Love the Life you Live, Live the Life you Love

Is it just me, or is the world closing in? The US has one of the highest population growth rates in industrialized countries, averaging about .89% (according to the United States Census Bureau), with nearly 25% of the population being under the age of 20. I feel like the entire growing population is concentrated right here in Boston. Actually, right here next to me as I watch this awkward Asian slowly close in on my study space. This seems to be a re-occurring theme with me: losing space. This is the second time some awkward little Asian has decided to move in on my domain and invite himself to sit at my table. The first time was at breakfast right before an exam (PS. why is it scarring dining hall experiences always occur right before a stressful exam?) I was eating my omelette, minding my own business reading my notes and he just sits right down at my table. Right down across from me. And eats his eggs in silence. It's like he didn't even notice I was there. Umm...hi??? Ther...

So I'm in my favorite class (Phonetics) on this dreary of a mundane Wednesday morning running on five hours of not-so solid sleep and my brain is dead from studying the works of Mill, Marx, Schopenhauer, Shelley, and Freud (Curse philosophers. By the way, one of those is not like others, I'll leave you to figure out which one.) I spilled coffee on my hand at Starbucks, my contacts are sticking to my eyelids, and some one took my favorite front row, middle seat. I have a long day ahead of me, which includes God forsaken track practice and my ever favorite philosophy class (curse philosophers again.) It is definitely not a happy hump day and, all things considered, I'm not on my A game. I'm not even on my B game. And if there were a C game, I bet I'd be absent from that one too. In fact, I got lost on the way to the ball park. So we're learning Phonetic transcription, duh. And we were practicing our voiceless lingua alveolar fricatives...also known as the S sound....

Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must outrun the fastest lion, or it will be killed. Every morning in Africa, a lion wakes up. It knows that it must run faster than the slowest gazelle, or it will starve. It doesn't matter whether you're a lion or a gazelle, when the sun comes up...you better be running.

I like to end on a positive note. That last post had me thinking of all the bad stuff guys do, so I want to give props where props are due 10. Cycling Kits ...pretty much only I think this is sexy. Well, me and my friend Liv...but we're both Triathletes so give us some slack...on this note I also love a guy in Rudy Project Sunglasses and a nice aero helmet. 9. Dark Jeans. But only if they're paired with loafers. 8. Peacoat s - they're sharp, sleek, no nonsense, and damn I love them. Add a scarf? I promise I'll swoon. 7. Glasses - but only sometimes, and on the right guy. Nerdy is sexy more often than not. 6. Chivalry - if he says please and thank you and is patient with the waiter, I notice. 5. Sweatpants - not crappy, ripped ones but the Nike ones with the stripes down the side or the ones that say a college down the side. Especially in the morning. Especially in the dining hall. Many girls have agreed on this. 4. 5 O'Clock Shado w - some girls hate, some girls...

Inspired by some recent observations...my personal list of Least Sexy things on a Guy. 10. Excessive tattoos. Sir, I guarantee your white ass self is not from South America or Africa. So what's with the tribal tattoos all over your arms? And when you're 70 do you REALLY want a red skull on your tricep? Didn't think so. 9. Jeans with New Balance Tennis shoes. Who came up with the fashion faux pas? Besides the captain of the chemistry team...which, in itself, can be sexy. Unless he is wearing New Balance tennis shoes with jeans. 8. Tube socks. Basketball is no exception. 7. Skinny Jeans... were made for women with no asses and skinny calves. Unless you smoke cigarettes and have a fixed gear, lay off the skinny jeans...especially black ones. 6. Murses/messenger bags. Be a man, carry your books. While you're at it, carry my books. 5. Excessive cussing. One, maybe two words in a conversation is badass and attractive. But dropping F bombs every other word? Makes me think ...

After seven years of meat celibacy, I've made the executive decision to start eating chicken again - and ONLY CHICKEN. Never will I gorge myself on a burger or pepperoni or, God forbid, bacon. I had my first taste of chicken yesterday, thanks to the support and love of my two best friends. B put on the Rocky soundtrack (nothing makes you want to eat meat more than blasting DUH DUH DUHHHHH! DUH DUH DUHHHH! you know, the Rocky sound track...right. Anyway.) and A was practically taking pictures, wonderful. It was only four pieces in my salad but I'm definitely not a fan. It was salty and stringy and dry and disgusting. As I was chewing on the carcus, I realized Triathlons have quite literally taken over my life. I've changed my party schedule, sleep schedule, shopping venues, and now, I've morals and values. Now on Saturdays instead of sleeping in and spending three hours in the dining hall nursing a hangover, I'm cycling to places like Weston and Walden pond. This is ...

Why does that title sound like some bad knock off of a Curious George book? Oh wait, that's because it is. The track is complete foreign land to me, I feel like a cat in a doghouse - maybe that would make me run faster? Okay, so it actually wasn't that bad, at some point I actually kind of thought "Hey maybe I'll do this again sometime...like next Wednesday." It stopped being fun when the lactic acid shriveled my calves, my breathing became wheezing, and I looked around and realized I was the only one sweating like an obese man at a 4th of July festival...then again I'm always the only one sweating like an obese man at a 4th of July festival. Why is that? At spin practice on Tuesdays I always have a small lake underneath my bike that could hold at least half the marine life of the Mediterranean Sea before the main set even starts, while everyone else is just chillin' out. Am I supposed to be working this hard? Maybe I just sweat like a man. I'll blame ...