Adventures In Babysitting…

20 10 2009

When last we saw our hero he had just gotten a promotion at work and was coaching high school soccer at the same time. Both of them have been mentally draining and left him with a little creativity. And, not much will to live. But that’s another story.

Not that I need to get into too many details, but our soccer team has performed, a little less admirably than I’d like to admit. But since I’ve already brought it up (and following the Sienfeld guidelines, that once you start you have to finish) I’ll have you know that our team has pretty much sucked this season. In league play we have 0 wins to go along with our 0 goals. I’d take that a little more personally had our team not crumbled before our eyes.

Lets look at some season stats…
3 Broken legs
1 Broken Collar bone
1 Pulled hamstring
1 ingrown toenail that has the kid’s white sock red at the end of the game
1 pulled calf muscle
1 Outdoor sitting bench falling on a kids leg
2 kids who’ve just decided to not let anyone know where they are
220 cases of Swine Flu at the school (Now, they’re not exactly swine flu, and our own team didn’t have 220 cases, however, last Monday there were 220 students out of school for sickness. Yes, some were from our team.)

I’m not going to lie. In all my years of coaching that’s an impressive stat sheet. Like REALLY impressive. We’d love for us to have the ability to pull up some players from JV, however, they started with 22 and are down to 12. As the kids continue to drop left and right, I’m less and less inclined to believe my coaching abilities are what’s driving the team down and that the soccer gods pretty much just have it out for me for some odd reason.

Awesome. Season.

So, coaching has been a bit rough.

However, while coaching has been rough, the whole working thing has really began to suck the life outta me.

I was moved up into a “managing” position that is in charge of our reception area and our Kids club facility. You know, where over zealous parents can drop their spawn off for a little more TV babysitting so they can get their 30 minutes of cardio in.

Our front desk staff (which I was previously apart of) is generally of the same idea that our job, while not difficult, is the most boring job in the world. Standing for six hours at a time, while scanning cards so people can use the gym isn’t mentally challenging, it’s actually a mental assault on your brain that I believe, without any scientific proof, that makes you dumber. In fact, I’m really afraid that if the Gym in question put some time and money into training monkeys, we’d be replaced in a matter of minutes.

Alas, I have risen above this mental assault on my mind to be reminded, that indeed, the mental assault of dullness and stupidity DOES NOT end there. The aforementioned Kids Club is under my domain. I am in charge of the hiring and firing of all that enter that room, and all that are responsible for caring for the spawns of Satans that partake of the gyms services. Once I received my promotion, it was indeed my first priority to find someone to fill the spot of one of the girls leaving. Of course, the manager before me gave me a sweet 2 day window of finding someone.

I’m not sure if you know how corporate America works, but hiring someone in 2 days is damn near impossible. But, I did my best. I got another young lady who had previous experience working with today’s youth and had her fill out paperwork as fast as possible. I called around to some other clubs to see if they would be able to spare a couple of their Kids Club attendants to help out for a bit. For the most part all was covered and I felt pretty good about the situation.

Until the day of reckoning came upon our hero. (Still me.) One of the girls, informed me that she had an emergency and was unable to work one of the following days. I tried in vain to find suitable coverage for the Kids Club but to no real avail. Then the plan crept into my head, “just have one of the female personal trainers do it. She needs the hours.” I looked at her availability and noticed that she indeed was free most of the hours I needed covered. With her track record in having clients cancel on her, I figured she could cover, considering we only get one or two kids in the morning anyway. She agreed, and my life again was seamless and I was an awesome manager.

The thing about planning, is usually it gets fucked up. As is the case in this story. Apparently, our Personal Trainer had her client come in, and unusually we had two infants show up to be “watched” after. Seeing as how I was the new manager, it was now my duty to go back and watch these young children.

I got back to Kids Club, and to my delight the two children were calm and unresponsive. Of course, the minute their mothers left this all changed. Boy Baby decided to freak the fuck out and start crying uncontrollably. This prompted Girl Baby to start freaking out. Based on my extensive non-verbal communication classes in college, I deduced that this young Girl Baby was indeed freaked out by males and was having NONE OF THIS! She would shudder and shy away and begin crying. Well, this just egged on Boy Baby, and before I knew it had a fucking stereo crying contest in my ear.

This isn’t even the best part. As mom of Boy Baby was leaving, she left me with one little detail of her sons life that she felt I needed to know. Her son was in fact teething. Fucking awesome.

I come from a large family, and I’ve had my siblings go through teething. It’s not their fault they cry constantly without end keeping you up all hours of the day and night, shit hurts, I get it. I mean your gums are getting ripped up and all you’ve got is this fucking binky(pacifier). If it was cool to give them booze, I bet not one kid would complain about teething.

Boy Baby was in hysterics, as I held him in my massive arms trying to comfort him. As the pain got to him, I couldn’t help but notice that his mouth was wide open (along with his nostrils) and not only did I have baby slobber running down my shirt and onto my arm, but I believe it was a mixture of snot and slobber creeping down his face. As I got a tissue to try and stop the massive flow of snot from the Boy Baby’s nose, I feel as if I angered the beast even more. He wailed out mostly in pain, but mostly because he, along with myself, no longer wanted to be at the gym. It was fucking nap time, and for the love of all that is good an holy, he was letting me know.

It was about this point in the story that I called the front desk to get the mothers of these children. I did my best. I’ve taken care of my brothers and sister many times. I called upon this prior experience to try and soothe the raging beast. My options were not working. I did all I could, save for having boobs, and breastfeeding.

The mothers came, and retrieved their spawns, and apologized because “they’re usually not like this.” I said, no mam, it was my apologies they couldn’t get a full workout in. As the mothers left with their respective spawns I took it upon myself to find the nearest Hand Sanitizer station and proceed to take a bath. However, looking upon this Hand Sanitizer station, I came to notice one fact about hand Sanitizers. They ONLY kill 99.9 percent of all germs.

99.9 percent.

Which means, that that little Snot Nosed/Drool Machine Germ Host that I had cradled in my arms to comfort was carrying the .1% of germs in the world that was probably going to either make me sick, or indeed kill me.

Toss up.

It also clued me into another realization of my life…

I’m going to be an “awesome” dad.

Until next time…

Email Me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

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Book Worm…

29 05 2009

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve begun a new and exciting job at one of my local gyms. It’s not glamorous and the only true power I wield is letting people in the gym or allowing them to tan. Out side of that I’m pretty much a stool pigeon in dri-fit pants and a sweat wicking shirt, than more than likely won’t be doing any sweat wicking any time in the near future. (If ever)

As I told numerous friends of mine, and them knowing full well of my single status all seemed to reply with the same answer. “Well at least you’ll meet some hot girls.” Yes I may, and I shall wow them with my hourly paying salary that rivals that of my recently high school graduated brother, my snazzy pants, and my new found powers. However, at least I’ll meet some hot girls.

As I re-examined my not so high paying job, I did include meeting hot girls into the “perks” of the job. Well boys and girls, I am here to tell you there are VERY FEW hot girls that work out at my gym. I’m talking maybe 4 tops. MAYBE.

In fact, since I am the closing shift, there are absolutely NO hot girls that come strolling into work at 8-11pm to work on their fitness. Not only are there no hot girls, the 8-11pm time frame seems to be the best time for crazies, meth heads, wackos, and nut jobs to get a couple reps in. I’m not sure what calls to them. Maybe it’s the fact that no one will judge them (aside from me), or that they can be alone in the place (aside from me) with their thoughts. Whatever the case may be, we have an over abundance of crazies that work out at my gym at night.

I am thankful of being a dude as well, because if I were a girl and had to close the gym with these whack jobs, no doubt I’d be getting the heebie geebies every single night. (Let it be known, I in fact do get the heebie geebies every night, however, I feel that I could throw down if it came down to it. I mean, as long as they didn’t punch me in the face. It’s all I got.)

In addition to closing the joint down, sometimes I work 11 hour days. That’s right, 11 hours of standing at the front desk and basically allowing people to enter and use the workout equipment. I feel like James Vanderbeek in How I Met Your Mother. If you’ve seen the episode, it’s hilarious. I couldn’t find it on YouTube, and since my last two blogs didn’t have a HIMYM reference I figured I’d pony up and put on here.

Soooo… needless to say, I get a bit bored. (B. T. Dub, if it’s needless to say, then why did I say “needless to say.” English. How funny.) And whilst contemplating my boredom, I decided to start bringing books into work.

Those of you who know me may be startled at this revelation , for I believe many of you are of the understanding that my reading prowess extends no further than Calvin and Hobbes. (Yes, the comic. No, not the philosophisers.)

At first I was bringing in books from my own personal collection. Now I Can Die In Peace, by Bill Simmons. Faithful by Steven King and Stewart O’Nan. And Hate Mail from Cheerleaders by Rick Reilly. (2 outta 3 books on the Boston Red Sox. that’s battin .750 folks.) I realized that after cranking through all three of those books in one day, I would have to venture out and bring something with a little more length.

Therefore I turned to my friend Harry Potter. It is widely known that Harry Potter series are the longest books I’ve ever read in my life. Including college. I find this to be an incredible feat, while others are not so impressed. So I brought in some of my books that I one day hoped to be reading to my kid. I delved back into one of the books to begin passing the hours at the gym.

While working at the gym I interact with a wide number of people. With a bunch of different backgrounds, and different lifestyles. People come up to me asking all sorts of questions…
“Are you putting on the Game on the TVs?”
“Why is the Sauna not hot enough?”
“Why do you have a camera on the hot tub?”
“Do people do it in there?”
(so we can see if people drown, and no. No one’s done it in there. At least not to my knowledge.)
[sidebar – seriously this job is going to waste while I’m single.]

As I pass the time reading in addition to the previous gems for question, the one I get mostly is “Whatcha reading?” Now in terms of the sports books, people curiosity was satisfied with just the title, and they moved on with their workout/day.

However, in the case of Harry Potter it was often enough for people to linger and make some sort of comment about the book.
“I Love those books!”
“At least your reading something!”
“I didn’t think you knew how to read.”
“Those books really appeal to certain types of people don’t they?”

Yet my all time favorite was this…
“You must really love when the scanner magically scans my bar code on my membership card then huh?”

as a matter of fact I do. Dick.

So with that last question (and the fact that I finished Harry Potter 6 in two days) I decided I need to obtain myself some more books that would…
A.) Make me looks smart.
B.) Have the two hot girls I know inquire and then be awed by how smart and witty I am.
C.) Make me look more educated than a fourth grader.
D.) Be the new trendy book and the topic of conversations on all things “cool.”
E.) Get me through my 11 hour days.

Seeing as how I’m poor I decided the library was the best option, when it had occurred to me that I did not have a library card. It had then dawned on me, that I had no fucking clue where the library was. This endeavor was going to be harder than I thought.

I settled for a local bookstore and began my search for “the one book.” I noticed some books by Chuck Palahnuik, which I feel as if I’m somewhat obligated to buy, seeing as how he is from the Northwest. I also kinda liked Fight Club so maybe I should get another one of his books. On second thought, the cover sucked. I’m out.

Which brings me to two very important ideologies I have in regards to books.
#1. I will judge a book by it’s cover. It’s no secret that I am indeed a consumer whore, and I will buy things based on how cool they look. So if the book looks cool, chances are I’ll be much more inclined to buy it. And recommend it to friends.

#2. I believe all books came from movies. I will not falter on this.

With that being said, I feel that I should actually read some books that I tell people I’ve already read. You know, the Great Gatsby, Catch 22, that book by Jack Kerouac, The Jungle, War and Peace. But seeing as how people already think I’ve read them, what’s the point.

I lingered at the bookstore for over an hour, just perusing books that cuaght my eye. Here is the list of said books. (Not ALL of them, cause there were some really cool covers out there… )

Loose Girl – Kerry Cohen (obviously)
Tuesdays With Morrie – Mitch Albom ( My roommate in college had this. Morrie must have been a pretty cool dude to give up every Tuesday for. I mean it’s 50 cent wing night at Buffalo Wild Wings. And they have beer.)
Sasquatch – Jeff Meldrum (Not quite the hot girl lure I was hoping for, but the cover was BAD ASS!)
A-Rod – Selena Gomez – (Any book that calls A-Rod “bitch tits” is ok in my book. get it? In my book… I kill me.)
I Am Legend – (Sorry, graphic novel section)
The Raw Shark Texts – Steven Hall (Chicks dig texts. Sharks are cool. We may have a winner.)
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies – Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith (I always figured that movie could use a few zombie killings. Not that I’ve seen it.)
Microserfs – Douglas Coupland (I feel like my inner geek is reaching out and begging me to buy this book. Plus I think they’re writing about my dad.)
The Five People You Meet In Heaven – Mitch Albom (Since I’m not going, no need to worry about who I’m meeting. pass.)

So my blogging friends this is my feeble attempt at getting some recommendations on some making me smart looking-conversation starter-hot girl appealing- 11 hour killing books that are…
1. Cover appealing.
2. Aren’t movies I’ve already seen.

And ps, if ONE of you mentions Tucker Max, I’m going to be pissed…

Feel Free to email me…
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Until Next time…





Summertime Update

9 07 2008

Hey all…

just thought I would drop by and update you all on the goings on of, well, me.

The attempt at going to the gym has been ongoing. I’m glad to report I’m going more days that I’m not. However in recent news, I feel as if I have obtained a stress fracture in my foot. I’m not sure how or when, I just know that when I run on the treadmill I have shooting pains from my ankle up my calf. The rest of the time my ankle feels great. So this put a damper on my hopes and dreams of running a full marathon and breaking the little tape banner at the end. I’ve moved on now from the treadmill to the elliptical machine.

I can’t tell you how degrading the whole feeling of an elliptical machine is. I know my little computer in front of me is telling me that I’ve gone the same distance, I’ve burned the same calories, but to be honest, it just doesn’t feel the same. Of course it could also be the fact that yesterday some 80 year old lady was whoopin my ass not only in miles, but also in resistance.

I happen to have a gigantic competitive streak in my body. I can turn almost anything into a competition. Most of which I think I can win. In the realm of working out, I need these competitions to continue to do what I do. So imagine my surprise when I was indeed losing out to grandma.

I was indeed angry. My only solace came from working out right underneath the air conditioning. I love the air conditioning.

I’ve also picked up some boxing. About a year or two ago I was actually enrolled and taking boxing classes. Well that came to a halt when I began working two different jobs, then got promoted and wasn’t able to make the classes. This was a tad disappointing for I love boxing, because not only is a great workout, and huge stress reliever, but I am able to effectively use this on my little brothers. To great success mind you.

My family indeed got a heavy bag in which was placed outside, and in addition to my acting like a gazelle running from a lion, I’ve been hitting the heavy bag every day as well. All of this was fine and dandy until I garnered another injury involving my knuckles. I can’t say exactly what happened, cause I don’t know. I do however know that my middle knuckle on my right had (the one I use for knocking someone out) is really sore.

All of this is neither here nor there, but I just would like to point out, none of these are beneficial as I get older, aaaaaaand, having no health insurance to determine the extent of these injuries is loads of fun too.

In recent developments I found this weeks sign that the apocalypse is upon us.
Just about my entire family has decided to join facebook. This, my friends, is not good.

Quick question, how many of you have gone through and looked at all the available options for keeping your profile private? Maybe one? Possibly two of you?

Well ladies and gents, I have. The thing of it is, and I’m not sure I’ve brought this up before in my blog, but I was indeed raised Mormon. Now those of you that have followed along, will know that I may not be the best Mormon they have ever met, and my friends themselves can attest that I may not be the best Mormon ever.

With that being said, I have gone through taken out all the pictures of me drinking, and carousing with sluts. (The later part really doesn’t happen I just thought I’d right that to sound a little more bad ass.) In addition I’ve gone through and removed all tagging of me. At frist I thought being tagged was a cool thing. That way if hot friends of hot friends ever saw me on random pages, they would be able to be like….ooooh who’s that? Oh that’s his name I should totally “poke” him.

While this scenario has never come to fruition, the scenario of friends tagging me participating in a beer pong tourney and my newly internet savvy family coming across pictures of me standing on the podium championship trophy in hand is 100% likely. (And with my luck, going to happen regardless.)

However, I have been moved to all of my families “top friends,” so I gotta be excited about that, right?

In other news all my shenanigans and debauchery can be found on MySpace.

The last part of all this, I was back at the radio station helping them out because one of their promotions people left suddenly. I got a call from Mives (who happens to be one of my favorite people let alone one of my favorite bosses) asking me if I could come back and help. I agreed and back at the station I was.

It was quite the expierence really. I went from a big sweet office with a huge window and comfy chairs to, sitting in a cube with 3 other people. It was different. The thing that hasn’t changed was the people that are there. I have a lot of friends at that place and it was great working with them again. I can honestly say that I miss the people there. They make that place amazing, and I was a bit bummed to be gone again.

Which brings me to this, I am no longer at the station and back to trying to find a job again. Which is one of the worst things in the entire world.

I’ve got some pretty sweet shenanigans coming up like a birthday celebration, and a college friends wedding so maybe just maybe I’ll have some funnier stuff to post…. until then.





Letters To The Gym

18 04 2008

Morning all. I’m writing this so very a little hungover, so if it turns out not funny well then you can suck it!

Dear Lady,
It came to our attention that whilst running yesterday you happened to grunt loudly. At first we thought you were laughing while watching the View. Then we thought about the actual probability of that and realized that could not be possible. So based on our powers of deduction, you grunted through your entire work out. Which by our calculations (and sneaking a peak at your treadmill) lasted 3.2 miles and 25 minutes. Please try to a.) stop your grunting. b.) at least mute your grunting, because even PUSHING the headphones into our EARDRUMS did not cause the sounds to go away.

Thank you for your time.

Dear Nordstrom Shopper,
I couldn’t help but notice you’ve purchased a brand new peach Velour tracksuit. I know you told yourself that you wanted to get to the gym more. And I know while you were out shopping with a couple of your cougar friends that they all told you how cute that would look on you while you were working out, but I’ve gotta say, you’re no Jenny from the Block. And peach really isn’t your color. I do however applaud you for taking the time to pick out the perfect outfit, curl your hair, and put on a dash of makeup in hopes of catching the eye of your young trainer. Do work mam. Do work.

Thank you for your time.

Dear Sir,
Good day sir. We couldn’t help but notice that your cologne is actually choking the people running next to you. We here at the gym had no idea you were wanting to make such an impression. We also couldn’t help but noticing (after wiping away tears from our eyes cause your cologne was burning them) that your usual walking partner, your wife, is not with you today. This struck us as odd, but we then realized the reason for the cologne. We also couldn’t help but notice you were reading a gun magazine.

Pages and pages of guns.

Please disregard the aforementioned paragraph. We are giving you a free memebership and will do what we can to make you as happy as possible.

Thank you for your patronage.

Dear Zombie Walker,
We here at the Gym love a good Zombie movie! It looks as if you may have had a bit part in one of those Zombie movies. That’s great! What’s not so great is that you can’t pick your feet up when walking on the treadmill. We’re not sure if you’re a method actor, or training for a new part. What we are sure of is the fact that your shoes squeak with EVERY STEP! PICK UP YOUR GODDAMN FEET YOU’RE WALKING!

Our apologies. Sometimes our customer services isn’t what it used to be.

Thank you for your patronage.

Dear Texter,
Greetings valued member of our gym. We would first like to say it is a pleasure to have you paying your dues. We love it. In fact it’s so awesome that you pay your dues every month like you pay your cell phone bill every month. Heaven forbid you not bring your cell phone to work out. I mean, who cares that people are waiting for treadmills, and you keep stopping your “work out” to text people. Who cares that you told Sandy last week that she should have gone to the doctor for her “thing.” Who cares, that people are STILL waiting for the F’ing treadmill! Good lord, you’re not even hot, who could be calling you.

Again, the gym would like to apologize for that last comment. (although it’s true) We apologize, and would like to thank you for paying your membership fees.

Thank you for your patronage.

Enjoy the weekend everyone.





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.