You Only Wish You Were This Awesome

Some people are born to do amazing things.

I am not one of those people.

Unfortunately, my parents were unaware of this fact, instead believing their child would grow up to be a star, as most parents do. After much debate, it was decided that my particular stardom would take the form of a world-class athlete. I was promptly enrolled in gymnastics. But, possessing neither the strength nor the coordination required to excel in such a sport, my results were less than inspiring.

Instructor: "Ummm, Ok. Let's start with Brittany."

Sensing my future was unlikely to include a sea of adoring fans chanting my name as I vaulted my way to victory over the other glitter adorned gymnasts, my parents switched me to soccer. Requiring significantly less flexibility, it initially appeared as though I possessed a real talent for it.

But despite my best intentions, it was obvious I wasn’t on track to become the next David Beckham.  Unlike the other children, I possessed the attention span of a goldfish. 

Not to be disheartened, my parents persisted. Nothing was going to stop their little girl from achieving her potential. I was encouraged to try out for every single sport during middle school. It did not go well.
  

Not wanting to let my parents down, I signed up for the only sport that didn’t require tryouts: Track and Field. Surely there was an event that would require only minimal levels of coordination, be compatible with a short attention span, and enable a gangly teenager with abnormally long legs to blend in. 

Yes, there was. 

As it turned out, being able to almost walk over the hurdles gave me a distinct advantage. I was a hurdling machine. My future as a world class athlete was coming into focus and nothing was going to stand in my way. Not the other hurdlers, not my own clumsiness, and certainly not the class five hurricane with gale force winds that had just rolled into town. Just kidding. Austin is too far inland to get hit by a hurricane, but still, had there been one, it sure as hell wasn't going to stand in my way.

 In the end, there was no need for a hurricane, I managed to do it all on my own.

My parents never mentioned being a superstar again. 

GPS Fail

Sometimes I hate technology. Like when it's clear that the obvious route to your destination is so very straightforward, but then you use GPS and end up in the world's largest clusterf*ck. Oh wait, that doesn't happen to normal people. Just me.

What happens when normal people use GPS:

                                                

What happens when I use GPS:

And that's why I don't use GPS. Because my GPS is an evil mutant strain of GPS intent on killing and/or bankrupting me.

Thank you for Being my Follower

Today I got my first blog follower. Ok, so this technically happened 3 or 4 days ago, but I was busy drawing 5 billion freaking pictures for the I'll never be skinny post and got sucked into the black hole of my troll cave so I didn't post this yet, but that is irrelevant. The point I'm trying to make is that somebody, somewhere, that I didn't pay, and don't know in real life managed to find my itty-bitty blog and thought enough of me to click a button on their computer.

So I thought I'd tell you personally Shibu. YOU MADE MY LIFE!

Ok, so I bet you're thinking that my statement might be an exaggeration, or I'm crazy, or maybe even that you're going to un-follow because I might be some uber-crazy internet stalker who will become overly obsessed with you and manage to find you and show up at your house and.... well, I should just stop there. I'm really not helping my case.

So instead, here's a horribly drawn play by play of how I discovered I had my first follower.

So Shibu even if you turn out to be a fake person, you'll always be my favorite fake person.

This is Why I'll Never be Skinny

From time to time, I find myself motivated to get into shape. This usually occurs after watching an action movie where some super hot actress clad in all-black spandex spin kicks 10 villains in the head followed by 3 back flips while a bus explodes two feet away from her, you know, for dramatic effect. 

Through some form of self-delusion, I convince myself that if I commit to working out daily and eating healthy, her powers of badassness will transfer to me and I too will look just as hot in skin tight spandex. I run to the mirror to see exactly how far I have to go to attain the same level of bodily perfection.

Thus begins the 60 day get-in-shape cycle.


Day 0: After determining that my stomach could double as a jelly donut and having a complete emotional meltdown, I swear to myself that I will get in shape and eat healthy.

Day 1: I start strong. My motivation is at its peak. Inside my head I have my own overly peppy cheerleading squad rooting me to victory.

Day 15: Around this time my brain chemistry begins to change as the endorphins released from exercising create an addiction-forming euphoric high I could have never imagined. My ego explodes.

Day 25: I step on the scale and am pleasantly surprised to find I've already lost 10 lbs. I tell myself I'm such a badass, I'm already 2/3rds of the way to my goal. Basking in my own splendor and assumed infallibility, I decide I can conquer the world. This is when my demise begins.

Day 30: My motivation begins to falter. I hit the snooze button on the alarm. For 4 hours.

Eventually I wake up in a puddle of my own drool. 

Day 35: I find myself torn between resisting temptation and being a total lard-ass.

The lard-ass wins out. I decide to have a piece of cake, but just this once.

As the cake comes into view with all its frosted glory, I'm overcome with sheer desire. Something twitches in my brain and I lose the ability to control myself or eat like a civilized human being.

Day 36: I step on the scale and see that I've gained a pound. Filled with guilt and regret from eating dessert, I sulk around the house the rest of the day.

Day 40: I find it increasingly difficult to stay motivated.

Day 45-55: Sick of eating mostly vegetables and tofu for the past month, I decide to cut myself a little slack and allow myself to eat a very, very small amount of sweets.

Day 56: I try desperately to regain the momentum I've lost, but the damage has already been done. My heart is no longer in it.

Day 59: As I near the end, it occurs to me that I might not have lost as much weight as I'd hoped. But then I think about all that exercise I did, and I shake the thought away. I saunter up to the scale brimming with confidence.

I peer down at the scale expectantly.

I've somehow managed to be back at my starting weight.

I wonder in amazement how things went wrong.



Day 60: I decide to set a new goal.

How to Get Promoted at Work

I thought I'd make a handy cheat sheet on how to get promoted in Corporate America since so many of us seem to struggle with this. This is a compilation of all the observed best practices I have witnessed over the years. It should greatly streamline your ability to get promoted and clear up any misconceptions you previously held on how to climb the corporate ladder.

Justin, this one's for you. Sorry you got laid off.

 

Go Team USA!

In the spirit of the Olympics, I thought I would take a moment to reflect on how I feel about the games. Most years it's the same over and over: swimming, gymnastics, swimming, gymnastics, swimming, gymnastics, swimming, gymnastics, swimming, gymnastics, synchronized diving, gymnastics.

I tend to get a bit bored.

What the summer series needs is a new event to help spice things up. A new sport that can keep people engaged and more energized. One that is sure to stimulate the crowd and appeal to the masses. A true sport, not like some of the events included such as race walking and women's wrestling.

So for the 2016 games, I'm thinking we should add war as an event category. Now before you get all uppity, I'll have you know that this is the oldest sport there is, having been practiced since the dawn of man.

And, the idea of adding Lazer Tag to the Olympics is already being thrown around, so I don't see why war would be such a stretch. After all, they're practically the same thing. They even have the same gear.

Ok, so there is one teeny-tiny difference in that if you get shot in Lazer Tag the only thing that will happen is your lazer pack will buzz. If you get shot in war you might die, but we really shouldn't get caught up in such minute details.

Besides, we're so good at it, we'd be sure to take home the gold. But even more importantly, I've already taken the liberty of designing the Team USA fan club t-shirt, and Walmart has agreed to license it.