Spirit Animal

“Do you want more abundance and success in your life? Your personal vibration frequency could be the thing holding you back.”

What the heck!?

I saw that last night on a new age website while I was reading about my spirit animal. What? Like you don’t spend your Sunday afternoons studying Neoshamanism philosophy?

I all could think was, “I’ve been so wrong for so long.” Here I was thinking a lack of success was due to laziness, ignorance, or poor commitment. I had NO idea personal vibration frequency was to blame. How do you even find out what frequency your person vibrates at??

Anyway, Jenn and I were talking to a friend about Spirit Animals. I’m not into the spiritual significance of the relationship, but i’m SO interested in the personality correlations that come out of test like Myer-Briggs, Enneagram and, of course, Spirit Animals. So I had to know…what is my spirit animal? Based on my masculine physique, you’re probably thinking it would be a lion or a bear or maybe a lion/bear combo. I just didn’t want it to be something dumb, like a frog. I apologize if that is your spirit animal. Hopefully you’re at least poisonous.

Turns out, my spirit animal is totally legit. A Hawk.

I can’t say I’m surprised though. Hawks are intimidating and powerful. I get that a lot as well, so…

As I was reading the description, it had nothing to do with what I thought. Again, this is just silly, fun stuff to read about. Here’s what it said:

“Hawks are the messengers of the Spirits. Adept with language, you might be a writer or a teacher. Your ability to assess situations impartially means that people often seek your guidance before making decisions. A brilliant visionary, you sometimes forget the mundane details of life like eating, sleeping, or paying bills.”

I don’t know about a brilliant visionary, but I definitely forget the mundane details of life. My wife can attest to that. Anyway, interesting stuff, huh?

So if you want to improve on your personal vibration frequency, take the test and tell me what your spirit animal is.

Spirit Animal Quiz

#powerofthehawk

The Body

I’ve been told a bunch of times that I look like Adam Levine, but with the body of Hugh Jackman. Like if the two of them had a love child, it would be me. I’m not gonna lie…I get it. My physique is to fitness what green is to grass. Through my veins flows 50% creatine and 30% wild oak. The other 20%, you ask? Don’t need it. I can do with 80% what you do with 100%.

My wife told me a while back that she didn’t want me to die, so I should start exercising. Really!? Those are my only two options?

I decided that dying is only slightly worse than exercising, so when the wife bought Jillian Michaels’ “Ripped in 30” DVD, I began the longest 30 days of my life. We were about 35 days from going to Hawaii at the time, so I didn’t have any time to dilly-dally. If you’ve seen me lately, you know the videos worked. I’ve got the body of a woman.

I started to get a little worried about the target audience for the videos when, during the Kegel exercise section, Jillian said, “You want to wear that strapless dress, ladies? I need three more!” I asked Jenn, “Are these videos for girls?” She told me that they weren’t, but I can’t help but think that she was wrong.

You got burned!

“What is that on your arm!?” he asked with a disgusted face.

“It’s a burn,” I replied.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I burned myself on my motorcycle,” I said

“You have a motorcycle,” he asked, looking skeptical.

When I confirmed his question, his head almost exploded. I understand the confusion, given my body type and general feminine qualities. However, your confusion is misguided chumps, because I am all man. Actually, that’s not completely true, so the motorcycle question is a valid one. I shall take your questions now….

Q: “Is your ‘motorcycle’ really a Vespa?” (Sally from Orlando)

A: “No Sally, you smart ass. It’s a ’95 Honda Magna”

Q: “Is it pink?” (Nick from Los Angeles)

A: “No, but it is purple…which is the color of royalty.”

Q: “How did you burn yourself on the arm? Don’t most people who get motorcycle burns get them on their legs?” (Jenn from Arroyo Grande, who also happens to be the wife of the victim)

A: “Good question, Jenn. Yes they do usually get them on their legs, but I was syncing the carburetors and was trying to get to a screw with my arm, not my leg.”

Q: “You know what carburetors are?” (Jenn…again)

A: “Not until I Googled it. Which is probably why I burned myself.”

Now that we’re all caught up, I should tell you that the burn was pretty gnarly, but it’s healing nicely. Jenn thinks I’ll have a scar, which is pretty cool. So now I’m a man with a motorcycle AND a scar. What’s up now, fools!! So if you see a tiny man riding a purple motorcycle, give him a little wave – or a salute. A salute would be much cooler.

Exercise is for men being chased by bears

A few months back, my wife approached me with a simple request – don’t die. She was implying that I begin to exercise in order to save the old ticker. Little did I know that exercise is one of the most gratifying experiences known to man…if that man was a self-masochist. So unless you’re running from a predator, I wouldn’t recommend it. But I told my wife I would do it, so I thought I should have a goal to keep me on track. A doctor friend of mine challenged me to a triathlon in March, and I thought, “perfect.” Swimming, cycling and running. Can’t be that hard, right? Actually, my first thought was “Crap. I want to quit and I haven’t even started training yet.”

I’m not really worried about the swimming portion of the triathlon, because I’ve always been a good swimmer, and I’ve been surfing for ten years. Sure, I’ll have to train a bit, but the swim isn’t what I’m concerned about. Actually, I can do any of the three independently – it’s just doing them all in succession that scares me. I should tell you that the triathlon I’m doing is the sissy version. The lengths of each event are quite a bit shorter than a normal triathlon, but I’m not ashamed – it’s still way more than I ever thought I would do. (Actually, I haven’t even registered yet because I want to give myself the option of backing out at the last moment).

I started running shortly after my wife threw down the gauntlet. Everyone told me that it would be tough at first, but that I would become obsessed. I didn’t believe them, but wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. I bought the right shoes, downloaded a running app, and hit the road. After months of consistent running, I’ve only got one thing to say about it. Running still sucks.

Now, on to cycling. I don’t have a road bike, so I called my father-in-law. He’s got a legit, expensive road bike, which he agreed to let me borrow. The first thing I noticed about the bike was the seat. I might as well have branding irons glued to my crotch. I rode it twenty yards to the mailbox and I’m still not sure if I’ll ever be able to father children again. I knew I had to get padded cycling shorts, but there are two problems with that. Number one, I don’t wear shorts – ever. Number two, there is nothing more embarrassing than cycling shorts. I picked up a pair on Saturday at a local sports store in preparation for my first ride on Sunday. I got changed into my cycling gear and gave my wife a quick teaser before heading out the door. I was nervous to be out in public with these offensively tight shorts because, well, they tell a little too much of the story if you know what I mean. Basically, they are socially acceptable boxer-briefs. Except that they’re not really socially acceptable. This is where cyclist fool themselves.

Ultimately, I took to the country and completed a twelve mile ride with only mild pain. I’m told that eventually, I will get blisters in parts of myself that even I couldn’t see in a room made of mirrors. This is not comforting. As bad as that sounds though, I will say this, cycling beats running any day of the week and twice on Sunday. I never thought I’d get into it because cyclists look like toolboxes, but I might have to join their spandex ranks and swallow my pride.

The triathlon is still a month away, and I’m not training as seriously as I should, but at least I’ve found one part of the race that I might actually enjoy.

The Todd

(I am now convinced that this crap happens to me for the sole purpose of your entertainment. Such is my lot in life. That said, here is another horribly awkward true story.)

A few days ago, I went into my local bank to make a deposit. The tellers were all helping customers, but there was no one else in line, so I took my spot two feet behind the tellers, where the tile meets the carpet. I watched myself make funny faces on the TV monitor as I waited. The teller directly in front of me finished first. His name was Todd, which I deduced from his name badge. Todd was exactly as I imagined every Todd would look. He had spiky, dirty blonde hair, a one day old beard and rolled up sleeves. He was sitting on his bar stool, hunched over his desk with folded arms. Todd was too cool for school. He said, “What’s up bro?” I guess that was his way of asking me if he could be of any help. I stepped up to the counter and placed my deposit ticket and check on the counter as I told Todd, “Nothing much Todd, just a normal day.” “That’s what I’m talking about,” responded Todd.

I chuckled as he began the transaction. Then Todd said, “Bro, your jacket is super sweet…where’d you get it?” (That particular day, I happened to be wearing a Herringbone 3/4 Peacoat. Not that it matters) “Urban Outfitters,” I told Todd.

“Bro…could you do a spin for me,” Todd asked as he used his finger to illustrate the request.

Un-be-lievable. Was this actually happening? At that point, I had two options. To spin or not to spin.

Obviously, I was going to spin. But if I was going to do it right, I had to own it. So I took a half step forward with my left foot, placed all my weight upon the ball of my foot, and used my right foot to control the spin as I pivoted on my left foot. It was a perfect 3/4 speed turn.

“Nice spin,” said Todd. I nodded in agreement. Todd reiterated, “Yeah, that’s a sweet jacket.” “Thanks Todd,” I said as he ripped my receipt from the printer. Todd handed me my receipt, and as I walked away I thought that although I went in to make a deposit, I couldn’t help but feel as if Todd made a withdrawal.

The Dentist

I just got back from a visit to the dentist. DEAR….LORD. I’ll try to recap it accurately. First off, I had to use the restroom. When the mission was complete, I walk out of the restroom to find the hygienist waiting for me outside the door with her chart. That wasn’t awkward at all. Then she takes me to this robot that’s going to “take X-rays.” Yeah….right. The thing is spinning around my head at Mach 5 and she tells me, “If it bumps you, try to remain still.” I could tell this was going to be a long appointment.

Next thing I know, I’m sitting in the chair where she proceeds to “check my gums.” The dentist walks in next and says, “Hey Trav, how the hell ‘ya doin?” Hmmm….let’s see here. “Well, your lovely assistant here just finished poking my gums with a needle-sharp instrument just to see if I would bleed. How the hell do you THINK I’m doing?” Turns out I bled in 22 places. They would like to get that number down to 10. You know what? So would I. I told them that if they only want me to bleed in 10 places, they need to only poke me in 10 places. It’s simple arithmetic people.

Here’s another question. What do you do with your hands while on the table? Normally, when people are being tortured, they are at least given a stick to bite down on. It’s common courtesy, really. But since the pain is coming from the area said stick would be placed, that’s not really an option. So I am forced to use my hands to express the pain I’m in. Normally this involves making a tight fist…just in case something goes down. The hygienist said to tell her if I’m in any pain by raising my hand….like I’m going to be the one sissy who actually does that! So instead, I just sat there, playing with my wedding ring, wondering what would happen to my wife and child if I didn’t make it.

Well, that’s about it. In closing, I believe that dentists have no soul. I’m sure they’re good people, just empty inside. I would love to be proven wrong, but experience tells me otherwise.