Posted by: Pablo | July 16, 2009

MC Hammer swag, yeah I got that.

It has been a while.

The response to my last post was incredible. It may be hard for me to top that one, at least for a while. The last part of spring and summer so far has been amazing. Lots of stuff going on so I have been kept occupied. People getting married, visits from out the country, breezies, and etc. you know how I do it.

However, despite all of the activities I come to a realization. This September will be a year at my most recent job. Lots of life changing things are happening all around me, yet it feels like everything remains the same. I remember a coworker telling me that after he got out of school everything moved really fast. This particular notion is frightening. I do not like it and need to stay on my toes to prevent that from happening. It is not so much that I am opposed to conformity, but sometimes that comforting feeling can overcome ambition and that killer minority “beat the white man at his own game” drive I have had since childhood. I guess the best thing to do is keep a certain pace. There is a bunch of things I need to accomplish by the time I am thirty, even if when compared to most thirty year olds I am doing pretty damn good.

At this point I can appreciate the time spent in school. There is always a sense of accomplishment and progression. Once you are out there is no syllabus to guide you. At times it scares the shit out of me, but I guess at the same time it keeps things interesting. Lots of contradiction here but I know this is just a point where I have reached a crossroads. Interestingly enough, I saw this quote in a professor’s office that is relevant:

“If you know exactly what you are going to do, what is the point of doing it?”

–  Pablo Picasso

Why are people named Pablo so awesome? They hold it down for the crown and make it look easy.

What else? Since things seem to be on autopilot for the time being I do have a little bit of time to focus on myself. And by that I mean workout. A lot. I am talking damn near two hours a day. So far I have flattened the gut and gained some mass. Granted, my genetics are sort of goofy so you would not notice it much at first. Take my word for it though, the muscles are there. Touch them if you want but all I ask is that you at least buy me a drink. Just a bunch of basic body weight exercises and cardio with no Muscle Milk needed so far. Throw in that “Yoga for Martial Artists” dvd into the fray and you will see that I am not playing around with that hardbody status. Yes, yoga. Seriously, picture me in downward dog and chaturanga poses. Those workouts have made me ridiculously versatile. This isn’t some dumb ass guido routine for useless muscles. No better time to attempt such a feat than this summer. Thing is, what happens if I do get in awesome shape? Do I need to keep this retarded ass pace up? These hardbody routines aren’t even practical, but I guess that is the whole point. The main point is that yes, I am pretty serious about joining that MMA gym down the hill from my place. The goal is so that I don’t look like a bitch when I join.

Time for random events that have happened in the last few months…

Hot dog Stand Incident

Got really drunk…yeah big fucking surprise. Anyway, was with the LA 213-LBC crew getting loose with the goose. Homegirl wanted a hot dog. So what do we do? We go get some fucking hot dogs. Wait, let’s make it interesting. I was standing in line. Some breezy was standing behind us. For some reason words are exchanged. The sad part is I don’t even know what the fuck was said that started the whole ruckus. If I had to guess it probably had to do with me saying I would bang the shit out of her out loud.

So we get into it, and I insult her pretty good. Seriously, I can talk shit with the best of them. Even more so when inebriated, the hate just flows like water, and can crash, leaving victims bruised and battered. I noticed her boyfriend. He looked like your typical white boy douche bag. His long sleeve shirt was little too tight in the midsection. For me to call him out on that should tell you something because I will rock a medium sized shirt hella hard. So I put my arms up pleading for this douche to try something. Raymundo holds me back so I just keep talking shit. I tell him to go run some laps, up his cardio, and then come see me in these streets. By this point and time everyone was just looking at us. Roles were reversed, and now I was the dangerous out of control minority. Homies get their hot dogs and we bounce. I keep shouting “I fucking hate white people” all the way down the block. And after all that I left empty handed. No hot dog for my performance.

The best part is halfway home I fucking tripped and fucked up my hand. It was cut and I had an open wound on my palm for about a week. Must have been a sign from the gods that white is indeed right. They are my eternal enemy, and I will not rest until the righteous minorities are redeemed for their suffering.

808s and Heartbreaks

So check it, I am not one to put real personal shit out there so I will keep it simple. There was a girl…and I blew it. Hard. Devastation is what I felt deep inside. Real deep. That horrible sinking feeling lasted for a while. I seriously didn’t even feel like getting out of bed. Shit was that serious. Of course no one could tell since hardbody always prevails but I would have rather gotten jumped by minorities than go through that again. Unfortunately it is just one of those things that just happen. Not something I look forward to. Being “single” is great but I would be lying to you if it doesn’t get annoying to constantly be on point with my game. Breezies younger than me don’t know what the fuck they want yet and older more educated females want some lifetime commitment. Why must it be so difficult? Oh well. I will keep searching for my hardbody queen.

That is it for now. Time to get ready for the EVO trip to Las Vegas and hope nothing terrible happens.

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Responses

  1. Go join the freaking MMA gym already!


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