As it stands, I am 6' tall and 185 pounds; exactly the same dimensions that I was 10 years ago. My abs are slightly less Usher-like but still, not bad for 36 years of age. needless to say that weight loss isn't my New Year's ambition.
It took me a minute to think about what I really wanted in the New Year and of all the things that I thought of, most of it was a piece of me I'd lost in the last couple of decades. With that in mind, here are some old year resolutions that I hope to keep in the one seven.
1) Pretend to be balling
Once upon a time, if I hit payday with $200 in my account it was time to turn the fuck up. Nowadays it's time to re-evaluate my spending. How did that happen? It was probably because I have a wife that comes up with the most creative ways to cost me 100 bones but it could be that I have a different concept of money now. I want to build my family a fortune and triple digits just ain't gonna do it. Of course, there are two options that I have. Spend less and earn more. The video game budget shalt not suffer so I suppose I better get back on the job hunt or just be satisfied with the plethora of nickles that I have to rub together.
2) Give less fucks
I was driving to work the other day; thinking about how late I was and it dawned on me that I never used to care about such trivialities as the first seven (to twenty) minutes of work. I don't do shit that early anyway. I'm not sure when i started giving such random fucks but that seriously needs to stop. It's raising my blood pressure.
3) Write more
I enjoy writing because it lets me stand on my soapbox and rage against the dying of the light. I still think about a great many things but even when I think I've struck blogger gold, I go home and play video games. Of course, I forget the fleeting moment of genius and wonder what I have to do stop getting shot in the back every time I fucking spawn on Call of Duty. This year, I gotta remember how great it is to take shots at people that don't respawn behind you.
4) Curse
Because fuck it. It's more fun and sometimes 'bitch ass nigga' is just right term to use for these bitch ass, fuck ass, retarded as niggas.
5) Go for the drawls
At some time last year I created a baby. Such a thing has made me a billionteen less likely to skeet for the sky. But, I remember a time when just sheer success of getting it in made all the strike outs worth it. Since I'm married to woman that isn't a battered wife, going for the drawls isn't exactly as successful as one may hope but I have to remember the thrill of the game. Also I have to get my balls clipped...
6) Be proud
Lastly, I need to get back to being proud of my underachieving, broke ass self. I'm not in jail and gainfully employed and there are a lot of people that can't say both of those things. I try my ass off and even when I fail, you have to have tried to fly to fall. I have to remember to keep my skinny chest puffed out even when I got 2 of 3 women in the house crying and my car is giving a death wheeze in the driveway. I've gotten this far and fuck it, I ain't dead yet.
This is going to be a regressive year in America so why shouldn't I get back to the old Cogito that drank Jose Cuervo from the bottle and ate pussy in cars? It appears that world plans on burning anyway and just like The Joker's plastic surgeon used to say, If you gotta go, go with a smile.
It took me a minute to think about what I really wanted in the New Year and of all the things that I thought of, most of it was a piece of me I'd lost in the last couple of decades. With that in mind, here are some old year resolutions that I hope to keep in the one seven.
1) Pretend to be balling
Once upon a time, if I hit payday with $200 in my account it was time to turn the fuck up. Nowadays it's time to re-evaluate my spending. How did that happen? It was probably because I have a wife that comes up with the most creative ways to cost me 100 bones but it could be that I have a different concept of money now. I want to build my family a fortune and triple digits just ain't gonna do it. Of course, there are two options that I have. Spend less and earn more. The video game budget shalt not suffer so I suppose I better get back on the job hunt or just be satisfied with the plethora of nickles that I have to rub together.
2) Give less fucks
I was driving to work the other day; thinking about how late I was and it dawned on me that I never used to care about such trivialities as the first seven (to twenty) minutes of work. I don't do shit that early anyway. I'm not sure when i started giving such random fucks but that seriously needs to stop. It's raising my blood pressure.
3) Write more
I enjoy writing because it lets me stand on my soapbox and rage against the dying of the light. I still think about a great many things but even when I think I've struck blogger gold, I go home and play video games. Of course, I forget the fleeting moment of genius and wonder what I have to do stop getting shot in the back every time I fucking spawn on Call of Duty. This year, I gotta remember how great it is to take shots at people that don't respawn behind you.
4) Curse
Because fuck it. It's more fun and sometimes 'bitch ass nigga' is just right term to use for these bitch ass, fuck ass, retarded as niggas.
5) Go for the drawls
At some time last year I created a baby. Such a thing has made me a billionteen less likely to skeet for the sky. But, I remember a time when just sheer success of getting it in made all the strike outs worth it. Since I'm married to woman that isn't a battered wife, going for the drawls isn't exactly as successful as one may hope but I have to remember the thrill of the game. Also I have to get my balls clipped...
6) Be proud
Lastly, I need to get back to being proud of my underachieving, broke ass self. I'm not in jail and gainfully employed and there are a lot of people that can't say both of those things. I try my ass off and even when I fail, you have to have tried to fly to fall. I have to remember to keep my skinny chest puffed out even when I got 2 of 3 women in the house crying and my car is giving a death wheeze in the driveway. I've gotten this far and fuck it, I ain't dead yet.
This is going to be a regressive year in America so why shouldn't I get back to the old Cogito that drank Jose Cuervo from the bottle and ate pussy in cars? It appears that world plans on burning anyway and just like The Joker's plastic surgeon used to say, If you gotta go, go with a smile.
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