Some weeks ago, I was at the local fitness establishment (my first mistake) and wanted to try something a little different than my usual routine (my second mistake). I was with my mother, my hardcore workout buddy, whom around the house is affectionately referred to as Arnold (as in Terminator). She suggested jogging on a treadmill, as opposed to the putzing around on the elliptical. Ok, sounds innocent enough.
Never again.
For those of you who don't know me, I don't exactly have the build of a long distance runner. Picture a barrell on a couple 2x4's with a slightly fatter ass. That's me. So why I thought I could actually spend any significant amount of time on a machine/torture device that is made for this purpose is completely beyond my scope of understanding. Again, for those of you that don't know me, I should also mention that I trip on air. My feet, I am convinced, are not in any way wired into my nervous system. Any movement is nothing more than a mere spasm and a complete fluke.
Combine the above information with a continuous-running rubber sheet and see where that gets a person.
I did fine for the first half-mile. I was clipping along at a good pace and starting to believe maybe I could actually do this. Looking back, this is probably the cause of all events that were to transpire in the upcoming minutes. It's difficult to admit, but I got cocky. Never, ever get cocky on a treadmill because this is what will happen:
You will trip. And you will fall. And you will hang on to the handrails with your feet dragging /bouncing behind you in a piss-poor resemblence of Superman for approximately 10 seconds. At this point, while splayed out quasi-horizontally, I took the opportunity to gaze at my mother on the treadmill beside me. Her face was almost enough to make up for the humiliation. Almost. She mouthed "Are you OK?" (since my headphones had miraculously remained in my ears at this point). I nodded a solemn yes, all the while trying in any way, shape or form to pull myself back into a running position. I had already lost every ounce of my pride, I wasn't about to fall off the back of the damn thing, too.
Amid my mom's not-so-subtle giggles (once she discovered I was OK) I managed to summon enough upper-body strength to get the situation undercontrol. I was back in an upright position and managed to slow the possessed machine to a stop. I calmly stripped the headphones off, gathered my iPod and stepped off the treadmill. I looked down to avoid the eyes of all other fitness buffs. This is when I became conscious of the fact that shoes, no matter how durable the advertisers claim they are, get holes when subjected to an intense friction.
In reflection, I think I did the witnesses of this mishap a favor. They can now go about their workouts knowing that they will never look as absolutely stupid/hilarious/pathetic as the girl who got beat by a treadmill.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
I was drunk and I rollerbladed into a gay bar...
I was having a conversation with my aunt while boating out on the lake yesterday and this (see title) is how she started one of her stories. Only these 10 words made it out of her mouth before I burst into a gut-busting laughing fit. Fastforward 4 minutes and 28 seconds to the point when I can catch my breath and wipe the river of tears off of my face. At this point, I naturally couldn't let her actually finish her story until I analyzed her intro word for word. Here goes.
"I was drunk..."
Ok, this is not news. She sucks down wine like it is merely Welch's. She calls cosmopolitans "koolaid". If she had a Myspace page, you would find Jose, Jack and Jager in her top 8 friends. It really isn't even a shock when she tells you that it is shortly before noon. (Logically, if you want to drink all day, you need to start before noon.)
"and I rollerbladed..."
This may be the funniest part of the story, believe it or not. She is not known for her coordination, athletically speaking. She can totter all over a city on stilettos after a pitcher of "koolaid" like a pro. But put her on wheels and she (and the unlucky soul in her way) may have a problem. Now bear in mind that at this point, she is drunk AND rolling down a sidewalk. How this woman didn't get tagged for a DWI is beyond me.
"into a gay bar..."
Similar to the drunkeness, this is expected. She has many gay friends, thus has frequented these establishments. In fact, she lovingly refers to herself as a "fag hag".
Moving on in the story. Now that we managed to get past the first 10 words. With an introduction like this, I almost expected anything else that came out of her mouth to be somewhat anti-climactic. I should have known better.
As we have established, she was drunk and rollerbladed into a gay bar. As it turned out, she didn't roll herself in there by her own power. See, she had never been into this particular gay bar and upon saying so, her friend thought he would help her out by shoving her through the door.
Stumbling through the door of a bar (any door, really) on rollerblades typically ends in one way. With the person flat on their stomach. This case wasn't any different. What WAS different was what she happened to see upon looking up from the floor. Any guesses? I can almost guarantee that you are not correct, but it might be fun to try.
Are you done coming up with the alternative ending yet? I don't want to give anything away if you aren't prepared.
OK, you've had enough time. Back to the story.
By now she is on her hands and knees, probably looking quite ridiculous with a pair of rollerblades on her feet. She peers up just in time to see a man sitting in a bathtub with another man standing above him. Once again, it's a gay bar. Somewhat expected. But this man doing the standing also happens to be peeing on the man in the bathtub. Apparently my aunt has discovered a couple who has a fetish.
Quite the appropriate ending, if you ask me. Actually, I think I would be disappointed if she happened to rollerblade into a gay bar while intoxicated and NOT see one man urinating on another man. It would be a waste of the alcohol that was the root of the whole event.
"I was drunk..."
Ok, this is not news. She sucks down wine like it is merely Welch's. She calls cosmopolitans "koolaid". If she had a Myspace page, you would find Jose, Jack and Jager in her top 8 friends. It really isn't even a shock when she tells you that it is shortly before noon. (Logically, if you want to drink all day, you need to start before noon.)
"and I rollerbladed..."
This may be the funniest part of the story, believe it or not. She is not known for her coordination, athletically speaking. She can totter all over a city on stilettos after a pitcher of "koolaid" like a pro. But put her on wheels and she (and the unlucky soul in her way) may have a problem. Now bear in mind that at this point, she is drunk AND rolling down a sidewalk. How this woman didn't get tagged for a DWI is beyond me.
"into a gay bar..."
Similar to the drunkeness, this is expected. She has many gay friends, thus has frequented these establishments. In fact, she lovingly refers to herself as a "fag hag".
Moving on in the story. Now that we managed to get past the first 10 words. With an introduction like this, I almost expected anything else that came out of her mouth to be somewhat anti-climactic. I should have known better.
As we have established, she was drunk and rollerbladed into a gay bar. As it turned out, she didn't roll herself in there by her own power. See, she had never been into this particular gay bar and upon saying so, her friend thought he would help her out by shoving her through the door.
Stumbling through the door of a bar (any door, really) on rollerblades typically ends in one way. With the person flat on their stomach. This case wasn't any different. What WAS different was what she happened to see upon looking up from the floor. Any guesses? I can almost guarantee that you are not correct, but it might be fun to try.
Are you done coming up with the alternative ending yet? I don't want to give anything away if you aren't prepared.
OK, you've had enough time. Back to the story.
By now she is on her hands and knees, probably looking quite ridiculous with a pair of rollerblades on her feet. She peers up just in time to see a man sitting in a bathtub with another man standing above him. Once again, it's a gay bar. Somewhat expected. But this man doing the standing also happens to be peeing on the man in the bathtub. Apparently my aunt has discovered a couple who has a fetish.
Quite the appropriate ending, if you ask me. Actually, I think I would be disappointed if she happened to rollerblade into a gay bar while intoxicated and NOT see one man urinating on another man. It would be a waste of the alcohol that was the root of the whole event.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Because There Simply Is Nothing Better To Do In Maryland
I read this article earlier in the day and it was just one of those things that got stuck in my head. Then I was forced to cock said head to one side and think about it...then cock same head to the other side (all while staring blankly) and think about it some more. After all that thinking, the best answer I could possibly come up with was "Huh?!"
Then again, maybe we shouldn't be too hard on poor David. This could be the boost in the economy that Americans have been seeking for months. I mean, this lady had valuable stuff just collecting dust in her house. If someone is willing to pay for it, who is David to stop them? Doesn't it make sense to put these items to good use...such as, oh, I don't know, recycling it in a yard sale 3 houses down from where the hot goods came from? And you can't possibly fault the guy for attempting to make a profit. This is a prime example of the capitalism that is so important to this country.
So on second thought, let's give this guy a medal. He clearly has the best of intentions. His efforts to be a green citizen by recycling and giving the economy a kick in the ass should be commended.
Here is the source of my ramblings. Feel free to make your own opinions.
Then again, maybe we shouldn't be too hard on poor David. This could be the boost in the economy that Americans have been seeking for months. I mean, this lady had valuable stuff just collecting dust in her house. If someone is willing to pay for it, who is David to stop them? Doesn't it make sense to put these items to good use...such as, oh, I don't know, recycling it in a yard sale 3 houses down from where the hot goods came from? And you can't possibly fault the guy for attempting to make a profit. This is a prime example of the capitalism that is so important to this country.
So on second thought, let's give this guy a medal. He clearly has the best of intentions. His efforts to be a green citizen by recycling and giving the economy a kick in the ass should be commended.
Here is the source of my ramblings. Feel free to make your own opinions.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Setting an Example Once Again
Not only does Michael Vick enjoy the happy ending in Old Yeller where the title character ends up with buckshot engrained in his head, but he is currently enjoying the happy ending in his own saga, as well. Despite the fact that he was found guilty of a crime, he gets to continue doing what he loves (playing football, obviously). The only small concession is that he must find a team that is willing to take him on. While some teams have stated that they will not be pursuing him, I am sure that there will be someone to rescue this player. Hey, maybe if it doesn't work out for him to be on the field the Patriots will consider him for position of cameraman. A little bird told me that the other teams have some great defense shaping up.
In addition, it was stated by NFL Commissioner Goodell that while he may return to the league, "his margin for error is limited". Personally, I think his margin for error at this point is pretty much non-existent. If this is the example that professional sports wants to send, fine. But as an honest, hardworking member of society I want the same courtesy. The next time I get arrested and spend the next 18 months in prison, I fully expect my former employer to call me with the news that I have been reinstated and can start on Monday. I am officially adopting this as my new employment standard in life and I won't settle for anything less.
Monday, July 20, 2009
5 Things That Would Make My Day More Entertaining....
As I was "working" at my computer today, I was thinking about the things that would invariably make my day more entertaining. Here are the top 5 that I came up with, with examples of course...
5. I commute to and from work everyday. So in other words, I spend 1/12 of my day sitting in traffic. I usually spend this time serenading my captive rush hour neighbors with my amazing voice. This week I have chosen to give them front row seats to the Broadway performance of Wicked, with me singing all parts (I will admit, the harmony does get tricky, but nothing I can't handle). Since I am so courteous to give the hardworking people a show, they could at least return the favor by slapping a couple bumperstickers on their vehicles. I believe bumperstickers are the best way to find out about the people around you that you will probably never actually meet. I think I want to meet the owner of this one, I have a feeling we would get along grandly.
4. Sometimes I think that people should be seen and not heard. By "seen" what I really mean is making awkward faces at people they don't know while in a public setting. This is a rare talent and if you've got it, flaunt it.
3. Every person should be required to do a victory dance at least once a day. It should be a point of competition and pride between friends, family and co-workers. It could be a celebratory jig for anything that you felt you did right on that day. Such as not getting shutout in ping-pong. That's right folks, you can even do a happy-go-lucky, victory dance when you aren't, in fact, the victor.
2. If life-size stick figures walked around in the dark, my life would be complete.
5. I commute to and from work everyday. So in other words, I spend 1/12 of my day sitting in traffic. I usually spend this time serenading my captive rush hour neighbors with my amazing voice. This week I have chosen to give them front row seats to the Broadway performance of Wicked, with me singing all parts (I will admit, the harmony does get tricky, but nothing I can't handle). Since I am so courteous to give the hardworking people a show, they could at least return the favor by slapping a couple bumperstickers on their vehicles. I believe bumperstickers are the best way to find out about the people around you that you will probably never actually meet. I think I want to meet the owner of this one, I have a feeling we would get along grandly.
4. Sometimes I think that people should be seen and not heard. By "seen" what I really mean is making awkward faces at people they don't know while in a public setting. This is a rare talent and if you've got it, flaunt it.
3. Every person should be required to do a victory dance at least once a day. It should be a point of competition and pride between friends, family and co-workers. It could be a celebratory jig for anything that you felt you did right on that day. Such as not getting shutout in ping-pong. That's right folks, you can even do a happy-go-lucky, victory dance when you aren't, in fact, the victor.
2. If life-size stick figures walked around in the dark, my life would be complete.
1. And with the top honors, the greatest thing that someone could do to make my day more entertaining is to take away the very thing their child cherishes above all else. Parents should be aware of the power they have to turn even the most mundane of days into pure, unadulterated joy.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
September is Velociraptor Awarness Month...Are You Ready?
Did you know that velociraptor attacks are the 3rd leading cause of death in men between the ages of 27-29? These fierce creatures have also been known to carry off family pets, toddlers and great-grandmothers. It is shocking news like this that forces me to reach out to my human counterparts and give them hope that they can indeed survive these stealthy dinosaurs.
Those of you who know me, know that I suffer from a life-consuming fear of velociraptors. I have been ridiculed and mocked for years about this affliction, but I stand by my beliefs that you all will be the first to be painfully devoured alive due to your lack of respect and preparation.
I feel it is my duty as a velociraptor awareness activist to provide anyone who wishes to educate themselves the means by which to do so. For any who would like to learn how to properly defend themselves against these cunning predators, please read the manual below. Pay particular attention to the "Safety around Velociraptors" section. In fact, it may not be a bad idea to print this off and place within every room of your home. It is also recommended you carry a laminated copy in your purse or wallet in the event of an out-of-home ambush.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Stay Classy, River Falls
If the school year is used to help college students become adult thinkers, then summer vacation is definitely used to help college students develop classy, adult behaviors. Take the following glimpse into my life for example:
It is a Saturday evening and I am enjoying the company of a few of my college pals. We are sharing a bottle of Arbor Mist Blackberry Merlot and all click-clacking away on our respective laptops. Most of us are happy to just have humans nearby, although we don't necessarily need to be talking to them. The serenading sounds of Pandora.com are playing in the background. It is then that I realize that we are one classy group. Me, drawing tattoo ideas out for my friend while Googling the latest news about my current celebrity obsession Adam Lambert. Two more sharing a riveting conversation about tomorrow's breakfast plans amid sips of wine. Various others are walking in and out, stopping to chat or visit the fridge after being ousted from a cut-throat game of Hold 'Em. The fun and sophistication continues on throughout the evening. I won't go into more detail as it is almost too much for you non-classy bloggers to understand.
I think the only thing that would make this evening more classy would be if Ron Burgundy happened to show up with Baxter in tow, ready to dazzle with some jazz flute and perhaps join us in a rendition of "Afternoon Delight".
It is a Saturday evening and I am enjoying the company of a few of my college pals. We are sharing a bottle of Arbor Mist Blackberry Merlot and all click-clacking away on our respective laptops. Most of us are happy to just have humans nearby, although we don't necessarily need to be talking to them. The serenading sounds of Pandora.com are playing in the background. It is then that I realize that we are one classy group. Me, drawing tattoo ideas out for my friend while Googling the latest news about my current celebrity obsession Adam Lambert. Two more sharing a riveting conversation about tomorrow's breakfast plans amid sips of wine. Various others are walking in and out, stopping to chat or visit the fridge after being ousted from a cut-throat game of Hold 'Em. The fun and sophistication continues on throughout the evening. I won't go into more detail as it is almost too much for you non-classy bloggers to understand.
I think the only thing that would make this evening more classy would be if Ron Burgundy happened to show up with Baxter in tow, ready to dazzle with some jazz flute and perhaps join us in a rendition of "Afternoon Delight".
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