The title needs a question mark or else it’s grammatically incorrect. That’s the part of this post I found most depressing. Is that sad?
When I say “why am I alive,” I’m not asking a question. It’s being used as a descriptive statement. “Why am I alive.” will probably become a t-shirt, like Mark’s idea of two guys split-jerking with the caption “jerk buddies.” The illustration will be a donkey standing out on a hill in the pouring rain, while some noble-looking horses take shelter in the background. This is actually a scene I saw while driving down Southwest Parkway in Wichita Falls. I am the donkey standing in the rain.
My cousin skyped me recently. She was talking to me about her friend-making exploits at college, which have included a gay filipino and a potentially gay latino and some girls and some other dudes. She said, and I quote,
“Up until today I’ve only made six friends in three weeks, and today I made it a goal, I made it a goal to make more friends. I have to make more friends Brent, I feel so anti-social!”
And then she told me about how she went out and made three new friends in one day.
BRB she made more friends in two weeks than I have in 26 years.
BRB she can make her friends IRL, all my friends have been made on the internet.
BRB this chick I work with actively makes fun of me for having so many friends on the internet.
Why am I alive.
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The first friend I made directly off the internet was Josh. We trolled a livejournal community for some reason. Well, I know why I did it, because I was a fucking piece of shit dickhead. Josh at the time was trying to spark legitimate discussion about lifting in a community full of virgins who quite literally didn’t even lift (of like 2000 members, only a couple dozen posted, and of those couple dozen, only 3 or 4 actually lifted weights heavier than 115lbs). We both trained with vigor and were all about the squatting and the deadlifting and the passion. One day I think I get a PM from him, he’s asking if I will meet up with him and give him some coaching.
He offers me payment.
I legit loled at the idea of someone paying me to “coach” them and instead just said we could meet up for a workout together.
So he gives me directions to his place in Arlington and I drive an hour to go meet a strange man off the internet to lift in his garage.
Long story short, I’m still here, and I still don’t know what a man’s dick feels like inside me, so really I’d say it turned out a lot better than one would expect. Sometimes I will get a text at work and the doctor asks me, “Who’s that, one of your girlfriends?” and I’ll say “nah it’s a dude,” then the doctor says, “Son what are you gonna do with yourself?”
We’re like Pinky and the Brain, and we kind of trade-off on roles. We spent much of the early part of our friendship trying to make his garage a fully functional gym – we broke the squat rack he had once we loaded 300lbs+ on it enough times, and his bar bent when I dropped a 175lbs snatch from overhead to the hang (it bent across my upper thighs). So we tried to think of ghetto gym set ups, like a wooden squat rack, and ultimately failed at everything. We could have planned better and had more common sense. Most productive thing we did for his garage was put a platform together and bought a Rogue S-1 rack, which is now in my living room. Eventually we both got memberships at 24 Hour Fitness and that was our thing (we discovered that his garage floor was not even so … /hand motions).
Sometimes we would take videos to troll the livejournal community which we both hated and we were like “oh man we are gonna troll them so hard, they’re gonna think we’re so cool.” Good thing that never happened.
Now we meet up once or twice a month, train, eat pwo meals, and walk together at a park afterwards.
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