03.19.2002 - 3:06 p.m.
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
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.
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.
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.
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
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