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.

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Beach Ready Body and the Internet is Boring.

2 04 2008

Hello my blogging friends.

If you’ve been following along with my blogs, you’ll know that I’ve recently dedicated myself to working out to obtain my beach ready body by the time summer comes. Which, I’m not sure why considering I don’t go outside. I hate being to hot. I’m afraid of the ocean. Hate public swimming pools. And generally despise most of the summer aside from chicks dressing slutty, (thank heavens for short shorts) Thirsty Thursdays (where most the slutty girls are) and Red Sox baseball games. (Where beer, slutty girls, and baseball collide for a maelstrom of goodness.)

But there I am every day Up In the Club, Just Workin on my Fitness. (ah thank you Fergie.) And I have to say it. I’m not seeing results fast enough. I’ve been inundated to believe that things these days should be instant. Instant messaging, instant pudding, instant rice, drive through windows, BlackBerry, syphilis, shopping on the internet, and instant news have given me a sense of false hope.

3 weeks at the club should leave me some sort of hope. Some itsy bitsy little thing that I can cling on too that things are working. I mean I wish I had a pair of “skinny jeans” (don’t think we don’t know about em) so that when I put them on and they fit, it would give me some sort of sign that all is right with the world. Alas, I am a boy so my jeans are already a size or two to big for me, which means every fucking pair are my skinny jeans. *sigh*

A couple things have transpired since working out at my gym.

#1. I’ve realized I’m still working out too early for Strippers to be at the gym. I guess the timing was all off in my head. Having never, EVER, been to a strip club in all my life, I didn’t realize what time they actually got done. I was figuring 2 am, maybe the latest 3 am. Then it dawned on me, that more than likely they get off work at 4-5 am. To get to the gym by 10 am on 5-6 hours of sleep, there is no way that would be possible. Plus, I’m pretty sure the coke may not have worn of in time to get in a decent cardio workout. Damn.

#2. Not all female trainers are hot. Some are old and leathery that tan too much.

#3. Working out after a long night of drinking is never really a good thing to do. Especially for me. I’ve unfortunately developed a nasty little drinking habit. My tolerance for Jack Daniel’s whiskey is insane. I’ve been known to finish a bottle at any given celebration. While I know this isn’t really a feat of skill by any means (college frat boys claim this every weekend. Although downing a fifth of Boone Farm is hardly any feat, especially if it’s Country Kwencher. It’s a real flavor I checked.) it’s the next day that I believe sets me apart from the others. See I don’t get hungover anymore when I drink Jack. Like none. Zip. Zero. It’s as if my liver has completely given up processing the alcohol. So when I go out, it takes a lot of Jack for me to get drunk. More than most. So the next day when I rolled into the gym, and about mile marker 1.75 the sweat kicks in and BAM! Alcohol comes gushing out of my pours, for not only me to smell but the unassuming people running next to you. I tried my best to keep it contained, but to no avail. I could smell Jack and I knew the girl and guy running next to me could too. And if any of you know the smell of Jack, you’ll know it’s not the most pleasant smell in the world. (Unless you’re me. Then you fucking love that smell.)

You’re welcome 24 Hour Fitness patrons.

So the other night, I was discussing with a friend that I felt like I was at the end of the internet. Basically what I mean is that I keep looking at the same websites over and over again. It’s actually a bit depressing. I feel like a 12 year old kid who just got home from school, and although I just recently talked to my friends at school, I have to go home and wear out the refresh button on my Safari web browser.The list includes Myspace, Facebook, PerezHilton, The Superficial, If Julie Fell, Yahoo!, my iGoogle, Hotmail, ESPN, Red Sox Homepage, Netflix, Craigslist, and my own blog. (Yeah, I look at my blog all the time! so what?)Just recently I’ve revisited a site that I love so very much. OverheardinNewYork.com is HILARIOUS.

Basically people submit random shit they’ve hear whilst in New York. Which got me to thinking last night, that maybe I don’t ever want to go to New York. I mean, they have all sorts of nicknames for shit left and right, and if you don’t know, no one is going to help you out. You’re just supposed to know already. Or at least that is the gist I get from reading some of the quotes. But how could the internet be wrong? It can’t be….

Anyway this site has spawned some spin off sites, such as OverheardAtthebeach.com, Overheardintheoffice.com and a celebrity spin off. They are fantastic. Here are a couple highlights that i enjoyed.

Office girl #1: Man, I’m really bored. I know what we should do… [Looks around] Aw, we don’t have any glue, do we?
Office girl #2
, confused and horrified: Um…

I think I found this more funny because it was from the city I live in. Classic.

Here’s another….
Cashier: Alright, so that’s going to be $47.68.
Customer: What? The book was $31.99!
Cashier: Ummm, actually, it was $44.99…
Customer: It says $31.99!
Cashier: I’m afraid you were looking at the American price, ma’am…
Customer: So?!
Cashier: We’re in Canada.
Customer, indignant: Well, I want to speak to a manager!
Cashier: Unfortunately, I don’t think he’ll be able to change global economy, but let me page him…

hilarious. and I love it. Points for you cashier.

My point of all this, is that I’m bored with the internet. I need your help people. I need some cool new sites that I can pour over and waste most of my day. So I’m no longer bored. I need the internet people. NEED! Go ahead send me a comment with a cool new page that you think I may like. I’d love to see what you all think. And Thank you…





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.