Diet Rite

Something tells me that ice cream, mountain dew, m&m’s, pretzels, fruit snacks, and a peanut butter granola bar is not going to cut it today.

Two of Twelve

It’s been hard to think about anything substantial lately. Somewhere I’ve lost my way in what was going to be a determined year for me. I touched on it a little bit a few weeks ago, but I’m discovering this flaw where I give too much of myself to people.

I’m here laying in bed with a complete lack of desire to see anyone. I think this is the cause and affect with my actions of late. Spending too much time with romance, family, and friends. Not spending enough time weighing my own goals. I walked into 2010 not wanting to date anyone, now I’m knee deep in some shit that I never really wanted to be a part of. I guess we can chalk this one up to a learning experience.

So, self, this is my letter to you. Get your shit back together. Stop taking the easy road where you ignore everything that’s important. You’re going to be working a lot in the next few weeks and it’s important you find your voice again.

You know, like those cups.

They must have been really disappointed when they got here…

Sucker Punch

My favorite commercial from the super bowl.

running out of you… and the jerk store.

I should have asked you how your week has been. I’d get to hear you describe in detail and with an amount of color that you seldom hear from anyone else. I’d ask you about what you thought of the upcoming spring and how it almost seems to have already arrived. At some point I would ask you your thoughts on white pants for men. I could never say enough about your style, getting to hear your thoughts on men’s style would be enlightening. I’d probably wind up complaining about the curls that are forming in my hair. I’d fish for some sort of direction on where I should be going with it. Messy? Clean? Afro? I’d avoid talking about Saturday night unless you brought it up. I didn’t like being that drunk, and most definitely around you. You were such a pleasant surprise that night, and I felt like an idiot the next day. Even though I think I already know, I’d ask what your super bowl plans were. It would be fun to see you sharing your house with your friends and to see you excited about sports. Somewhere I promised I would make 7-layer dip. As I thought back to my super bowl party from last year, I remembered how much everyone loved my friend’s dip. Random, but true. I’d ask you what you did with your nephew throughout the day. It would make me smile to hear about you your tales of swords, guns and explosions. I’d tell you about Wednesday’s Jazz game, the one against Portland that I got to go to. We’d have passionate discussions about CJ Miles playing minutes and Memhet’s performance. I’d ask if you downloaded the rest of the Russian Red album and what you thought of the Cyndi Lauper cover song at the end. If you hadn’t heard it, I’d demand that I send it to you right away. At some point I’d probably let it slip that I’ve missed you, not because I’ve been too busy to tell you, but because you deserve to know.