So, in a completely unexpected twist, the CEO of the gym I joined last week shared a link to my blog and my readership blew up. The first thing I thought, after “holy crap why are so many people looking at my blog today?” was, “Oh SHIT, I was totally talking about my feelings, oh god oh god oh god oh god.” But, then I remembered that I’m human and most of us have feelings, so I stopped hyperventilating. Anyway, so grateful for the sharing of my blog AND for the program itself – four classes this week and all of them were amazing! I’m finally a little less acutely sore, soaking in Epsom salts and eating protein can help with that (in my humble opinion), but sore enough that I know I was working past my comfort zone. Have you ever done push up/sit up pyramids? You do ten push ups, ten sit ups, nine push ups, nine sit ups, etc until you get down to one of each. We did that between circuits including donkey kicks (aka I’m learning how to twerk somehow) and jump lunges. As per usual, absolutely soaked in sweat. As per usual, went out in public afterward and didn’t give a single shit. I’m pretty sure I jokingly told my friend verbatim, “Oh, I’m sweaty and you don’t like that I’m not all cute right now? OH DAMN, I DIDN’T REALIZE I WAS LIVING FOR YOUR APPROVAL.” Not that she gave a flying crap, we’re both pretty low maintenance people.
That’s actually what I had originally wanted to write about. I don’t know how to function around men that I find attractive anymore (nor have I ever really been able to, to be honest). I really am, in the least cutesy way possible, that idiot that runs into a pole, or end table, or wall because I’m physically incapable of thinking of something clever and also being a human at the same time. Which it proving very difficult because my life is decidedly far more filled with attractive people. I also, incorrectly, assume that men I’m attracted to would be more attracted to me if I…oh, wore makeup or did something other than let my hair do whatever the hell it wants. And wear something other than spandex pants. Well, maybe not that last one. Like I said, I’m a low maintenance person. Every once in a while I’ll whip out the curling iron and get really crazy, but for the most part, if you don’t like it, don’t look at it. Did that keep the 60-year-old thing that came directly from a swamp from catcalling out the window of his car “COME HERE AND GIMME A KISS, COMERE GIMMEA KISS” while we were both going 70mph on the highway? Of course not. Some people are just really hoping to be involved in vehicular manslaughter.
But anyway, something I’ve started to learn, at almost a quarter century old, is that I shouldn’t want to be surrounded in any capacity by people who wouldn’t appreciate me just the way I am. I wear jeans like five times minimum before I wash them, have no problem jumping into basically any body of water at any temperature, listen to every single genre of music that exists (except polka because fuck that), I don’t give a flying shit sideways about sports unless I’m actively participating in them, and will happily pummel a burrito when the mood strikes me. If someone doesn’t appreciate that, then I shouldn’t want to associate with them. I spent a lot of time in middle and high school not really understanding that. That the happiest people are the ones who are completely themselves, for all of their quirks, regardless of what people think. I read an article about that the other day, how the “insert stereotypes here” from high school are miserable now because they tried to fit a mold that doesn’t really exist. I read it and afterwards just shrugged, because at this point it just seems like common sense. People who try to be someone they aren’t to be accepted by society in some way aren’t going to end up satisfied at the end of the day. If you want to change, it has to be for you and not anyone else. Maybe that’s years of working with people trying to make positive changes that taught me that, but regardless. I’m glad that I accepted by complete lack of an ability to be a ‘normal’ human being years ago. Guys, I’m weird as shit. And I’m totally okay with it. I will dance in public if I hear any song that could be considered in any capacity “bouncy”.
That’s about it for now; it’s been a really good week. Plus, Friday the 13th is usually a good day for me, but that may be because I set the really bar really low. Like, oh I didn’t get hit by a car today or sleep past my alarm? Other than those two situations being vastly different in gravity, clearly as long as I get to work on time and survive the day, I’m doing solidly. I decided that I wasn’t going to be the person that continues to wax poetic about a failed relationship, but instead celebrate what was and accept that I’m meant for something better. Note: something, not necessarily someone. Because, you guessed it, I don’t need a man to be happy. Though after a month and a half, man, some action would be lovely. Like, shit. Emotions notwithstanding. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. Also, Shakira is on and I’m alone in the office and you better believe I’m dancing around.