IMPOSTER SYNDROME FOR THE TROPHY WIN

Just when you find a new celebrity crush, whether movie star, sports star, or blogger, they come out with imposter syndrome.

They are in complete control of their medium, whether film, field, or the page, at least that’s what you think.

Then you learn they are normal people with normal anxieties.

Who knew the rich and famous weren’t perpetually pumped up for action?

One year my wife seemed a little off.

Nothing stood out, but her enthusiasm was a little down.

So I pumped her up.

New jewelry? No.

A coat? No.

A vacuum? Wait, but no.

How about a pep talk and a trophy?

Okay, I hear you: “What woman needs a pep talk and a trophy. What is she, a grade school soccer player? Did you give a juice box, too?”

Actually, yes I did, but I called it a gin and tonic, not a juice box.

What about the trophy? She’s married to me so there can only be one: Goddess Of Victory.

That’s it on top in the Louvre, just not the one she got.

“Wifetime Of A Lifetime”

No imposter syndrome in that girl.

 

An Imposter Is A Fake?

Jack is no kind of Duck, but he looks good in the gear.

If he suited up, he’d be an imposter.

Movie stars playing athletes is tough, just watch Kris Kristofferson and Burt Reynolds in Semi-Tough.

 

 

There’s only one Hemingway, and it’s not me.

However I did visit places he’d been, like a restaurant in Valencia, Spain.

And I read the Carlos Baker book, sooooo . . .

(The paella needed something more, too.)

I also drove an Army ambulance, so we’ve got that in common.

 

 

Rocky is the greatest fighter in the history of Philadelphia?

You might think so?

But Mr. Philadelphia is former heavyweight champion Joe Frazier.

Fight me.

 

John Wayne is the greatest cowboy ever?

That would be Troy Aikman.

 

Imposter Syndrome Parents?

This is a grandpa acting like he gives a damn.

In the old days all parents and grandparents looked like this.

Then things changed.

 

Imposter parents with imposter kids?

Naw, just the group at Pioneer Square in the early 90’s.

It’s hard to keep up an act with a sharp wife and kids. They see through the bullshit eventually.

I’ve worked hard hard to prevent that inevitability. (Blogger)

When they do pull the curtain off my secret life, all they’ll see is me and their mother and them.

Some secret, right?

I was looking for that shirt the other day; the boots are in my closet like a trophy since I never wear them.

 

 

If anything, I’m a little ghosty about keeping up and checking in.

If I say, “We’re like family,” what I mean is I’ll see you in a few years.

Maybe longer.

The actual family doesn’t get that sort of break. Not sorry.

 

Imposter Syndrome Habits

We have a family saying about food that follows the plan.

We don’t throw it away. At first.

It needs to be 100% rotten, or that one tiny piece is going to show up somewhere.

The same doesn’t apply to people since no one is 100% rotten.

Does that sound right? No one is rotten to the core?

However, if you only listen to one side of the story, the other side will be what a trusted voice tells you it is.

Your Fox News folks have a knack for telling it like someone tells them it is.

Little Fox bros hear from their mentors, then put on a dark suit, white shirt and tie, and repeat what they’ve heard like it’s Moses from the mountain top.

But, they’ve got to suffer imposter syndrome. No one can sound so stupid and ill-informed.

From gootch tanning, to no bathing, to a desire to suppress women greater than it is to treat them with respect, it’s no wonder why the fellas complain about involuntary celibacy.

It’s more important to them to get up at five in the morning for a cold shower, a few good slaps, and tune into the most recent outrage on Fox.

More important to present their incel credentials to their friends and hug it out, than it is to find a woman who needs something extra in their life.

What the women don’t want is some pinch-faced little shit spewing talking points from their right wing platform heroes working through their own imposter syndrome.

Luckily, the dudes have each other for tea and sympathy, for comfort and condolence, while they spit their second hand poison.

“You’re the best, man. Thanks for listening.”

“No, you’re the best and I’m lucky to know you.”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“No, me.”

“Okay, we’re both lucky.”

“How lucky?”

“What?”

“What?”