Preliminary Dating Profile: One Hundo P Real

Any time I visit my dear old grandparents, they make it a point to ask how I’m doing:

“Oh, we didn’t think we’d make it this far. We might go any day now…it’s nice you called. How is the weather? Do you like your job?”

Sprinkled amongst their many questions is always one that always serves as a special treat:

“Are you meeting any nice men out there?”

While it’s definitely thrilling enough having them grill my sister about her boyfriend (whom they are under the impression was born in Nigeria and whose name has been American-Depression-Era-icized as “Timmy” instead of Temi), I sometimes get the pleasure of explaining to my 88-year-old grandparents that no, they will not live to see the day I date anyone and get married anywhere other than a Las Vegas church by Elvis while three times over the legal limit.

My grandparents are tough folks, having grown up in the Depression and all, so they put on their bravest faces, ignore the shock, and try to keep their teeth in their mouths.

Bless their souls, I love them to death.

In spite of them almost certainly believing I am a closet lesbian, I have decided to put myself out there…starting now. Here’s a preliminary start to my dating profile which will be up within the next month. I’m not joking.

This will be my Profile Pic.

Name: Kristin Elizabeth Hovie III*

*Not the III

Short Blurb on Me: I spent most of my life fighting with my father (who didn’t understand my curiosity about the human world) and this curvalicious octopus b*tch (who wanted my voice to seduce my hot love interest). My best friends include a neurotic crab who composes music and Flounder, who is basically my day one hoe. Oh wait…that’s The Little Mermaid…

Hometown: Bumblef*ck, Wisconsin

Currently: Laying in a ditch contemplating the meaning of life.

Birthday: November 9th

Education: BA in English, elementary tap dancing.

Occupation: Standing in line for food at soup kitchens due to said Bachelor’s Degree.

Height: Chances are I can probably dunk on yo ass and hit a three point fade away jumper on you in a game of one-on-one. If you like ya shawties…shawt…I am very not that.

Body Type: A cross between a sock monkey and an 80-year-old amateur adult film star. I will not send you anything other than head-shot photos because I want to troll you so hard on date #1. I just might be a transvestite.

Sexual Orientation: I identify strongly with a potato.

Ethnicity: White as f*ck.

Thing I am Most Passionate About: Taco Bell, a good whiskey Old Fashioned, and shaking my ass on the hood of Whitesnake’s car

Religion: The one with human sacrifices every Tuesday night.

Skills/Rewards:

  • Thumbs Up from mom for cleaning up dog poop on front lawn
  • Gold Star for mastering “Mississippi Hot Dog” on the violin
  • Pat On The Back from dad for being able to tell the difference between a Phillips and Straight Edge screwdriver
  • $10 from Grandpa for power washing front porch
  • Insurmountable Feelings of Pride from Self for backing a trailer 
  • Pokemaster (all badges, beat Professor Oak’s nephew no prob)
  • Killed a Basilisk and saved Hogwarts on Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (for PS2) in roughly eight hours
  • Powers: Fireblast (but only five times per battle or I get worn out), Bubbleblast, Scratch, and Whine
  • Participation Ribbon for 13th place at Summer Fun Run of 2004

Hobbies include chilling.

Things Overheard about Kristin:

    • “I just don’t understand how she finds shoes large enough for her feet…” -Kristin’s prom date Senior year of High School after being stepped on several times
    • “I was always very concerned about her…in fifth grade she would crawl around on the ground at recess by herself and insist that others call her ‘Blackstar’ or something like that. The janitor had to rip down half the forts she made along the fence back in ‘04.” -Kristin’s 5th Grade Teacher
    • “Kristin who?” -Kristin’s 7th Grade Crush
    • “Helluv an ass.” -Homeless man in New York City

Hobbies:

  • Catching mad air off my front curb with my Razr scooter
  • Cyberbullying children 
  • Tweeting slam poetry at McDonald’s
  • Working on my beer pong wrist flick while in public places
  • Probably making you a sandwich

Quotes:

  • “Positive self talk is hard when you’re working with an idiot.” -Me

This is me knowing how to have a good time.

If Interested:

  • Contact me at this phone number (920-555-5555). It’s my dad’s cell, he’ll want to conduct a thorough screening of your dating profile and will set up an appointment/date if you fit the following qualifications:
    • Nobel Peace Prize recipient
    • Have owned or currently own a Mustang GT
    • and Like fart jokes
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To Date or Not To Date, or In My Case: I Have Yet To Do So But I’m Working On It, Mom and Dad Plz Don’t Worry

 

I remember sitting in my 7th grade science class, absent-mindedly chewing the end of my number two Ticonderoga pencil while my teacher droned on about cell tissues when it suddenly occurred to me:

Eh mah gawd. I wonder what my future husband is doing right now, I thought self indulgently as I scribbled my self-given nickname across my notebook’s lined paper.

Ace. Ace. ACE. Ace with a little star at the end. Scribble scribble scribble.

My dad and mom let me get ACE on the back of my soccer jersey last summer because I scored a goal on another team this one time. I vaguely recall scoring the goal, only because I wasn’t sure how to celebrate at the time. So naturally, I did what any other child raised by hard core Bon Jovi fans did- held my middle and ring fingers down with my thumb, raised my hands above my head and yelled, “rock on, dudettes”.

Yeah. I got first choice of frozen grapes during half time.

“So this little guy here is called the mitochondria,” my teacher repeated as he squeaked his dry erase marker across the whiteboard in front of the class. “Anyone heard of this before?”

He looked around hopefully.

I rolled my eyes. Like hell-ooo? Didn’t everyone know it was that weird bean shaped thing? I went back to daydreaming.

Would he have blue eyes? Brown hair, maybe? Perhaps he was kinda like that one dude in the Meg Cabot book I just finished. Drrreamy! ❤

I continued to doodle stars around all the “Ace”s I’d scrawled across my notebook page. I looked to see if my teacher was paying attention to my desk in the back of the room. Slowly, I reached into my backpack until my hand brushed against the hard outer cover of my diary. The mitochondria could wait. I had to figure out how many days I’d liked my crushes for.

There were currently three of them I was keeping tallies on; Mason, Alex, and Kyle.

Varying in height, hair color, and age, all three only shared two things in common:

they were white as f*ck and didn’t know I existed (Wisconsin probs, everyone is varying degrees of fourth generation German or Scandinavian).

I flipped quietly through my diary’s crisp pages and huddled over my desk, shooting warning glances at my desk neighbor that clearly meant back awf.

By warning glances, I really mean it probably looked like I was trying hard not to sh*t my pants while painfully grimacing at poor Jenny Parkins only three feet to my right.

This was pre-Lactaid, but still.

December 11th, 2005 8:45pm, I thought. No…December 18th, 2005 7:47pm…no…yes! Finally! December 22nd, 2005 3:56pm!

“Alas!” I exclaimed as I stroked my beard.

Christmas break is almost here. Volleyball wasn’t bad except I gotta gripe man. The score thing after sucked. I had this dream last night though where (ew!!! Lol!!!!) I made out with Alex. I woke up french kissing my pillow…LOL [YUCK!!!]. It’s been 264 days or basically 8 monthes & 22 daze since I first started like him he’s is so hott ALLI IS COMING UP THE STAIRS…wait she’s gone now. But yeah. Mason wuz my homeboy for like…8 monthes and 14 daze. Lol. Anyway, heart u! Ace~

*Yes that is a real entry*

But hmmm. I just saw Alex in the hall today before third period and I think he noticed me, I thought to myself as I slowly closed my diary and shoved it into my backpack. I mean, I’d dropped my water bottle and caused a scene where my friend ended up tearing her pants against the lockers, but still?

It had been 8 monthes, with an “es”. GASP! That was longer than Mason but shorter than Kyle (little punk only lasted 246 days).

Well, fast forward ten years and Mason now has a cleft palate, Alex is somewhere off in Slovenia, and Kyle is living in his parents’ basement playing video games. It’s now been over a decade since I’ve had a crush on these three pubescent, zitty, little boys and I have yet to call them up and tell them I liked them each for two hundred and some odd days back in middle school. I’ve never told them, quite honestly, and I don’t think I ever will. I’d rather just talk sh*t about them on a low volume blog post via my WordPress site instead.

So what’s the point?

I’ve been on Earth for twenty-three years, eight months, and some odd days and I still get those fleeting thoughts wondering what my future husband is doing at this given moment. I used to think to myself, oh golly gee, I wonder what I’ll be doing with my boyfriend in like, ten years or twenty years from now maybe we’ll be doing brunch somewhere together somewhere in a big city like Green Bay, Wisconsin. BUT, girls in middle school, high school, college, and even now:

You don’t need to be defined by whether you date or not. Either way, you’re much more than who you’ve dated, who you will date, or who you’re currently dating.

But anyway, back to our feature presentation, as we’ve just left Kristin as a little hopeful, wonder-stricken teen.

Young Kristin was quite the card, she was quite the little dreamer! I pictured myself floating gracefully across the gum strewn sidewalks with my Kohl’s clogs, boyfriend in tow twelve years from now. Great things were in store! My family would be so proud!

Well, high school came, handed me braces, and kicked me in the groin a little but I still persevered past the person my freshman yearbook photo portrayed me to be (lol, yikez). But still, no boyfriend. Maybe what I needed was a guy who was older than me, more mature than the horndogs who I was growing up with!

God bless, I was able to find that much-wanted boyfriend through volleyball.

Well, “he” being volleyball itself. Lol! ❤

Like any other hairy-armpitted, arm shaving, sixteen-year-old virgin, my parents had me join a year-round sport in hopes I’d find some friends to distract me from my teenage angst about the impending Iraqi War. It was either that or do crystal meth in my basement with my cool but kind of creepy next door neighbor.

Volleyball it was!

Countless hours later, I emerged as a semi-human, semi-lesbian looking weirdo my senior year. So what if the only fling I’d had was with another girl who now denied everything? I had a ❤ BOY ❤ taking me to both Homecoming and Prom! How blissfully “normal”!

After texting back and forth, exchanging flirtatious winky faces and accidental T9 auto-corrects from my totally sick Motorolla Razr, I found the whole “talking to a boy” thing to be a lot of pressure. I had too many volleyballs to hit, too many digs to be dug, too many long, romantic car rides to practice an hour and a half away. I couldn’t juggle talking to a boy as well! The dream of seeing myself walking down the street with a boyfriend seemed to fade slightly as I’d tie my shoes before practice after school almost every day.

This led me to college where I was delighted to see more human boys all over the place. By golly, some of them seemed to like me too! I had shed my braces, dyed my hair a few times, learned some time management skills, and wore horribly short dresses to bars that I could’ve purchased for my kid sister. This would get me that long-awaited boyfriend! My friends around me seemed to find humans they liked, and don’t get me wrong, I did too, but nothing seemed to work out beyond the whole “well we both think each other are totes hawt” deal.

So the big question Oprah definitely has for me, “where are you now, Kristin?”

I’m here. I’ve never had a boyfriend, but somehow I’m alive, by golly! If I can do it, you can too! I will however, reserve the right to b*tch to my friends about this any time they unwillingly lend an ear.

I must confess, it’s hard to see all these young women around me worrying about the future status of their love life like I used to back in my old 7th grade science classroom. We sometimes can try to determine how to finagle where we’re going to find our significant other who can propose within two or three years of meeting us, set a date a year beyond that, and god willing, settle and have children after that as well.

There’s nothing wrong with dating, there’s nothing wrong with not dating. What I’ve noticed in my past behavior is the urge to date only because everyone else was doing it, not because I felt ready or like I truly felt a connection with another human. Don’t get me wrong; there had been moments where I thought, “this could be it! I could come home for the holidays and show off this guy to my family and brag about what a catch I’d had”, but they were few and far in between.

Some part of me wishes I could go back and tell myself not to try too hard, to settle back and not take life too seriously. Some of the happiest couples I’ve met just started out as casual flings that turned into something much more, while others started off as friendships that grew into ❤ luv <3. The other part of me is glad I’ve been the old celebate hag (sarcasm, obvi) I have been because EH MAH GAWD I am just learning so much about myself, like how quickly I can down a McGang Bang, or how many shots of tequila I can do before I never want to see that stuff again. It’d be rewarding either way.

So what I’m trying to say is this:

When it comes to relationships, boyfriends, girlfriends, and whatnot, there’s value in just respecting where we’re currently at, whether it be single for twenty-three years, or dating someone new every two days as long as you have respect for yourself and others. Things will fall into place, you just have to trust this. Don’t force it. It’s like taking a big dump, right?

My 7th grade self didn’t realize this as she scribbled tally marks in her diary with the amount of days she’d like her crushes for. She pined away, longing for relationships she genuinely wasn’t ready for at the time and yearning for the idea of a boyfriend. I wish I could’ve told her everything would work out fine, and that she’d be fine either way, but I know she’d find this out in a decade anyway.

Through my many years, I’ve been sort of embarrassed that I’ve only been on one date in my life, thinking it was something to hide or not mention to others. Until recently, I haven’t thought of it as something I could use as a way to determine what I want out of life. This in mind, I think you’ll be able to use your lack of relationships, or even past and present relationships to determine what you’d like in the future for yourself. It’s a great learning experience either way, but just remember: it’s not worth writing over three hundred pages of pure angst in your diary over, especially when your sister can find awkward entries you’ve written and then proceed to never let you live down the fact you woke up trying to make out with your pillow.

Just some food for thought and words of advice.

#blessed

 

 

Can We Attribute Our Unhappiness to Social Media?

This is old news by now, but does the name Essena O’Neill ring a bell? No? In case you missed out on her video that went viral last November, I’ll give you a semi-quick rundown on the seventeen minute video. You can also check out her video here

Amidst tears, O’Neill draws attention to how “fake” she believes the social media world has become and how unaware the average viewer is to what really goes on behind the beautiful, yet highly unrealistic images viewers see on a daily basis. She claims her departure from this impractical world should serve as a wake up call for all her followers.

She tearfully continues on with her video (sans makeup) arguing “culture creates validation and insecurities” and later begs viewers and social media personalities to create content that isn’t based on “views, likes, or followers”. Furthermore, she launches a tirade against the business behind sponsored or paid social and posts, a current hot topic for those interested in law (and more particularly, fashion law). This topic has recently forced one of our independent federal agencies, the Federal Trade Commission, to pay more attention to how they can protect consumers on social media in the future*. More on this below, but back to O’Neill’s video for now.

While watching this young Australian’s video, I found it shocking to think someone could blame many of their insecurities on apps that pubescent Silicon Valley geeks dreamt of in their parents’ basements (I’m only half sarcastic, here). Could social media really be blamed for this young woman’s unhappiness?

This brings me to my question for you today: does quitting social media remedy the true nature of our unhappiness?  Is this truly going to help fix negative feelings you have toward yourself?

O’Neill believed this was the answer. Soon after posting her self-declared “last Youtube video”, she proceeded to delete all her social media sites save for one, Instagram, but only after deleting two thousand photos off her account. Keeping a few select pictures, she quickly gave new captions to those that remained with newer, brutally honest captions:

essena4.jpg

She later deleted her Instagram account as well.

After she made these changes, O’Neill said she hoped to start a movement where the average viewer could realize their self worth isn’t determined by their physical attributes or social media influence. Just because O’Neill thought she wasted many years living a lie didn’t mean others should as well.

This being said, there’s many varying opinions on whether social media serves an overall good purpose or not. We see lovers connect, celebrities make millions, and teens cyberbully others all within seconds of a simple flick of the thumb. It’s simultaneously amazing, yet terrifying.

Personally, I admit I’m no stranger to unhappiness which I can partially attribute to social media, and on a deeper level, my deep rooted desire to be perfect. I can definitely admit I’ve felt validated after reaching a new high of “likes” or “views” on social media platforms, while also feeling crushed when a new profile picture doesn’t get as many likes as I would’ve thought. Was I not thin enough? Had I not marketed my post effectively? Should I feel embarrassed to post a selfie? As my Pop Culture professor so wisely said, “I receive likes, therefore I exist”. Any “like” I’ve received has given me validation. Though I know this ultimately to be false, it’s hard to continually remind myself of this over and over again. I’m sure many others would agree.

In saying this, I realize I’m part of the problem I’ve created for myself. I’ve spent HOURS clicking through photos, scrolling down my home feed, and stalking girls I don’t know, obsessing how I’m not as pretty, thin, or worry free and happy as they seem. How can I realistically think another person’s life is trouble free based on photos they are able to manipulate? All my own photos are edited, retouched, and manipulated to catch me in both the best lighting and during the most flattering “picture perfect moments”. How is fair to assume their photos haven’t been as well?

I seem to get the most likes on the most perfect photos of myself and my behavior seems to continue to snowball into what could resemble a highly predictable lab experiment as a result. People like following people who look happy and pretty. It’s inspirational. I accumulate likes, therefore I am. More happy photos, more likes. More likes, more happiness. It’s a vicious negative feedback loop we’ve created for ourselves.

So should I abandon my Facebook, multiple Twitter accounts, Snapchat, and Instagram in search of this ever elusive happiness I’ve been chasing for a large portion of my life? I’ve tried. For a couple months I wasn’t on Facebook, I didn’t enjoy Snapchat until a year after it became popular, and quit using my beloved Twitter because I didn’t think I could handle the responsibility. We’ve all had friends who express their distaste at the world of social media and delete accounts only to reinstate their profiles some odd months or weeks later.

So does unplugging our lives make us happier in the end?

I’m not so sure. I’m not so sure we’ll ever know the answer, or whether there even is a “right” answer (don’t get me started on existentialist theories). Finding happiness may or may not be as simple as deleting your accounts if you’re disconsolate. Quite simply, this is a discussion up for debate and it’s a highly personal and contested matter. I understand deleting accounts out of inactivity, but deleting based on lack of self esteem?

Though there’s no simple solution to this complex problem, I firmly believe we have the power to be part of the solution, not the problem as social media users. I think it’s time to stop viewing social media as an untamable beast, because we have the opportunity to control what we post and what we view to an extent. We have small opportunities to put a positive spin on what we see every day!

Armed with this positivity, I decided to do my own experiment on Instagram a few months ago. I posted a close up photo of my face, one half with makeup and editing, the other without any makeup or retouching. The response I received was more than I could’ve ever asked for. It was my most popular post since joining Instagram five years ago, and still would’ve been considered it my top post even if it had gotten no likes. It’s possible to use social media for good purposes to outweigh the bad. It felt like I was holding up my middle finger to all the negative feelings that haunted me from this picture perfect image of myself that I had wanted to be.

12241535_10207969483177725_7281412549986276295_n.jpg

The photo I took of myself showing both sides of social media. Perception versus reality.

So even though I’ve dragged you through a lengthy post just to give you no solid answer to the question of whether quitting social media remedies the true nature of our unhappiness, I hope this makes you think. Maybe the question shouldn’t lie in whether social media can make us unhappy or not, but instead on how we can participate in this world with more realistic expectations of ourselves. Yes, bloggers will edit their photos. Many girls will airbrush their skin to perfection, and others will show off expensive meals, new makeup and cars or share lengthy posts of their vacations to Ibiza on Snapchat. This all is inevitable, especially given social is a huuuge, untapped resource for anyone who’d like to market to millennials (at the very least!). I wouldn’t be shocked at all to see many brands add or increase both organic and paid social within the next few years. My only hope is that we all get a little more educated and that the Federal Trade Commission is able to keep up and catch unlawful practices**. However, it’s up to us to get stronger.

Long story short, when Essena O’Neill decided to post her last YouTube video last November, she set off a firestorm of response from her peers and viewers. The question of whether social media serves a positive or negative purpose is too difficult a question to give one finite answer to. For some, quitting social media may help reduce feelings of inadequateness, decrease their maladaptive pleasure seeking impulses, and potential depression. As O’Neill showed, even those who seem at the top on social media platforms can suffer behind closed doors. Their lives and paychecks revolve around likes, views, and shares. But our lives don’t have to.

I’ve felt both positively validated and negatively impacted through what others and myself have posted. The answer we seek may not lie with whether our happiness is a direct result of social media, but instead, whether we’re able to control the intake of information through educating ourselves and constant reminders that this world has the aptitude to seem airbrushed and perfect. I’m going to challenge myself to view the social world as less of an intimidating place, but as a burgeoning market for retailers and promoters. I’m also going to vow to constantly remind myself there’s more to life than a “bikini ready” beach bod or nailing that perfect cat eye. Both are great, yes, but remember that you alone are enough. You breath, you love, you are loved, therefore you are!

xx

Kristin

Please don’t hesitate to comment and reach out, whether you agree or disagree with me. Let’s keep the discussion going!

 

*As many of you know, influencers and bloggers are paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to wear, drink, or promote a company’s merchandise, often ignoring the rules the FTC lays down to protect consumers from what they determine to be “unfair, deceptive or fraudulent practices in the marketplace” (per their site’s “What We Do” section). For more information on the FTC, I encourage you to visit their site

**One of my favorite fashion law bloggers continues to call out popular bloggers (L’Oreal’s 15 L’Orealista bloggers, the Man Repeller, amongst many other offenders) for not appropriately disclosing paid posts. Putting #sp in the description part of photos is no longer enough. The Fashion Law’s founder and editor-in-chief explains this all much better than I ever could. Find her explorations of calling out bloggers here.

 

After Dropping the Mic On My Last Post, Here’s A Follow Up on BODY IMAGE: More Angst, Another Kristin Hovie College Journey

I’m really not sure how to approach this post but I’ve sat down about to write it nearly four times. I figured I’d just YOLO this time- which kinda scares me because my last post was me like *dropping the mic* on your butt and now I have no idea where this is going to go.

But anyway~

BODY IMAGE.

So about my personal journey <3, y’all know if you follow me on Twitter that I am so passionately in love with Taco Bell that I created a whole different Twitter account that keeps you peasants in the know as to if I got TBell yet. Most of the tweets say “no” but there are at least three times recorded where I say “hell yeah” or just proceed to take a crappy-quality flash of pic of a plastic bag filled with quesadillas, potato soft tacos, and nothing short of fifteen mild sauces.

As you also may know, pretty much every time I’ve tweeted from that account I’m also a wine bottle into a ❤ girl’s night <3.

It’s no wonder my dumb butt gained about ten pounds my last semester at school. The combination of eating either so incredibly healthy then going insane and binge eating fast food and drinking no less than 4 bottles of wine per week did nothing good for me. To make matters worse, I decided to boycott exercising about a month after getting to school.

I had gotten back into my old pattern of feeling like crap if I didn’t nearly pass out from working out. I tried yoga but felt like it was just replacing lifting and not giving me enough cardio. I wanted to like it, but felt guilty unless I was doing a 3 mile warm up followed by sprints and a half an hour of abs. Truth be told, I would have been better off just doing yoga four times a week than exercising intensely for a week straight then doing nothing for the next month.

As I’m sure many of you girls do as well, I constantly find myself looking back on my high school pictures and wishing I could be that skinny again. Comparing my eighteen-year-old self to my current body is nothing short of embarrassing. College athletics changed me from thin to holy effin’ balls I’m only benching 80 pounds but how come my arms seem thick as hell? As I’m looking at these comparison pics below, however, I realize I look completely unhealthy as a high school senior. If you read my last post, you know I had a somewhat rough senior year in high school when my best friend left for college. I was limiting myself to under 1,000 calories per day and constantly feeling lightheaded was the norm. At the time I don’t think I was doing it for the “looks” as much as I doing it as a cry for attention at my friend. It didn’t work and she ultimately didn’t care.

Here's a really shiity PicStitch of me (on the left) as a junior in college and (on the right) my senior year of high school. Lifting and working out a lot had me gaining muscle which kind of scared me.

Here’s a really crappy Pic Collage of me (on the left) as a junior in college and (on the right) my senior year of high school. Lifting and working out a lot had me gaining muscle which kind of scared me.

But anyway, point in check, I was unhealthy at the time but couldn’t help but wish I had that body again. Seeing models and celebrities like Candice Swanepoel, Gisele Bundchen, Karlie Kloss, Taylor Swift, and Martha Hunt convinced me that unless my thighs were as thick as my calves, I was completely undesirable.

It’s terrible to watch myself (and other girls that I know) realize that they are being manipulated by magazines/television/movies but yet still want to look that way regardless. To this day, I refuse to even think about dating someone unless I lose twenty pounds, get rock hard abs, and have legs like Gisele (this is clearly a maladaptive thought but still persists in my mind regardless). I’m well aware that guys don’t all want a girl who looks like Kendall Jenner, but still struggle with believing it 100%. I am a direct result of the media and I’m sure I’m not alone on this.

So now that I’ve whined your ear off about my life, I’d like to try and solve this problem. I mean, if you made it this far in this post I might as well make it worth your while, right?

Right. So here’s a limerick about McNuggets.

Completely just kidding but anyway-

I’ve been doing some thinking about how to be happy in regard to myself physically.

The thought of making exercise my entire life and consuming a huge portion of my day makes me nauseous. I’ve already spent four years of my life dedicated to busting my ass for sprints, chasing and diving after a loose volleyball, and making all kinds of mad gains brah in the weight room. I don’t need to spend the rest of my life working out for that long per day. I’d rather do hoodrat stuff with my friends. So instead, I like to think that the energy I used to put into working out as an athlete can be used to instead be more conscious of what I eat. Not obsessive, but more conscious.

To add, working out intensely for only thirty minutes per day is completely acceptable as is walking at a moderate pace for an hour. I don’t need to be doing sprints for heaven’s sake. I would probably bust out a knee.

And last but most importantly, as soon as I say I should do something or I must do something I will realize I’m thinking in absolutes– a problematic thinking pattern. I just went all CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy) on you, but hear me out. Saying things like, “I should go do twenty sprints” or “I must go out and run or I’m a complete fat ass” lead to guilt for what you didn’t do. Adding flexibility to my daily routine and being forgiving of myself has added a new element of happiness to my life. Who cares if I didn’t run frickin’ five miles today- it doesn’t make me any more or any less of a person.

PERSONAL OPINION ALERT************

Happiness for me doesn’t directly stem from simply working out. My happiness more often comes from me accepting my best effort (which is sometimes just getting my ass to the gym) and making healthier choices but not obsessing over it. I’m a lot happier doing a moderate workout than burning 1,000 calories and feeling like a bag of dicks because I’m so tired. This may not work for you, but it’s what has been kinda working for me lately. Maybe it would work for you. Who knows. But here, I’ll put things in perspective quick:

Your body is a wonderful chunk of flesh that is capable of doing a lot of cool crap if you let it. But that is essentially what it is- a chunk of flesh. Even though I gained a solid ten pounds (and definitely not in muscle) this past semester, none of my friends stopped talking to me. They still appeared to like me. Most people, I’ve learned, are comfortable around me when I’m comfortable around me. So even though I do not look like Alessandra Ambrosio in a bikini, if I act accepting of whatever is deemed not as desirable by the media, my friends have accepted me as well (if they aren’t complete shitheads, which if this is the case, your friends suck and you should work to change that because everyone deserves great friends).

All in all, even though the media makes a huuuuuge ass deal over how important having a great body is, I like to think that I’m more than that chunk of flesh. If you work your butt off for a great body, good for you. Be proud of yourself. If you don’t give a damn about working out, all the power to you. It doesn’t make you any less of a person. It may cause you to get heart disease later in life, but hey, who are we to judge?

So I hope this kind of gives you a perspective on things or gives you a chance to delve into the deep complexities of my brain on a daily basis (lolz just kidding, I mainly think about tacos and trying to remember where I put my darned car keys- little bugger seems to always run away from me!!).

But this is what I thought, when I thought it. Ten years from now I may disagree, but this is what gets me through life right now. I’m a work in progress and can offer you no for sure “answers”, but hopefully I’ve made you think a little about yourself and how you handle the issue of body image!

And here’s that limerick on McNuggets:

There once was a chicken who said,

“Well eff me I’m going to bed”

Three minutes passed and a snore

Then a chop and no more

“A McNugget!” a gleeful Hov said

~inspired by McDonald’s and Edward Lear’s Book Of Nonsense

xx Krusty Krust