I don’t know how I managed to lose the weight that I have. I changed my eating habits somewhat, cut soda out of my diet, for the most part (I have one every once in a while, because that shit is bad for you), and somehow I managed to drop pounds like crazy. In a matter of about a year I dropped 40 pounds. Currently, I’ve stayed pretty constant at about 180 for the past 4 years. Yes, I feel better about myself, but like a lot of people, when I look in the mirror, I still see the same overweight guy that I used to. That’s my problem to figure out, and I’m still flabby. Definitely don’t have those rock hard abs or big pecs like Mr. Pratt there. I need to hit the gym…

Of, so, there’s problem number 1. Flabby tummy. Maybe not a problem, but in my head, making comparisons to what “a man” should look like, I saw a problem. I don’t fit. I don’t look right. I can work on that myself, and I really should because I don’t get enough exercise and exercise is important. I’ve had people tell me that I’m an attractive man, but it really never sinks in. I just see the same guy that I’ve always seen, and I don’t like the way he looks. Maybe I suffer from some form of body dysmorphic disorder. Hell, I don’t know. Whatever. Moving on.

Now we get into the meat of… things. Hairy. Yeah, thanks, Dad. I fucking hate body hair. On me, that is. I don’t care if other people have it, it’s just a me thing. Arm hair, leg hair, whatever, but any other kind of body hair disgusts me to no end. So, there I was, standing in the bathroom this morning, brushing my teeth before I got in the shower, staring at myself in the mirror. I’ve used clippers to trim off hair numerous times in the past, and I attacked myself with the clippers once again. Then I got in the shower. Then I grabbed the razor. Then I started going to work. Honestly, if I hadn’t run out of hot water, I think I would have walked out looking like a hairless cat. I’m jealous of guys who don’t grow body hair. I don’t see how it’s necessary in this modern age and wish that it would have been bred out of humans by now. Of course, it hasn’t been, so it still exists. I shaved and I shaved and I saw more hair and I shaved more and I saw more and I shaved more and then I saw something I missed and I kept shaving and saw something else and shaved more and thought that maybe my razor was too dull so I changed it out and kept going until I had removed all hair from my upper body, which was about the same time I, like I said, ran out of hot water. Then I stepped out of the shower, looked at myself in the mirror, and thought I looked like white dead fish. Yeah, that didn’t help matters so much.

Ok, so after all that, when I went to change clothes to go to bed tonight, which still hasn’t really happened since it’s now damn near 4 in the morning, I was standing there looking at myself in the mirror again. I felt happier about what I saw, but not so much.

Maybe it’s time to start hitting the gym so I can look more like that. Albeit with stretch marks. Goddammit…

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