I started doing a thirty-day abs and legs challenge. Basically, every day for five minutes I do crunches, sit ups and squats while thinking body shaming thoughts about myself.
I have twenty-five more days of this self-loathing to do but I hope to see results that force me into another thirty-day ‘come on fat ass, one more’ cycle.
I have purposely kept this new workout regimen on the down low out of a fear. Usually I fear things like failure. This isn’t the reason in this case. My fear is about another thing. I am afraid someone will see my status about sit ups or crunches and think, “I bet he would like me to message him and sell him some shakes or maybe sell him some work out tips!”
I am so sick and tired of people trying to sell me stuff on Facebook I have taken to spending time in the real world to avoid them.
Wrap Thingy Magic
These new age door to door salesmen are worse than the people who come to my door trying to help me find Jesus.
Profile to profile salesman. Always hitting you up with a greeting. Luring you into a false sense of conversation before trying to get their Mary Kay commission.
I can’t even hide most the time, Facebook won’t allow that. Right next to my name is a little green “I’M HERE FOR YOUR SALES PITCH” dot.
I like my money in my bank account. I don’t want to spend money to get in shape or wrap saran wrap around my waist.
This isn’t so much a post as a cease and desist order. And whoever is keeping these people in business please stop. I watch as one by one my friends become consultants and I worry that this virus will affect me and suddenly I will be posting videos on how to blend and make my eyelashes look ON FLEEK.
(On Fleek means on point. I hope, like I did with the term YOLO, to use it so much the kids find a new stupid fucking term to replace it with. My hashtag squad goals as an adult is to ruin cool terms for kids. One hunna bang bang bae bang bang scutta.)
I am really tired of friends turned consultants trying to get me to buy in to their magic cure for my laziness. “You can’t even taste the kale!”
Don’t fucking lie to me. I walk through the produce section of the store and get contact kale taste in my mouth.
Unless you are selling Girl Scout Cookies or your friday night to babysit my kids, don’t message me asking me how I am doing so you can try to sell me something. If you are trying to sell me something, be upfront with it. For example:
“Hey, I couldn’t help but see your round ass belly in that last profile picture of yours. Why don’t you lay off the meat sticks and blend up some green things and kill your taste buds before you have a heart attack, you fat motherfucker. While you’re at it, you can use this concealer to hide your acne because you’re not a fucking teenager but clearly don’t know how to wash your fucking face daily. Give me five hundred dollars and I will leave you alone for six months until you need to re-up.”
I actually might ask for your Paypal information if you sent that message.
Until then, back the fuck out of my inbox please.