Guess Who's Back, Dipshits!!

Okay, so a lot has happened.

For anybody who has kept up with us over the past year or two, you know some major things have transpired.

Myself, Mr. Von D, have made an honest woman out of my girlfriend, and am now a responsible married man, no longer allowed to eat awful things for money. As for the Fridge, he somehow managed to find a nice young lady to call his own and is getting married in the spring. THose are the two most major changes I can think of.

More than that though, I have had about seven jobs in the past couple of years, but now I'm back doing what I do best; Standing in front of a classroom full of teenagers and making fun of them. This time though, I'm back on familiar turf, so the world is my oyster. Except for one minor detail.

I had an epiphany the other day. A lot of this blog chronicles me and my friends doing stupid things, just being your normal twenty somethings who are just trying to make a buck and not get any more calls from debt collection people. I must note at this point that Fridge has never had this problem, and is the most fiscally responsible person I've ever met. Anyway, the one thing that escaped my grasp was always my physical health.

I used to be an athlete. A pretty good one, actually. Not that anybody who has met me in the past 8 or 9 years would know that, but it's true. And even though this is the case, I feel as though I've made excuse after excuse to "let myself go." Even getting married wasn't really enough to get myself back into shape. Even with the help of the best trainer New England had to offer, I still had one obstacle I couldn't get over, my diet.

I tried different workouts, different fad diets, all the things I could in order to get my ass in gear, but you know one thing about getting advice is that nobody takes it. Ever. I needed something that made sense.

Enter Timothy Ferriss.

Too keep this brief, I'll just tell you that what Ferriss offered me was something that made sense to me. I needed to get out of the mold of what I had heard before. It's easy to tell somebody to eat healthy, to tell somebody that instead of eating this, you should eat this. Instead of doing this exercise, do this exercise. But what Tim offered me was something that made sense to me. Here are some reasons why.

1) He hates making breakfast.
2) He thinks outside the "calorie in, calorie out" theory that has dominated every fitness magazine.
3) I get one day a week where I can eat whatever the fuck I want and not feel bad about it.

So, here is my attempt to get my shit back together. I've started my "Lose 30 Before 30" campaign as of today, and you get a front row seat, bitches. Six months of no nonsense chronicling of my journey through TIm Ferriss' "Four Hour Body" book. Hopefully I can show you some success this time. Let's roll...

Slainte,

RVonD

Oh yeah, in an effort to give you the TMI factor, I've started my diet today and have already taken three poops. It's not even noon. So there you go.

Fridge's Only Contribution To This Blog In A Year and a Half

I was sitting at the kitchen table today, having coffee and an english muffin, and talking to my main homie the Fridge. Naturally, the King of the Internet's duties are never over, so I was casually surfing the web when a link popped up from El Frigedaire himself. Please view:

http://deadspin.com/5545674/the-public-humiliation-diet-a-how+to?skyline=true&s=i

Now, normally I would say this was an insult to me, but if you read the article, it is probably the best diet I could ever think of doing. Get a scale, weigh yourself, and then post it for the world to see. Yes, at the beginning people will think you're a fat prick (more like people will think I'M a fat prick), but like drinking and masturbation; the more you do it, the less people seem to care. That's my experience anyway.

Thank you Fridge for showing us all the light.


Fried eggs and bacon,

R Von D

Seriously, What Is Wrong With You?

To quote Al Czervik, "now I know why tigers eat their young."

Seriously, if one of these idiots was my kid I'd beat the stupidity out of him, piss on everything he owned, then tell him I was just marking my territory because I bought all that shit. I just don't understand the idiocy that is today's youth. What makes a child want to act like a werewolf. I mean, granted we've all been there. I remember wanting to be a werewolf or a dracula...when I was fucking six. Grow up you goddamn crybabies, you're not a supernatural being, you're a pussbag crybaby who wears colored contacts because you suck at sports. Must be tough to stay out for a full moon on a school night. And it's good to know that if I ever want to hunt werewolves, all I have to do is set up my silver bullets and rifles next to Chik-Fil-A in the fucking Food Court. Thank God for school uniforms.



God damn,

R Von D

If I Were Auditioning People For a Band:

...This kid is in. Hands Down. No question.

The World Is Now A Better Place For All!

The stars are aligning my dear ones. I think this spring/summer is going to be the best of my life, and here is the proof.



Bo knows video games!

RVonD

FRIDAY!! AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

What is this movie? Where do I buy it? Why wasn't I told about this?




-D

More Adventures With My Grandmother...

I moved back home. Yes, the illustrious R Von D is a "boomerang kid." I needed to save money for my impending nuptials. Frig off.

So naturally, I've had the chance to spend a good amount of time with my lovely Nana. You may have read the last post that centered around her, so some of you may or may not already be privy to this one-of-a-kind gem. And while she is still the larger-than-life geriatric, things have changed a bit...she thinks she's dying.

Yes, we have moved on from simply complaining about inane things like the price of oranges, to full on acceptance of death's cruel embrace. Let me walk you through how this whole thing unfolded.

About a month ago, my mother had her knee replaced. This came with things like in-house physical and occupational therapy, a walker, and later a cane. And God bless my mother, she never complained, never wanted any help, and basically was a saint about the whole thing. Then, about two weeks ago, in the throws of my mother's recovery, my grandmother fell in the driveway coming home from "beeno"...or to the lay person "bingo." Now, I understand that an 83-year-old woman falling on a drive way in the winter is a pretty scary thing. And to be honest, we were all concerned a bit, but the next day she was walking around fine and was even laughing about her spill.

Now, over the last couple of weeks, Nana has progressed from "oh, I'm fine, dear" to "I'm ready to go." Inexplicably, we went from laughing about her fall, to:
"I think I have a black and blue,"
to "I think something is broken,"
to "I need to go the the emergency room RIGHT NOW...but I don't want Judy to drive me because of her knee, and I dont' want to be a bother, I'll just call an ambulance...but if you or your father don't mind driving me, that would be fine...I just don't want to be a bother."

Amazing.

So, she comes back from the doctor and the diagnosis was "a pinched nerve..maybe." No cracks, no breaks, not even a visible bruise. Just some discomfort for the normal person. I will now tell you that I went the next three days not seeing my grandmother even though we live in the same house. Because walking up the stairs is "just too much" for her. I DID, however, get to go to the drug store and get her stool softener and other medications though. That was great picking that up. Now, you may be wondering why I brought up my mother's knee replacement earlier. Well, dear reader, Nangus has utilized all of my mother's walking aides, including her cane AND her walker, because things are just getting to be too much for her to walk around the basement. And any attempt by my mother to explain to her that she's fine and that she's "just feeling sorry for herself" (MY MOTHER'S WORDS...NOT MINE!!) are met with "Well, I guess I'll just go to 'the home.'"

I will go on record and tell you that I love this woman. My siblings and I seriously feel that she is the female Keith Richards and cannot be killed by conventional weaponry. The Queen Mother of Guilt will forever go on muttering about death and pain, and I can't wait to see what she has my mother send me out for next. Hopefully diapers.

Oh, just in case you were wondering what one does all day down when you're near death, can't poop, and can't drive. My dear grandmother, who has been pretending to be an invalid the past week is, no word of a lie, currently at the hair dresser. Because if the Grim Reaper comes a knockin', you better have well-quaffed old-lady hair.

Prunes and plums,
R Von D