This Ain't About my Abs

For a year that actually found praise for the new definition of “guido” and actually consider a reality show of dirty Italians as one of the greatest sociocultural experiment of our modern times, does it say a lot of what we’ve come into as humans? ets put t this way, I might even put “the abs” between my name now. I don’t have abdominals but I digress.

I might as well shove it into people’s faces now - something else, not the abs.

It’s one of those moments wherein you just snap and see what you ought to have seen for the longest time. Yes, I think I have been just holding on to certain things a tad too long now, hoping things would change, people would change and that they would be perceptive as what I am to them. Guess I was wrong yet again. Each time I checked, I only got disappointed.

Swimming to the same ocean over and over and eager to see a curb in the wrongful nature on certain fishes, murky waters, and fishes from murky waters, I was so hopeful I crossed my fingers for the nth time only to realize, as that old adage goes, “you can take a guppies from the mud but…” I should’ve just raised the middle finger instead.

Maybe I was just too hopeful… too optimistic… that people would just get over themselves and actually try to be supportive of their friend that had nothing but good intentions, supporting them in all their interests and, well, maybe giving them the occasional knocks on the head… And that people should say or imply whether you didn’t have a chance to begin with and not make us think otherwise. Not everyone can be Sookie when they’re more of a Jason… And maybe the buffoons did try to run the show and I get it. We can’t all be Smarty’s and Brainda’s because that would make us all equals and that’s just wrong… but for buffoons to actually think they’re better than everyone else when they’re not, that’s just godawful (I’m not talking about Survivor Nicaragua) because at the end of the day, we all know who is the loser. And I don't want them to forget that. Just keeping the rightful order of things, suckers.

I have been too patient for so long that I forgot sucking it up and holding it in would be just too boring to any producer. What would the Jersey crew do, right? Blow up. Rage. Fist pump. Or in my case, call it out to the world.
Think guido and try not to be Zuckerberg, i remind myself, no matter how some people claim that the first 10 minutes of the Aaron Sorkin adaptation paralleled to how big of a dick I was. (Cause célèbre blog anyone? But that’s another story.)

But then again maybe I was never guido. Maybe I just liked the thought of being one. Maybe I just liked the entertaining the idea of pulling off things a sane and normal person would have to do a facepalm to in the morning, during a hangover. Or maybe humanity is at an all time low. Whatever it is, if there’s one thing that I’m really sure of, it’s that Zuckerberg and I, big dicks that we are, we don’t have abs.