I'm not going to be predictable and wait until Jan. 1 to make this declaration. Now is the time to speak it. Now is the time to start it.
I, Brandon Davon Billingsworth Oliver IX, am getting my shit together.
If that's too cryptic for you, I'll break it down. I'm not sure if anyone has noticed; I try my best to hide it. But I'm fat. Not funny, child-like Zach Galifianakis fat. I'm talking "he'd be Precious if it weren't for the appropriately-fitting clothes, visible neck, sunny disposition and the penis" kind of fat. I don't like being Preciously fat. Not to say that I harbor any self-hatred or dreams of extreme surgery. I just don't like being fat. But I figure if a man can walk on the moon; if black people can go from slaves to politicians; if Michael can go from soil brown to pearl white; then I can get my fat ass in the gym and produce some worth wild results.
I've tried numerous times before to get my straight-man's Richard Simmons on, using countless methods -- i.e., unsupervised workouts, cabbage soup diet, aerobics, fasting, two weeks of P.E. the summer before my high school freshman year, etc. I now realize what I lack when it came to my previous weight-loss attempts was support from my family and friends. They weren't being pricks; they just didn't know I was trying to get my non-combative Billy Blanks on. Any time I tried to carve the fat, I treated it like secret so well-guarded even the Illuminati wouldn't discover it. I'm not sure if it was out of embarrassment or just not wanting to get people's hopes up, but it was my secretive pet project.
But as I get older, my level of fucks given diminishes. As a result, I don't mind if people know I have a desire to get my beach body in time for Speedo season. I actually want people to know. Since I moved back home, I've noticed my life getting better, bit by bit. New job, getting closer with and making friends, road tripping, getting health insurance. But one should never get complacent. One should strive to get better and better with each day. So next on my agenda is improving myself physically and aesthetically -- the Get My Shit Together campaign. In an effort to get my shit together, I have to part with some of my old ways.
I rebuke thee, fast food.
Get thee behind, snack machine.
Get the hell out of my face, sugary, caffeinated beverages.
Adieu, sweet foods.
Sugar, we're just not going to be able to meet up like we did in the old days.
Fried foods, I'm no longer your beaten wife. I'm not coming back...OK, maybe a bit. But it won't be like it was.
Hit the bricks, large portions.
Taking an elevator up one flight of stairs, we've never been friends, and it's going to stay that way.
Pork, to me, you are now swine. And you know how black folks feel about swine.
Milkshakes and fatty ice cream, GTFO
And as much as this kills me to say it, alcohol we can't see each other like we used to. Whenever Jose, Jim, Comrade Smirnoff, Mr. Sinclare and the rest party too hard, I wind up bloated yet inexplicably in the mood for two McDoubles and fries.
So what I need from my family, friends and readers is your support in my journey to hit the 200-250 lb mark. I'm looking into a gym membership in Palatka. Once I start going to the gym, I need you all to make me keep going. Encourage me to pack my lunch for work and not hit up any dubious eateries. Support the lie that cucumbers and carrots are just as delicious as Ruffles and Cheetos.
So, family, friends, readers and "friends," I need your help with this, my most daring adventure yet. Keep me motivated; don't let me stop. It's a bit unrealistic for me to completely give up the aforementioned foods/drinks, but make sure if you see me with any of them, question it. If you know of any foods that are a must for my healthy diet, I'm open to your suggestions. Hell if you know of any cookbooks I need in my life, do not hesitate to suggest it. And once I start going to the gym, I need you all to make sure I go on a constant basis.
Support the lie that cucumbers and carrots are just as delicious as Ruffles and Cheetos,B.rand
