Category Archives: Tony Robbins

Oh 2017, How You Gave the Miserable a Reason!

So, how was your year?

According to a few sources: TV, Social Media, Radio, even fucking Church!  I mean isn’t Church the eternal optimist?  You come here, religiously (pun intended), and when you die, you go to this little place of dancing angels and smells of chocolate chip cookies called Heaven.  Well, even Church said 2017 sucked.  And since we put such faith in what we see on TV, read on social media, hear on the radio, and believe in at Church; it must be true then, huh?

Story Time with Uncle Keith

When I was 25, I went sober for three months.  For the life of me, I can’ t recall the reason, but with laser-like accuracy, I suspect I made an ass out of myself, was going broke or both. When the drinking and drugging ceased, I lost a shit-ton of weight, got into the best shape of my life, and college became not only easy but fun.  And I actually had sex with, by far, the hottest girl I met at that time of my life. Granted, she was cheating on her boyfriend with me, but I was never, or could ever be the adulterist, so conscious = clean.

Then I fucked up my back.  It was due in part to sleeping on a feather bed a friend gave me. It was due in part to the refusal to stretch before and after I worked out. And it was due in part to the fact I’ve always suffered from sciatica.

Oh, and did I mention sex with the hot girl cheating on her boyfriend?


Or it was due in part to God saying “Fuck you! You’re about to learn the most valuable lesson of your life.”

Nonetheless, I was making my way into the ER wearing a baggy pair of American Eagle sweatpants, no underwear, a pair of flip-flops and a hoodie that smelled like really good weed and Berries and Creme Starburst.  Remember those? Holy shit were they cubed crack. Not the actual crack…That’s for another blog.

“I’m going to put you on a painkiller and muscle relaxor”. – The doctor or whatever she was informed me.  She had a badge, a stethoscope, and a notepad, so clearly she was in charge.

Yet, I suspected my appearance was what caused her to tell me what she assumed I wanted to hear.  God, I hope that wasn’t the case…That’s for another blog.

“Please don’t.” I honestly pled.

I never had a problem with pills. Other than snorting Ritalin and Tylox in the back of my friends VW Golf in the late 90’s while listening to Phish, 311, or Sublime.  Along with Heroin, pills weren’t my thing. Everything else though…That’s for another blog.

“Sir, that’s what you need.”

No, it wasn’t. For the pain maybe. It was the last fucking thing I “needed.”

I reluctantly accepted her verdict, took the note, hobbled my way to Walgreens, grabbed some more of those starbursts, grabbed my pills, and headed for the couch.

I was so blind, ill-equipped, and unprepared for what awaited. For you see cats and kittens, a week later, after my script ran out, after I smoked more weed, ate my delicious starbursts, and devoured those pills in a week when they were supposed to last me a month:

I “needed” something…anything…

I don’t know what it’s like to be asthmatic and need a shot of my inhaler. I don’ know what’s like to be a diabetic and need a shot of insulin.  I don’t know what it’s like to be near death and need something to survive.

But I do know what it feels like to need a drink.

And, I don’t want to sound ignorant or obtuse to the aforementioned and so many more; but that feeling, the feeling of needing a fucking beverage so much that if…

Have you ever had to pee really bad? I mean so bad that you if don’t piss, you’re about to do something you will pay a shrink or go see Tony Robbins to recover from? We all have, right? Now think of the moment where the toilet was in front of you. The greatest and worst moment of your life.  Because the toilet is finally in front of you, yet you regretted wearing skinny jeans, tight boxer briefs with no piss hole, and a belt with a Fort Knox like belt buckle.

The levee is about to break and what happens next is out of your control…

It’s worse than that.

Moments later,  was a glass of scotch.

Moments, days later, it was a bottle of scotch.

Moments, a week to the day later, I was informed my dear friend killed himself.

He wasn’t so dear a few days prior when he called me and I couldn’t answer because I was too “hungover to talk”…

I had my reason to loathe me.

I had my reason to despise me.

I had my reason to be a victim.

I had my reason to go numb.

I had my reason to be irate.

I had my reason to be hopeless.

I had my reason to have a reason.

I had my reason to drink, to drug, and to make up for three months lost time.

And I went on a rampage of self-destruction.

If it was, in fact, God saying “fuck you”, I was about to say “fuck you” right back…

New Years Day, 2018

Did you know by smiling, simply smiling for a brief period of time, your mind will change in emotion? Seriously, you will be in a better mood by simply smiling.
Try it.

Thanks Tony Robbins!


So, the next time you wake up and you’re homicidal and/or suicidal; think of the words of Jerry Garcia,

“Nothin left to do but smile, smile, smile.”

Raise of hands, how many of you are thinking:

“Go fuck a tree and sing kumbaya you goddamn hippie”?

I once saw a tree and wondered if a hippie drugged and/or drunk would try to have intercourse with it…


Anway, time after time, the mind is freaking out in a cage. Trying to escape the confines of an odd shaped skull. Nowhere for it to journey off to.  And if, if it does, and the mind is permitted to take one of those long drives through the country of Vermont on Route 22A; it’s suddenly broadsided by the semi-truck carrying the cargo of reality on its 18 wheel frame.

But, if we smile, we can pretend to be happy!!!

I started writing this before Christmas 2017. A holiday, many of us treasure, many of us are apathetic about, and many of us avoid.

I treasure it.


Christmas Eve was always a special day for my mom’s family. We’d all get together, more often than not without my father in attendance…”Many of us avoid”.

Well, while the others ate and drank, I anxiously and impatiently waited for Santa.

I still do.

One of my uncles, typically my Uncle Benny, he would come down cloaked in Santas clothes and hand out gifts to all of the grandchildren.  Me, being the oldest, thought and still do believe it’s all about me. And it’s a wonder why I don’t have children…

Benny was the best Santa.

Benny will always be Santa to me.

We almost lost Santa this year.

Benny had a heart attack that should have killed him.  Emma and Quido almost had their son way too early.

Not yet…Not yet.

2017, you tried and in many cases succeeded in inflicting pain.

But listen up you cunt of a year; with pain comes the opportunity to be heroic, to overcome and to possess grace.

Grace for what we have. Benny overcame his heart attack, fought back and is 25 plus pounds lighter. And you think we have a fucking shortage of heroes these days?

Grace for who we are.  The son of strugglers that struggled but never gave up! The brother to my inspiration.  The nephew to a village of uncles and aunts that are older brothers and sisters.  And the patriarch cousin showing what not to, and what to do with your life!

Grace for what we are. And that’s alive my friends.

2017 came in like a Tsunami in downtown Rutland, VT.


We don’t have Tsunami’s in Vermont, so, you know, it was “unexpected.”

Don’t get me wrong, many foresaw this, because of, well..,


Here is the thing though, when there is a storm, the sun will shine again. Hotter, and brighter than ever!

I once saw an Instagram post saying:

“Without darkness, you’d never see the stars.”

Ya, I think that’s horseshit.

It may have something to do with the fact it was a meme my ex-wife posted shortly after divorcing me.

Maybe a little.

And don’t be so goddamn sanctimonious! Like you haven’t heavy breathed on your ex’s social media window!

I also don’t care for the language in that meme either.

Why is difficulty always dark?

Why does life have to be dark?

I mean, Dark Chocolate is so spectacular that fat people everywhere are gorging themselves with the Lindt 2 for $4 special at Price Chopper.
“I’m anti-oxidized!”

Why can’t life be like the weather: Unpredictable? Yes. And it is unpredictable,  I don’t give a shit what Jim Cantore says:

When was the last time you were that pumped about anything like he was over fucking thundersnow?

Life has storms, and storms don’t last forever, and rarely do they happen multiple days in a row.

While darkness, darkness happens every goddamn day of our lives.  And if you’re in Alaska, well…fuck!

But with storms, we dry off, we shovel a path, and we rebuild.

I get it, many of you feel as if you’re in a 100-year storm but I ask:

Have you not toweled off when caught in the rain?

Have you not created a new path while shoveling snow?

Have you not fixed something that you loved when it was broken?

In 2018, go find your towel my friends. But, not one of those really comfy Better Homes ones from Walmart. They fucking suck when they’re wet.

In 2018, go find your shovel my friends. I recommend the ones with the curved handle and the blade at the end. Found at the Safety Wearhouse, South Glens Falls, NY! (Welcome Patty! She’s a client)

In 2018, go find your glue my friends.  I highly recommend Gorilla Glue and not Elmers.  Elmer’s has this sweet aroma and icing like texture that just dares you to not taste it.

I quit drinking and doing coke just over 3 months after my friend gave me the reason I needed to be my own personal nightmare I couldn’t escape from.

Truth was, it was an excuse. Don’t get me wrong, those pills sure as shit helped.  And don’t get me wrong, Donald Trump, your job, your days, and your nights help make 2017 a massive hemorrhoid.

But here’s the thing…

I’ve been sober for just shy of 13 years since.

I stopped using him as an excuse to hate myself.

Stop using Donald Trump, stop using the economy, stop using all of these bullshit reasons to hate yourself.

In 2018, go get a fucking waterproof, really thick North Face coat, grab your hammer, and go take on the storm head fucking on!

And it’s okay to be afraid my friends…

For you see, with fear, comes the opportunity to be courageous!

In 2018, go be your own fucking hero!



The Life of Radio Salesman

I sell air.

If you give me an hour of your time, I’m pretty sure, no, I’m positive I’ll convince you that the air you breathe isn’t nearly as valuable as the air I’m selling.

How do I know that?

Because the air I sell you contains language and harmony. The air I sell can make you think, make you informed, make you laugh, make you angry, make you aroused, make you intrigued, make you cry, make you wonder, and make you dream.

While your air gives you life, my air makes you feel alive.

Do I honestly believe all that is true? Truthfully, I’m indifferent.

For you see, all that matters is that I convince you.

When I’m done, you will be absolutely fucking convinced my air is the greatest goddamn thing that ever happened to your miserable life.

Don’t get me wrong, I used to face the world of tangible products, aka a coupon.

I then went toe to toe with narcissism and bad acting that is television.

Then fucking Stern goes to satellite.

But, yet, like spam, and I’m not talking about the emails for dick pills or your long lost Dominican uncle that was worth billions just died. I mean like the can of jelly coated fake ham.

Like that spam, we survive.

Wanna know why? Because we don’t cost shit.

That’s right.

Think about it. Radio is totally free.  While everyone thinks we’re archaic, or worthless.  Guess what? We are!  We’re old and trusted and we don’t cost you, the consumer a fucking dime.  Call your cable company now, if you have one, and tell them you’re going to cancel.  Don’t own the top package? No worries, they’ll give it to you for what you’re paying now. Go ahead, try…You’re welcome for your 3 free months of HBO.

And are you receiving Sirius mailers like their fucking Bed Bath and Beyond Coupons?  If you wait, they’ll pay you to listen.

Yet here we are in radio, in all our canned, slimy, pink glory.

Oh are we currently going at it with the “sexy” analytics that is digital? Yes. Why? Because, right now, analytics are to businesses what cocaine was to 1981 Miami Beach.

At least that’s what they’re being told.

Does anyone know what an impression is? No, I’m not talking the sweaty outline of your fat ass peeling your almost dead body off your yoga mat.  It’s when you see an ad. Or more than likely, don’t see an ad.  Think about the boxes on the right that show some donkey getting jacked…..think about the pair of shoes on your Facebook page, that you JUST looked at on the G.H. Bass website.  It’s called retargeting.  Did you buy or get pissed? I bet you in your subconscious you were not only annoyed, but creeped out.

In a world where paranoia and fear are as regular as those goddamn Bed Bath and Beyond Coupons,(I have enough to build a fucking lean-to) all digital advertising does is make you feel invaded. It doesn’t convince you to do jack shit.

And if it does, I ask you to dig a little deeper before making a decision.

You ever hear a funny radio commercial?

You did, didn’t you?

Of course, you did.

Ever laugh at a pair of shoes haunting your soul the next 24 times you go anywhere and everywhere on the World Wide Web?

Don’t you get it?

We like to be told stories.  We all do.  Whether through person, song, film, book, game, et cetera. Don’t believe me? What’s that book of stories that so many people read?

Oh yeah, the FUCKING BIBLE!

On radio. We tell you stories.

And we’re damn good at it.

Our stories can inform you, anger you, sadden you, and of course, humor you.

I leave you with this thought, I took statistics a couple times, so I’m going to say I have zero credibility on the subject. But you’re reading this, and that’s because I’m a good storyteller.   Or, a good bullshitter. Many will choose the latter and I am one of them.

Nonetheless, for my final project, I was to present something based on statistics, in, well, my 16th Century European History class! Goddamn, my A.D.D and repetitiveness get so fucking annoying.  Seriously, I’m the guy that has ham at Easter and talks the next 3 weeks about:

“Why don’t I eat more ham?”

Because, it’s fucking ham…

Anyway, I had this statistics project and  I did mine on the NFL QB Rating.  Wanna know how they compute the NFL QB Rating? No, you really don’t, but allow me to cut and paste:

Start with .095 and subtract interceptions divided by pass attempts. Divide that product by .04. To gain 2.375 in percentage of interceptions, a passer would have to go the entire season without an interception. Add the sum of 1-4, multiply by 100 and divide by 6

If you can figure that out, you’re an asshole.  And you may always be an asshole. So own it…being an asshole.

Anyway, during my presentation, I read what I plagiarized to the class, and then asked the class, what’s the one thing that is not represented in that entire equation?

…wait for it…


I don’t mean the Wilson sisters.  Even though, I saw them live one summer and they fucking killed it. Best show of the summer. And I saw Phish, Motley Crue, and Journey that same year.

Ya, not them.

The one thing that we can’t measure in any Nasa nuclear quadratic, (by the way, I typed quadramatic. Thanks red squiggly line because I didn’t have a goddamn clue.)  formula that only can be understood by (stereotype) an Asian student at M.I.T?

It’s our heart.

Don’t be a douche and say and EKG. You know what I mean and you’re about to kill the moment and my momentum…

Not only does radio make your heart dance, your heart sing, your heart race and your heart gently weep, but we play Heart too!

Radio doesn’t try to predict your decisions…radio just helps your heart make them.

And the last time I checked, the best decisions I’ve made, you’ve made, we’ve all made…

Came from your heart…





Tales of Serial Dater: The Do’s and Dont’s of Online Dating

We’ve seen the commercials about finding someone special using an app and/or website.  You know the ones, they are usually sandwiched in between a pill that will get you to quit smoking, yet will cause you to tirelessly contemplate killing yourself.

But hey, at least you quit smoking.

And the other commercial is about life insurance.

So, to recap, quit smoking by slitting your wrists, find the love of your life, then buy life insurance. Clearly they are in no specific order.  Because that would be, you know, influential.

Nonetheless, as you sit at home on a Friday night, binge watching Stranger Things,  while eating your 4th pint of Halo Top Ice Cream, you decide that you’re tired of being alone.

So, you do it, you sign up for online dating.

Your gender, age, race, or sexual orientation aside, this is a world unlike any other.


Well, allow me to elaborate by giving you what will happen as you create your profile and…well, what will happen immediately after.


For a man, you sit there and upload photos that you think are cool.  Ones of you doing stuff and photos of the stuff you like doing.

What do I mean?

Well, Vinny from Secaucus, NJ loves his IROC. So here are photos of him in his IROC. Here are photos of him shirtless washing his IROC.  And of course, a photo of his IROC, all alone in its glory.

Vinny will describe himself as a fun guy that loves to play hoop, have drinks with the boyz, and of course, his IROC. His primary objective is to land a hot broad that will be fun for him to go to the club with and show off to his buddies.


Meanwhile there is Bonnie from Burlington, VT.  She has photos of her hiking, her friends, her hiking with her friends, her dog, her hiking with her dog, and of course, the mountain she hiked, all alone in its glory.

Bonnie will describe herself as an intellectual that is down to earth.  She is looking for someone that will love her with or without make up, preferably without, someone that she can have coffee with, drink Pinot Grigio with, is kind to her dog, and will love spending time with her friends and family.

They couldn’t be any further a part.  Yet, so very similar.

Once they complete their profiles, they submit.

Then, all hell breaks loose.


Vinny will go on a Safari like Rainbow Randolph in Death to Smoochy!

Vinnies hunt consists of him:

Finding any and all ladies on there that attract him.  Not paying one bit of attention to what they’ve written, where they are and what they do.  All he looks at are the pics, and when he’s done, he’s liked all their photos, winked at all their profiles, and sent an obscene amount of emails. All with the elegant prose of:

“Hey, wanna hook up?” Written underneath a pic of his dick.  While in his IROC.

His reward:

Endless notifications from fictitious profiles from “girls” that look like they are supermodels, have zero standards in their “Wants/Looking For” and magically live in this town where the hottest girl in town IS the hottest girl in town because she has more than 9 teeth.  I’m from Vermont, so I have some expertise on that. All providing their email in their profile that looks like: merta@gamaledotcom

Meanwhile, theirs Bonnie. She hits submit, and before she even has the opportunity to go “shopping” for the man of her dreams…

Her reward:

Endless notifications from every man imaginable that likes all of her photos, winks, and endless emails with the elegant prose of:

“Hey, wanna hookup?”

And if she doesn’t respond to guys like Vinny, Vinny calls her a cunt and hopes she dies in hell.

Nice huh? And that of course is written underneath a pic of his dick, while in his IROC.

Before she has an opportunity to have an opportunity, she is already contemplating whether or not this has been the biggest mistake of her life.

With that, I give you my online dating do’s…Oh, and before I begin, you may be wondering what gives me the credibility to be your “Online Dating Guru”?

Well, please note what a parable is, and see if the stories above may seem somewhat insightful.

And no, I don’t own an IROC…

With that:


Be yourself.  Seriously, not everyone is comfortable writing about themselves.  And I get that. I have no problem with it per se, however, I understand there is a comfort level in it.  Seriously, you’re on an online dating site, whoring yourself out to the most eligible bachelor or bachelorette.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say confidence isn’t your strongest emotion.

So, if you’re uncomfortable about writing about yourself, don’t. Write about who you want to meet and what you want.  And if that is too hard for you, then what the fuck are you doing?!?

You don’t know who you are, or what you want?

My suggestion then, go find some porn and take care of business until you figure that shit out.


We don’t go on a road trip without knowing where we want to go do we? Sometimes people like to go for a drive. But they know who they are and why they are doing it.  And typically that is in an effort to “clear your head”.

Well, you subjecting yourself to this world is in hopes of finding love…right?  Or it may be to get laid.  Again, if that is the case, you have some standards now don’t you? And if you don’t please refer to the porn comment a paragraph ago.

Point being, if you don’t know who you are, or what you want, then you will suffer immeasurable pain.  You will be treated like shit by some piece of shit that is just like you.

You will come across serial daters, such as…

Spac Profile Pic

And they are just as lost as you, and will tell you all the things you want to hear in an effort to make themselves feel better. Which of course it won’t.  So, what do they do? Take you for granted, take advantage of you, and take away your dignity as they walk away like you never existed.  All after they made you feel like the greatest thing on earth since Blue Raspberry Airheads.

Insecurity has always been an issue of mine. Until this past week.



And when you’re insecure, you lack the confidence to be present with a woman you find attractive. To go engage them.  Instead, with online dating, you have all these “likes, winks, then emails.”  What ends up happening? Your expectations grow to unimaginable levels and the lady or man you meet doesn’t stand a Pint of Halo Top ice cream chance in hell.

This leads me to the next point:


Don’t fucking do it.  Don’t go online to date.

Imagine this, you meet someone online, you engage them, they like you, and you like them, then you meet, then you realize they suck, then what?


Why can’t it be like that with someone you meet at the grocery store, the gym, through a friend, through fucking Facebook?  At least on Facebook you can see all the photos they DON’T post on an online dating site.  Seriously! I’ve gone out with girls that had their profile pic on be a photo taken back in 2008!  Do you think she looks a little different in the fucking decade since?

Moral of the story.  Please believe in yourself.  Who you see in the mirror may be beautiful to a stranger.  Christ, we all get tired of certain people in our lives, seeing them day after day after day. So you can bet your sweet ass that your perspective may be a little skewed  when you see yourself.

To you, you may look nothing but ugly.

To another, you may be the most exquisite thing they’ve ever seen.

Good luck!



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My Date (not online) With Destiny (not a stripper)!

Due to severe sleep deprivation, (severe is a little dramatic, but you’re reading a story about a guy’s self-help experience, so you know…) due to arctic like conditions that caused a contingency from Russia, fucking Russia, to dress head to toe in winter clothing, due to the first real nutrition I’ve consumed is in the form of a Jamba Juice smoothie at the Baltimore airport, due to feeling like I’m toeing the high wire hovering above full blown sickness from the aforementioned lack of sleep, frigid conditions, and diet…

This may be a little “scattered”.

Oh and I forgot to mention something; due to the fact I just spent six days and six nights at “Emotional Boot camp” where my mind, body, and spirit were broken down in ways I didn’t know existed. I again may be a little all over the place.

For the past five days I was journaling experiences with great ambiguity out of respect to those I came across…Out of respect to those I came across…We’ll get back to “those” momentarily, but first a little exposition.

Last November I attended my first and only other Tony Robbins Live Event/Seminar. It is the highly affordable and highly motivating Unleash the Power Within. If you’d like to read about my experiences there, you can do so by searching previous blog posts.  You know, the ones before I wrote about my online dating exploits.

Spac Profile Pic

When it was all said and done, the primary theme, for me, was we’re not alone. You’re not the only one that thinks that  you’re going crazy because you can’t stop thinking about this. You’re not the only one that feels so alone while experiencing that. And more than anything, you’re not the only one that wonders if this is all your life is ever going to be.

And the other thing about Unleash The Power Within, or UPW as us Robbins fans refer to it as, it’s an adrenaline shot to the spine that lasts a solid couple months. I mean for fucks sake, I was asked if I wanted to interview for a promotion the day after I got back to a job I was intensely contemplating whether or not I should submit my resignation.

Truthfully, when I got back from UPW, you could of dared me to dry hump a radio tower 150 feet in the air while wearing a leopard print thong and I would of said:

“YES!” Made my “move” and started the climb like a 5’6, not quite as hairy, King Kong.  Little Tony Robbins inside humor there.

So, with that, lets get to West Palm Beach.

Date With Destiny was introduced to not only the masses, but myself via the vehicle of Netflix. In the opening scene, we are introduced to the presence that is Tony Robbins.  The same guy that flashed a huge tooth smile with his massive cranium and his hair super glued in it’s part, hour after hour, after hour, after hour every morning and every night in the form of an informercial.  An informercial that used to drive me nuts when it came on at 4am because I was just about to “get off” while watching the latest Girls Gone Wild spot.

Why 4am?

Yet, when the “This is a Presentation of Guthy Renker” credit appeared, followed by this guy telling me how I could not only get wealthy, but live an amazing life like 3 time Pro Football Hall of Famer Fran Tarkenton; I had no idea how much he cared.


I had no fucking clue that this guy cared, genuinely cared that much for his fellow man and woman. No clue. Not one goddamn clue. But there he was, telling this European with Red Shoes (Not Red Shoe Diaries, another thing I used to watch at 4am while…you know) how so many of us think our life is worthless because we had a bad day, a bad week, a bad month, a bad year. Yet, don’t realize how much we could accomplish in a decade.

That was the moment he got me.

This was followed by me Googling how much it would cost to go to said Date with Destiny.  Then I was backhanded harder than tennis ball hit by Andre Agassi with the thought:

“Holy fuck this is expensive!”

Then, well, then I went to the more affordable UPW.

And after UPW was done, after the willingness to fuck a radio tower was over, after I got the job promotion, I instantly signed up for the Super Bowl of self-help, my Date with Destiny.

And I almost fucked it all up.

Why? Because I’m an easily influenced douchebag when the one doing the influencing possesses an exquisite ass.

How? By calling my rep at the Tony Robbins Institute and requesting a refund.

She tried to talk me out of it, but I fought back.

“It’s too much money.”

“I want to use the money to go on a vacation with this girl I just stared to date.”

“Because I’m in love.”

Well, when you sign up for events of this nominal value and high in demand, they make you sign a pretty ironclad contract.

But, when I freak out, I freak the fuck out!

Clearly I didn’t need to go to something to strengthen my emotional state.

So, my rep looked into it…

Good thing it took a bit, because, well, the girl, the girl I was so in love with, broke up with me a week later.  Because she:

“Wasn’t feeling it…”

Peace bitch and your amazing ass.

I instantly called my rep and cancelled my request for refund.

Thank, God!

Little did I know WHY she broke things off with me.

However, I was just secured my seat to not only find out exactly why she did, but why I have always, as I put it, “sucked at relationships”.

Funny thing though, when I arrived in West Palm, I wasn’t ready for this shit.

Not even close.

For you see, when I landed in San Jose for UPW, I was taken to the hotel, dropped my bags off and then went straight to the event. All I was worried about was walking on hot fucking coals.

So you can say there was ZERO down time. There was zero time for me to think about what I was about to do. Now, in West Palm, I had a full day.

And what was I thinking?

I didn’t want to be there.

I was scared, legitimately scared. I barely slept that night. Which kinda sucked because  little did I know it would be the last “good night of sleep”  that I was going to for the next 6 nights.

Definition of good night of sleep during a Tony Robbins Event: More than 5 hours.

Definition of good night sleep during, well, life: At least 7 hours.

But, this was a perfect metaphor for changing our definitions in life. And that’s one, not the primary, but one major theme I walked away with:

Change your definitions.

What was the primary theme?

Well, when we registered we received a color and a number on our name tag. The opening night, we sat with our color.  The girl next to me, a beautiful young redhead was P-4. P stood for Purple.

And of course my mind raced as to why I was given the color purple.

What, did they think I was gay?


A pussy?

At least it wasn’t Pink…

Mr. Pink

For those that don’t know, we had to fill out a bunch of paper work prior to the event.  This will be relevant momentarily.

I was P-1. (In my mind: Pussy #1)  The seat next to her, the redhead,  well, after we switched, was a lady from Mexicali, Mexico that was forced to go by her husband of two years in an effort to save their marriage. And yeah, her English, not so much. Which is kind of critical when you’re told to share with the stranger sitting next to you. So her and I swapped partners, this is how the redhead landed next to me, because there was a beautiful young woman that sat two seats down from that not only spoke Spanish, she too was a P-1.

Little did I know who she was.

Little did she know who I was.

Little did either of us know what God had planned for us.

Author’s Note: You’ve heard me refer to God multiple times, and I will continue to do so.  Now, my faith is my faith, and I don’t care what yours is. I will simply say this, when we have something such as a God to believe in, then we can believe in ourselves, now can’t we? I’m a Catholic out of respect to those that I loved that are no longer here.  However, I could eviscerate the Catholic Church. No, not because there are priests from the same gene pool as Jerry Sandusky. But because, well, those reasons belong to me, just like my faith…See what I did there? 

Anyway, yeah, that night, that night we got separated into teams of 50 to 60 people. And that was the moment a man, an older man put his arm around me and told me that I was in the right place.

“Keith, do you know who Jeff Arch is?”

“No creepy old man with your arm around me at 2am.”

“Well, he wrote Sleepless in Seattle after his Date with Destiny.  You’re in the right place.”

He was my trainer Randy. And I adored that moment and I adore that man. And he obviously read the aforementioned material.

He informed us that we were “Team Phoenix” and wanted us to find a “buddy” to partner up with. I looked around and well, yeah, I’m a dude. Of course I wanted an attractive female partner.  It’s just my feminine energy that has long been radiating through me.  For those that don’t know me: My mom is a magnificent woman that taught me two things: 1) Work ethic and 2) How to shop.

And my desperation was permeating through my pores.  Until a smile, a beautiful smile looked at me. It was the aforementioned woman that sat two seats down from me.
This young woman was 30, from Ecuador, spoke perfect English, and was about to become one of the most important people I’ve ever met in my life.


The days and nights that followed were filled with much laughter, many tears, and the occasional being spat on by Tony as he “intervened” with a woman that caused us to, well, lets just say be our “Away Value of Frustration.”


We witnessed a couple find love, we witnessed suicidal people find the miracle in tomorrow, and we witnessed the person in the mirror change from a person who’s reflection we despised to a person we wanted to kiss.

We even witnessed the man, the warrior in us, kill the coward that didn’t want to come there.



For all of this and so much more, I thank you Tony Robbins for wanting to serve people like me.

Thank you for having an event that introduced me to stories that inspired me like a young black man that left a life of crime by selling everything he had to attend this event in efforts to change his life.

Thank you for having this “emotional boot camp” just to break me down so you could build me back up into a man I forgot I was. And the man I aspired to be.

And thank you for having an event that introduced me to a woman that was the perfect partner for 6 days and 6 nights that helped me discover the solutions to the problems that only existed in my head. All the while helping her discover that she IS strong enough for the life she chooses to live. She deserves to live!

While UPW motivated and showed us we’re not alone.  DWD (Not Down With Disease for you Phish fans) introduced me to the pure love humanity has to offer. It offered connections to the inspired and it offered connections to the inspiring. It is the Grad school for the dreamers that are willing to work for the dreams they covet.

Date with Destiny brought me to the place I’ve been dying to see:

A little place called Hope.

And that my friends, was the primary theme.

Mark Twain once said, “I’ve seen a lot of problems and only a fraction of them actually happened.”

Clearly he went to Date with Destiny.

And go fuck yourself if you come at me with, “You know Keith, Mark Twain lived in…”

Ya douche, I know….Way to kill the fucking moment.




Date with Destiny: Day Five

For the first time, I going to acknowledge something…My juxtaposition of my blog and the actual seminar is a day off. Today was only day 4.  But that doesn’t matter to you, and nor it should.  What should matter is the fact that I spent all this money, traveled all this way, am getting no sleep while freezing my ass off and have eaten more nuts, more protein bars, and had to take more pisses than any normal being should ever have to do…

But who the fuck wants to be “normal” anyway?

By the way, I’m writing this at 2:19AM and why? Because I’m jacked to the tits after what I experienced.


Day Four Recap

What I mentioned earlier about the whole protein, pissing, nuts, etc. are what are consistent themes throughout this program, but there is one more: I have met some magnificently marvelous people.

Today was no different.

Now, this a six day seminar, so what does that mean? At some point there is going to be a sales pitch, and today was that day. I wont go into great detail, but lets just say, they’re damn good at it. 

After that, we took the plunge into the deep end of the pool, and this pool is one where, historically,  I struggle to keep my head above water. 

With that being said, what we experienced, and I can only speak from a mens perspective,  was a little,  lets say, tedious, yet enlightening.

For you see, I shared a group with two beautiful women and a young man. To hear their points of view about love, about companionship,  about partnership, was nothing short of an epiphany for me. 


I flly found out why every relationship Ive had ended like the goddamn Hindenburg. 

Would you like to know why many, not all, relationships fail? 

Of course you would. 

Ya, Im not going to say much other than…And this is for those that were there, while the rest of you will make false assumptions.



Date with Destiny: Day Four

First things first, if I never eat another protein bar again, Id be quite alright with that. 

Aside from the number I brought with me, the they’ve been providing at least one a day as a snack as well. 

And this doesnt take into account how gassy they male some people. Definitely not this guy though………..

Imagine this, youre in a meditation (spoiler, this event does have a little to do with spirituality) and you feel this bubble slowly appear but rapidly grow in your belly. And at this exact moment you smell someone else that shared this same experience, but unlike you, they let go of their “problem”. 

See what I did there?

Day 3 Recap

From the Shaman to the Taxman to the salesman, many came because of the documentary “I Am Not Your Guru”.

The opening scene dealt with a suicidal man. Today was the day we witnessed those precious few that no longer see tomorrow as an option.

I won’t go into detail because, well, this isnt about me and nor do you deserve to be “entertained” by their suffering.  

Unfortunately, some were, and you could tell. 

I will say, the variety of those who spoke was heartwrenching, heartwarming, and enlightening.

I witnessed miracles yesterday. 

And they were beautiful. 

Some of you saw me post this on the Facebook:

This IS joy. 

What can I say, when you play Sweet Child O Mine,  Thunderstruck, and Whole Lotta Love, well,  the little hippie boy that only looked forward to seeing Phish every year comes alive.  

And even though that long haired, hemp Mr. T lived in a fog the majority of his days…Music made his life seem abundant and full.

We all despise segments of our lives. Trust me, my life is full of characters and personas.

But each one of those brought specific lessons about life with them. 

Im realizing this now. 

Im also realizing how I can operate on 5 hours of sleep. 

Yesterday was only 13 hours long.

But at least the turned up the goddamn heat! 

Either that, or Im getting used to that too. 


Date with Destiny: Day 3

Raise of hands, how many guys found themselves wanting to “rub one out” when an impromptu lesbian moment happened during an episode of Jerry Springer?

Ya, THAT didnt happen. But it was the moment I desperately wanted to attend a show of that nature. 

And yesterday, I got a front row seat….literally.
 Day 2 Recap 

I dont know how many of you know this, but I like to tell stories. It’s true, it’s true.

Well, a theme during over the course of thus almost 16 hour day in artic conditions (we started at 10:30AM anr ended at just past 2AM. The temps were so cold that a contingency from fucking Russia were wearing 3 layers and were still cold!) A theme was changing your story.

What was your life story?

Was it a comedy?

Was it drama? 

Was it horror? 

And I fucking loved and hated it. The writer in me was in me was in heaven. While the human in me was in hell. 

I raised my hand to share and Tony, who could play Fezek in the remake of A Princess Bride, was right there. I was shaking…He pointed and picked…Not me. Instead,  and thank god, he picked this woman we will call CJ. (She called herself that, and it was comical at best)

What happened next was the a World War intevention of someone that continuously plays the “victim card” for attention. What we in the Tony Robbins world call significance.

Back and forth they went, all only feet away from me.

Tony kept standing right next to me. I got yelled at, sorta for taking pics. Justifiably so. 

I’ll just say this , Tonys spit landed on me a solid half a dozen times. Some fucking freaks probably consider that a baptism. I was pretty grossed out. But whatever.

Needless to say this was a car crashing into a train. 

It was awkward, uncomfortable, tragic and the mob was getting angry.

This woman wanted so much attention it was absurdly disturbing yet enlightening. 

We all know people like this, and for an hour,  we saw them all get called out.

And CJ was the sacrificial lamb. 

Then, then came her antithesis. She was brought over to my section again and there I sat as a camera crew (cameras are all throughout the hall) Tony, this young lady from Serbia, and CJ. 


Needless to say, CJ didn’t learn her lesson. At least not at that moment. 

The day finally ended at just past 2AM. 

And here I am, in line, waiting to get in only 8 hours after. 

Im so tired. So goddamn tired. 

This is much harder than I anticipated. 

Im at a point where I dont know what to expect anymore.