Saturday, October 21, 2006

Back by popular demand, and only slightly tampered with: "Type type type type type type type type type type...."

Warning: This post will be going all over the place and is not funny. Enjoy!

Seriously, I'm having a hard go of it lately. Not blogging, however; I'm good at that. Too many surgeries going on in my family, accidents, financial problems, etc. Apparently my sister decided to go and get herself scheduled for gastric bypass surgery. I found out about this when I got back from my trip. I'm dancing barefoot and outside the gym in the hallway all by myself this time because that's just the deal now. Tired of all this shit, really tired. Enough is enough. I've had it up to here...wait, you guys can't see, but I had my hand way above my head.

I had a day out with my sister. She goes in for surgery on Monday. She told me that aside from the health reasons, she was wondering what it would be like to be looked at again. She started to cry a great deal when she was telling me this: people don't look at her when they talk to her, it's as if she is not worthy of that kind of contact. In a world of big boobs and Paris Hilton-meets-truck-stop personalities, I find this rather disheartening. My sister is big, but not so huge that it is a pain to the eye. I really despise people's superficial obsessions about thighs, boobs, ass, abs, whatever. I really despise individuals that are only about that, or perpetuate such things. Hitler hated hook noses, look where that got him.

Okay, so the Hitler thing was a bit extreme, but preferences are fine, ridicule is not. As for myself, I am a very strong man physically. I have been able to bench 330 lbs. My grip has been measured at 180 lbs. Don't get me started. My point is that I can rip my shirt off and have no claim to looking like a beefcake, despite being able to kick beefcake's ass. Pasty white guy am I. I do not have that sculpted look, rather, cornfed. I have had fun looking at non-athlete, chiseled men get bested by cornfed or wiry sorts (I respect true athletes). My body can take enormous abuse. I am very calloused. However, my enormous strength and toughness are not ideal in terms of body aesthetic. My body is so broad that even when I am skinny, I look stocky. I am the last of the Neanderthals.

Since my accident I've gained back about eight pounds. Let's see, I was 260, dropped down to 215, and am now 223, all @ 5'11" tall. I could get my weight down to 185 and still look pasty and fat. I accept it. Anyone who has enough disgust with my body can arm wrestle me or get their strongest friend to do so. Some good looking people are so unhealthy it is ridiculous, but because they look good, no one cares. I love isometrics and real world labor/activities to build up strength and toughness. I had a job once that I basically shoveled dirt, picked up and carried scrap steel and timber all day long 10-13 hours a day. Before that, I worked in a window fabrication assembly line. I was carrying, lifting, flipping 15-70 lbs of finished window stock over and over, 10 hours a day (I made tons of Tongan, Vietnamese, and Armenian gang members shit list for being different as well at that job--they grouped me in with the rednecks--that parking lot was crazy). After both those jobs, I threw garbage and drove the truck for an old man and then the damn polygamists. I've never once had anyone say that I looked hot, but I could out-tough and out-last most.

Getting my education was nice, but I really didn't fit in well on campus because I had to go straight to work in blue collar land after I was done with my classes. Being truly different is not attractive, folks. Welder's caps are only cool when they keep hot cherries from lighting your mop up all spectacular and shit. I have had people tell me that a guy like me is cool, etc. Yeah, on here it is easy. I've had my share of people reach out to me online and most have been great. Occasionaly you get some that will mess you up just like 3D land, where some turn out to be real whackjobs or just plain hit and run type pals--you know, the ones that always have their running shoes on just in case things get icky (if anyone thinks that I am referring to them here, I can't help that--just get/stay in touch, okay, then obviously it is not a problem).

I have felt that until people in "real life" start noticing all these wonderful things about me, it is just a load of Mister Roger's land of make believe bullshit, but now I feel that some of you are people I can trust and count on enough to take what you say to heart.

In the real world, life is ugly and it is beautiful. From my eyes I try to see beauty, but there's too much that is ugly in hate, ugly in profane and vulgar revelry, ugly in exploit, ugly attacking children's minds in the base form of pornographic excrement (yeah, I know some of you enjoy some "hey hey", but you are adults--I won't preach to you). I can't even begin to tell you how much sorrow fills my heart at what we have done to our bodies and our minds--our souls and our earth.

I will only say this on this blog once and will edit it out eventually for the sake of it not being a distraction. My life spent as a minister/missionary in England was one of joy spreading peace, hope, and love, but I witnessed so much unhappiness that I nearly needed to forget my own name and identity to regain some of my sanity back. While that is a great moment of my life, probably the greatest, the aftermath of it all has left me alienated in a world that I was being groomed to inherit and lead. I am caught between two worlds now and am disgusted by both. I have seen the disappointment in leader's eyes when they've seen me since. I was truly remarkable and valiant in my work. Logically, it should've meant I was a lock. They see me now as a wayward soul. The world sees me as a square.

I try going to clubs and doing that stuff, but I just can't shake my past lifestyle--ironically, a lifestyle that saved me from truly anti-social and reckless behavior. I've never got the whole "I'm bad" pantomime, especially from people that are able to do so much good and uplift many around them. Only if you could see how silly you look pretending. Come and see me when you've got no hope and bad is just what happens. Then on the flipside, I can't be genuinely involved in something that I am not comfortable in administering any longer.

I have resisted running away from all of this, but I think that I might need to relocate and hit the reset button. Eventually people will wonder why I try to live such a clean life, but do not go to church and am twisted as hell. Best of all, I will have the pleasure of explaining everything to them. Talk about conflict. Talk about feeling/being alone. I know that this missing puzzle piece just made things a bit clearer. You can never escape your past.

I'm spinning till I puke still. Are you guys still spinning with me?


goldennib said...

You can't scare me. I'll keep coming back to see what you've got churning in the beasty breast of yours.

It is truely hard to be different. It is particularly hard to be odd in a non-odd setting.

But we make our choices. If you choose to stay where you are, you can't expect others to adapt to you, you must adapt to their world.

It is an accepted fact in my world that I am different. It is well known that I don't quite fit. There are even occasions when those who profess to love me, make fun of me because of their inability to be comfortable with who I am. And I don't think that I am all that weird.

But I've chosen to stay here. And no matter how odd they think I am, they can't seem to do without. I don't know why.

I have also chosen to be who I am. Quietly, but firmly. It's not easy. I want to run away many days. Sometimes I am very lonely especially in groups because I always feel like the one on the outside.

I don't know. I'm rambling.

I tried running away. It didn't work. Part of who I am is here, so I never got anywhere.

When I came home, pregnant and unmarried, the things people said (people have always felt they could speak their minds around me, which I encourage, even though it can be painful.) My mother said I should have had an abortion and my father couldn't believe that his only daughter was so "loose" (very harsh words from my father.) But I endured because I knew had I too in order to grow. Twenty years later, my daughter is my mother's favorite grandchild and I recently heard my father tell someone I was a very good mother. My point is these sweet things would never have happened if I wasn't still here.

I like you. And I would like you in person. Keep going. Keep being you.

There are people out there who will like you. But maybe they might be a little scared, too. Try not to be so hard on yourself and them.

moderator said...

Grunt, I have to tell you ... I don't usually bother with posts if they're not going to be funny, scientific or involve a hot chick. But this stuff is gold.

Egan said...

Keep speaking your mind man. This is your blog and it's a great way to vent. I hope things work out for your sister, but it's quite sad she feels the need to have the surgery. Best of luck.

Beth said...

For what it's worth, I think that you are a beautiful person, Grunt. I'm glad to have stumbled upon you.

Jules said...

You already know how I feel... love you!

Jules said...

P.S. I liked the revisions... but you should know that you don't really have to be "politically correct" on your own blog, babe.

P.S.S. Since this post ended right next to TIGF, I had to take a moment to watch that Tommy Seeback video again! Mmmmmmm... LMAO!

Logophile said...

Im so dizzy, my head is spinnin
Like a whirlpool, it never ends
And its you, girl (Grunt:p), makin it spin
Youre makin me dizzy
My head is spinnin
Like a whirlpool, it never ends
And its you, girl, makin it spin
Youre makin me dizzy
Oh, Im so dizzy
Youre makin me dizzy
Yeah, Im so dizzy

Karyn said...

You spin me Grunty.

My heart goes out to your sister. I am not hard-to-look-at (usually) but I am displeased with my dimensions as well, and have considered whether it might just be easier to gain weight til I get to the number required for Gastric Bypass. Because shit on a stick, it's a lot more appealing to get hacked up and cut and sliced and be forced to lose weight like that than to reteach your brain and rewire your neurotransmitters and grapple with a lifetime of bullshit that sends me hurtling towards the comfort food when the going gets tough.

My heart goes out to her. And you.