Instead of the Fat Guys Guide to Losing Weight I've decided to change the title of my book to The Quitters Guide to Quitting. Not only do I think it is a better title, but now I can broach other topics than weight loss. Anyway, most of my pre work is done, so from here on out the posts will be very rough drafts of the book unless other wise noted. To the writing!
I am a quitter. When the going gets tough, I quit like a bitch. Every venture in life, relationships, smoking, my career, drinking, sex with questionable sloots, weight loss, everything ends in catastrophic failure. The idea of me getting rid of my B-Cup bitch tits? Failed. Quitting my pack a day smoking habit? Failed. Being the next great American novelist? Super failed. Any relationship that wasn't solely based on me wiggling my penis about a vagina for three to seven minutes? Epic fail time.
Which makes me just almost every other person on the planet. A failure. A steaming pile of shit wrapped in a doughy carcass with a fuck it attitude and a list of excuses more convoluted and confusing than the tax code. That is where the writing of this book comes in. I've grown weary of failure. I'm tired of waking up every morning, looking at my bloating body and seeing nothing but resentment in my eyes. Tired of the excuse that I'll come up with for why I'm smoking again, why I didn't go to the gym, why I'm having that fifth slice of pizza.
If I'm a quitter by nature, and God knows I am, I should be a verifiable expert on quitting quitting. So this is going to be a journey of sorts. A trip through the vast wastelands of failure with the potential for success. Or perhaps an epic, Boston Red Sox in 1986 level collapse. Who knows? To the beginning.
Day 1, 09FEB2012
The first thing I see every day is a pretty swell set of perky tits. The problem is that most nights I sleep alone. Meaning of course that the boobs are mine. Yes, I've got a pretty rocking set of moobs, a real swinging set of mannaries. Which I hate. Look, for whatever reason (some of which might be the development of a personality due to a lifetime of tit having) I'm surprisingly decent with the ladies. More so tricking them into sex by thinking I'm a worth while human being than actual decency, but whatever. It's gotten to the point where I've developed a sexual routine based solely around my ability to keep my shirt on during the plowing. I have a super natural dexterity in which I can unbutton and unzip a girls pants with one hand while trailing kisses down the body. I have a porn star level of being able to bring a girl to orgasm with my tongue only, at which point they no longer even care that I have a t-shirt on during sex. Afterwards I get up, put my boxers on, and go get a glass of water. Hopefully by this time they've dressed and decided to leave, if not I have slew of excuses to get them the fuck out of my house. I really am a Rubenesque Casanova, the emotional detachment is just a bonus.
Anyway, the diatribe about my sex life aside, the real point is that my tits are ruining my life. I have no confidence in my body, which is odd considering I know I'm freakishly strong. Right now I'm 6'3 and 270 pounds, and despite my pissing and moaning I know I'm not hugely unattractive. I just wish I was either like 190, lean and ripped or if I weighed 270 I'd look like Brock Lesnar with my shirt off.
So today is day 1 of the diet. This could be interesting. This is also day 1 of quitting smoking, so it could be aggravating as all hell.
I've quit smoking before, anywhere from a few days to months at a time, but always, always I come crawling back. I love smoking, I really do. It is relaxing, calming, and a great way to take five minutes and tell the world to go and have sex with itself because consequences be damned smoking is awesome. The problem is deep down I'm a very vain creature. I focus on the little shit, and since starting smoking at 18 my teeth have yellowed a bit, my skin has become blemished and dry, and I really hate most other smokers. There was a fantastic bit in one of my favorite Malcolm Gladwell books about the psychology of smoking, and I'd like to think that I have the true smokers spirit. The problem is all of the emulators that I just want to curb stomp. Oh, so you're smoking because you are sticking it to your morally uptight parents and you don't even know how to inhale? Go pound sand you little bitches.
However, I need to quit smoking before it affects my health any more than it already has. 8 years of almost a pack a day has taken its toll. I want to quit, and I damn site need to. Like 5 years ago I needed to.
Anyways, my goal for the day. Work out for an hour and have three cigarettes max. We shall see how this goes.
