Venison sausage and Warsteiner go great together going in, but I'm pretty sure my resultant farts are the reason Eric Garner couldn't breath. Normally you can't smell your own farts, so after they have made me vacate multiple rooms in my house, this brings me now to a good question: At what point is the end result (toilet-staining shit/room-clearing farts) not worth the means (a delectable dish)? Focus: What have you done that was great while it happened, but the after-effects just weren't worth it? (hangovers excluded, and I'm glad dixie isn't here to talk about his drinking and driving) Alt. Focus: To my original question, what has to happen for the end result of something awesome, to not justify that awesome thing? There's a tipping point right?
In my experience, dating a very attractive girl was not worth it because of how tragically stupid she turned out to be. After a few weeks of fucking each other's brains out, it would have been nice if she could hold a conversation without asking what certain words meant, not knowing about anything that was going on in the world outside of Pinterest, and having no common sense whatsoever. She's a newscaster now, which is absolutely shocking. Bump.
I regret how much weight I cut during my high school wrestling years. I went from around 155 to wrestle at 135 my junior year, and about 170 to 152 during my senior year. Sure I was more competitive on the mat and while I wasn't even that great, it seemed worth it at the time. However the effects on my personal life were awful. My mood did a complete 180, it crippled my social life, and I was depressed after the season. Sounds real healthy too, right? That number on the scale became more important than a lot of things and in hindsight that is so fucked up as a high school athlete. If I have kids and they want to wrestle I'll encourage it because it's still a great sport- except for the weight cutting. They won't do what I did. Alt-focus: Not being depressed > imaginary high school sports glory.
Food wise, asparagus makes everyone's pee stink, but holy hell does it fucking slay me. I love it, it goes with so many dishes and is healthy. Yet the smell is so rancid to me, I always regret it even though I think about the after effects mid bite. Red Velvet anything is also the same thing. If you eat enough of it, it looks like you're shitting out blood, mix that with some drinking, and a dish with corn in it...nightmare in the toilet.
Cheese, of any variety. It tastes so damn good, but makes your breath near instantly lethal-grade tear gas.
Does the existential crisis of exchanging my adult life for a Masters degree count? Sure, I have this advanced degree that looks good on paper and I can tell myself I'm working towards something important, but I am also a 28 year old woman who lives with her parents and can't find a job that will pay enough to live on my own AND pay into this huge amount of debt I've built up. I also do not have time to socialize with other human being because I work every weekday, most nights, and every other weekend just so I can afford to pay student loan, car insurance, and the health insurance I signed up for so that I don't have to worry when I get sick. It also doesn't help that I suffer from crippling anxiety, but my ability to hold down a job makes it seem like I am much more together than I actually am.
I got "lucky" - I was a mediocre wrestler, and the 160-pounder was one of the best in the state, so he kicked my ass over and over again. I was forced to go to 171, which had nobody. As a result, I didn't have to cut weight. I got my ass kicked by anyone competitive at that weight class, though. I ended up going around .500 - a good amateur, but an easy win for any team captain. I ended up getting the flu, and my 165-pound frame became a 155-pound frame in about a week. One day, my coach put me on the scale. "155, huh?" "Yes, sir." "Well, I'm gonna fix that." He pulls out a fucking Domino's pizza out from his desk. "Eat it." "Uh... okay." I started eating the pizza, and after about three slices, I saw two of our lightweights staring at us through the glass window of his office. One of them was holding a dinky cup of Mandarin oranges; it was the only thing that he could eat that night. Both of them were looking at me with open, frothing hatred. One of them mouthed "Fuck you" at me. "Uh, coach? I'm not hungry. I can't eat any more." "Eat the fucking pizza." I look at my teammates, both of which are still staring at me with crystallized hatred. The other one mouths "Eat that fucking pizza" at me. I ate the pizza. That was my life, every day after practice, eating an entire pizza under the watchful eye of my coach and those two kids. Focus: Dating a woman twice my age. Lots and lots of fun, and she spoiled the shit out of me, but it had no pleasant way of ending. Ugly breakup, and completely predictable.
My junior year weighing about 190-195 and wrestling 215 kicked ten different shades of ass. I played fucking football my senior year (mostly to take a break from wrestling) and bulked up to about 240 cuz of stupid fucking weight lifting. Pulling 25 pounds of brand new muscle sucks. Playing football was a blast but starting that first pull gave me a small glimpse into ptsd sufferers. I realized I had the Oklahoma open coming up and stepped on a scale just to see where I was. I damn near had a panic attack on the scale. A day or two later once the freak out moment passed, I just started going to wrestling practice after football practice. Most of my football coaches didn't get it. And seemed rather affronted when I told them I had to get back into shape. Fortunately my D-End coach was a former wrestler/coach and completely understood. He even started letting me leave early. Despite the other coaches saying it set a bad example to let a starter leave early. I also fucked up my knee playing football. All for a sport I had no chance of getting into college with because of lack of experience. Focus/tl:dr : football was a lot of fun but fucked up and jepordize my wrestling chances.
I love sport of almost any kind and have given nearly everything on offer a run at some stage but by fuck does my body hate me now. Just the other week going for a 5km run and 3km in my calf muscle tore and there was a massive golf ball looking lump sticking out the side of my leg. As for the drinking so much beer and eating meat for days until you can make a smell bad enough that you could bottle it as a chemical weapon, I'll deal with that when it comes to pass because beer is awesome.
Forgot to mention my Master's degree. What a fucking waste of time and money. I aggressively tried to make friends and connections. Got 2.5 friends out of it, the few connections haven't turned into anything in 4 years and pretty sure all it does has gotten me eye-rolls. No one in the industry gives a fuck. The only people I impress are haughty assholes who think their worthless degrees are worth something.