Shenanigans, The Gym, And How I Met Your Mother…..

17 03 2008

So as it turns out, it was a pretty eventful weekend. Of course as a lot of you know it was St. Patrick’s Day weekend. With that being said, Stuff White People Like posted that white people love St. Patrick’s Day. And I totally have to agree. I love it. I mean it’s one big meld of drinking, celebrating, being drunk, and meeting chicks.

Plus I think white people dancing is not only encouraged but actually judged a competition by some.

The day started off by meeting up with JDub and heading a mutual friend that owns a really nice loft downtown. Upon arriving I took a very deep breath braced myself and went in.

You see the majority of JDub’s friends are her sorority sisters and friends she went to college with. Neither of which I participated in. So, I’m not going to lie, but sometimes it’s hard to be included in some conversations. I met them all last year during SPD so that feeling has changed a bit, but after holding secret meetings and sharing boyfriends, the inside jokes are pretty regular.

We ventured inside and said hello to everyone. I like JDub’s friends and they in turn like me. So the conversation was flowing as was my Pepsi bottle filled with Jack Daniel’s Single Barrel Whiskey. (I spent 70 dollars on a bottle of Single Barrel JD in Las Vegas and didn’t finish it. So with the help of Southwest Airlines, I poured it into a pepsi bottle and checked it in my luggage! Boo Yah. Take that 70 bucks!)

After a couple hours, and 3/4 of the Jack gone, we decided to walk 10 blocks to our “Saint Patrick’s Day Headquarters.” This is pretty much where the night gets a tad fuzzy. I think the Jack kicked in. Some quick stories to be told… I’ve discovered a new Syndrome. We’re calling it the Brett Micahels Syndrome. It’s basically where, you meet a girl and she may not be the attractive, but compared to her surroundings she’s the “hottest” girl around. So the Brett Michaels Syndrome (BMS) took effect around 930 or so. I was already good and drunk when I was approached by a girl who question my Red Sox loyalty. Which automatically puts me on the defensive and has me saying things like…. “Hell Yeah I’m real Red Sox fan, Whore!”

not one of my classier moments.

Conversation with the girl continued. She left for a moment when JDub was there to question my vision/judgement/sanity. I told her,
“listen, she may not be the hottest girl I’ve ever met, but I DARE you to find a hotter girl within 35 feet.” to which JDub replied with a judging look and an eye roll. I then responded with “35 FEET!” Turned and walked away. And thus the BMS was created. Feel free to steal it, just make sure you use proper annotation when doing so.

SPD ended in relatively tame fashion with a stop at our local Taco Bell. Which was awesome becuase I could have really used some soft tacos….and guess what? I got em! *fist pump* While in the drive thru however, I noticed that the car in front of us was indeed a Buick Regal. To which, in my current state, my mind told me it HAD to be my grandma. So with the intelligence of a grasshopper I decided to yell at my grandma.
“Hey! Grandma! What’d you get?”
“Grandma, Grandma. Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Grandma, I’m getting the Soft taco meal, wanna come over?”
“Hey, Grandma, why do you have such nice rims on your Buick?”
It was with this last question that things began to sink in. Why did grandma have rims on her buick? Where was I at? Was that indeed my grandma?
The answer to these questions are, No, that wasn’t my grandma. And No I shouldn’t have been yelling at the nice man in the Buick. And Yes, I wasn’t in the nicest part of town. Go me.

I awoke Sunday morning free of a hang over, becuase I believe Jack Daniels and my body have an unspoken pact with the devil. As long as I keep not having hangovers I’ll keep buying it. And as long as I keep buying it, I’ll keep drinking it, allowing me to do stupid things, therefore sending me straight to hell.

So that was that.

I decided that with my time off I’m going to start going to the gym. I mean why not. There is no reason I shouldn’t have chiseled rock hard abs whilst unemployed right?

So I thought to myself, what would be the appropriate time to go? 8 am? Too early. 12 pm? All the business tools will be there. No thanks. 5,6,7 pm? That’s dinner time… no way. So i settled on 10:30 am. Which actually turned into 11 am because I had to make a stop at iTunes, and load up on my Power Workout songs.

11 am also seemed to be the perfect time, because I figured really hot soccer moms, college girls who don’t have class yet, and strippers would be working out. That’s right strippers! Girls gotta work out at some point.

I arrived at my gym all geared up in my Nike gear ready to get a little run in. iPod in hand I settled on a treadmill between an older lady and some Asian guy running.

Speaking of the older lady, my theory about the hot moms, college girls, and strippers was WAYYYY off. Not one hot girl in the entire building (minus the trainers but they don’t count) I’m hoping when I go back on Wednesday there will be at least one stripper. Aren’t Wednesday like an off day for strip clubs?

So there I am, Older Lady is walking at a brisk pace and Asian guy as a decent amount of momentum in his run. I start up the treadmill and off I go. Music blaring in my ears, and Flavor of Love is on one of the televisions. This is great!

All my life I’ve had flat arches. It’s a curse. Back in the day I wouldn’t have been selected in the Army. Now they don’t care. That’s besides the point. The point is, now, when I throw on a pair of running shoes, 99% of the time they have really great arch support.

About 3/4 of mile into my run, i can feel shooting pains in the arch of my right foot. Which at first I play off. I keep telling myself, run through the pain, you’re doing great. And then I have the worst realization ever. Because I got on the treadmill after Old Lady and Asian guy, I can’t get off BEFORE them. Holy hell what am I going to do. So I press on. And the pain grows with every stride I make. I start to get angry thoughts in my head about the two people running next to me.

“Old Lady, you’re fucking walking! go fucking walk somewhere else! Like a park, or a garage sale, or a nursing home! AHHHH shooting pain.”
“Asian dude, why are you running?? You weigh like 95 pounds, and I’m pretty sure you’re deceptively quick. For the love of god, please stop running!! AHHH more pain.”

About 5 minutes later, (actually it was 3 min and 42 seconds later. Thank you elapsed time on my treadmill) Old Lady felt my negative vibes (or piercing hate stares) and decided she was done. THANK GOD! Now all I needed was Asian Guy. To which he bowed out of the race 6 minutes and 23 seconds (again thank you elapsed time) after Old Lady!

SUCCESS! Not only had I outlasted both my worthy adversaries, but I actually didn’t noticed that the shooting pain in my arches had gone. I guess that’s what happens when you get a runners high a mile and a half into your 2 mile run, or a hot girl with a decent ass starts doing the eliptical right in front of you. Either way.

So self high five, I’m trying to work out.

I other news, TV seems to be returning to normal. How I Met Your Mother Returns, The Bachelor (which I hate, I just write about the whores) The Big Bang Theory are all returning. Some semblance of my former life is returning.

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