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03.19.2002 - 3:06 p.m.

Tuesday
Holy crap, I just got my ass wupped. Old-school style. I was all Good Sundry earlier and went to the gym to do the noon kickboxing class. I should have known I was in trouble right away, because there was this GUY warming up that needed, like, his own soundtrack. One that said "Morrrrrrrtal Coombaaaaaat!!!"

Turns out he was the substitute instructor. Now, make no mistake, because the regular class is hell on wheels. If you are not a breathless red sweaty mess at the end of it, well, you're..um…really really tough and you should be fighting evil superheroes. Yeah. It's just that even though it's hard, the regular instructor does basically the same drills each time, so at least you get the routine down.

This guy, let's just call him Frighteningly Buff Nazi Death Camp Instructor, or actually let's just call him Travis, because that was his name, even though he didn't LOOK much like a Travis, was all "Hey! We're just going to try some new things, here. Hope you get a good workout." Yeah, he SHOULD have said "Hey! It's likely your heart will actually burst from your chest in this class, so grab a tissue."

Travis had us do a number of difficult kicking drills. Imagine that you are standing, and there is someone directly behind you that you need to kick in the face. Without really turning your body. For TRAVIS, this was no problemo. He could have kicked like ten people in the face, and then made them thank him for their face-kicking. I basically mastered a weak donkey-flail. The only way I could have injured a potential attacker is if they got hernias from laughing at me.

"Take this!" (flail)
"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAAAAouch."

We were also forced into this evil pushup routine that turned my arms into a gooey mass of pulverized muscle. In fact, I am typing this with a pencil clenched between my teeth, because now I have useless forearms that will probably need to be amputated. In general, Travis took us out in the woods and made us squeal like pigs.

Not in the cornholing way, just the loss-of-all-dignity way.

:::

Yesterday, you know, I was all breathless about this house I'd seen. Pretty house, with its burbly creek and big green lawn, ahhh. We're still finding out info, but it seems like there might be more problems with it than we can manage. It figures. Septic this, zoning that. We'll be looking at more places this weekend. I'm going to try and be more objective about the whole process. Less first-crush gaspy and more furrowed-brow-analyze-y.

go back ::: forward

03.18.2002 - The yard, the creek! The pretty stained pine on the inside!
03.14.2002 - Someone's gotta be bikini-waxing the hell out of those chicks, too.
03.13.2002 - But today I must get to Lascha's house, 2,000 light years away.

0 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
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Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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