You are currently browsing the daily archive for May 5th, 2008.
In the Grand Sunday Night Tradition, we order take-out and pick up a new movie.
I can’t tell you the last time we actually went to the movies (wait, I lie, it was “The Mist” and I think before that, it was “Beerfest”) because after the tickets, popcorn (for me), nachos (for him) and a drink, we could have had a white-gloved dinner. Plus, if we watch movies at home, I don’t have to worry about wearing pants.
Last nights movie was “I am Legend” starring Will Smith (who grew up VERY nicely) and a super cute German Shepard(s).
The movie reaches a point where it’s apparent (to me at least) that Will’s character is setting some kind of trap.
him: What’s he doing?
me, shocked: You haven’t seen this before?
him, confused: No. Have you?
me: No.
him: Oh.
me: What makes you think I know what he’s doing?
him: I dunno.
me: watch the movie.
him: k.
Dear Woman Two Treadmills Over,
WHY DO YOU HAVE TO TALK SO LOUD ON YOUR CELL PHONE?!?!
I had to turn my iPod up to drown you out, not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES because you were trying to talk over the noise of your fit legs and feet stomping on the “superquiet” surface.
I understand that the gym is a public space and you’re welcome to talk on your phone, but I think it’s safe to say that the entire gym heard about your plans for the weekend.
Good luck on your date and I hope you got laid.
- Out of Shape Girl Two Treadmills Over
Dear Woman Who Brought Your Kid into the Women’s Only Area,
First and foremost, if you can’t control your kid, they shouldn’t be in a gym.
I am not a mother, but I do know that boys are instinctively destructive and for this reason, you certainly should not have let him “work out” on machines designed for adults.
And while I’m sure it’s “cute” that your monster bashes the weights down on the abductor, I happen to like to use that machine and if I find out that I can’t use it because the weights are broken, I’m going to crush your head between my thighs and not in any kind of kinky/sensual way.
Secondly, the room that says “Women Only Workout Area” is for women only. Granted your spawn looked like he could have passed as a girl, but if I wanted some pervert to watch me work-out (I don’t care how old he is, I DO NOT like being watched), I would have hired a trainer.
Do you have any idea how close I was to going to the front desk with your many violations? Yeah, thisclose.
Let me add that telling your child not to do that (whatever “that” may be at the time) does not constitute discipline.
Keep your brat out of the gym.
- The Girl who was Shooting You Dirty Looks
In honor of Cinco de Mayo, I offer up this piece from the memory archives:
When I was a kid, growing up on a tight-knit street, our house was known for two things.
One was the Black Forest Coo-Coo clock that would draw crowds of kids at noon (when we’d remember to wind it) and the other was my Dad drinking the worm in the tequila.
In case you’ve been sheltered more then me, here is what I’m talking about:
(yes, that is a real worm. No, I don’t know if this is the actual brand of tequila. Yes, this is really what it looks like.)
Tequila wasn’t common place in our house, Dad’s a rum guy. So to have a bottle of tequila in the house was an occasion in itself. I would put the bottle on the floor and spin it back and forth, trying to get the worm to come back to life; watching it slosh back and forth inside the bottle. I do believe that we would encourage him to finish the bottle as soon as possible so we could all watch him drink the worm.
Dad would make the announcement that he was going to drink the worm and we scattered to round up as many kids as possible. If memory serves correct, we had kids from two blocks over watch the spectacle.
A kitchen full of kids in rings around my dad (tallest in the back, natch), he would pour the end of the bottle into a shot glass, grab a lemon and some salt and with baited breath (“He’s not going to drink that worm!?!”) he tilted his head back and worm and tequila were gone in a flash. A body rush would take over my dad and he’s wraggle around, “EeEEHHHHHHGGGHHHH!”
The girls would screech in terror, the boys would rejoice in “awesome!!!” and we’d be back outside playing ghost-man kickball in no time.
In a bizarre twist of fate, Steve actually can’t drink tequila. I mean it. I saw him drink it once (after drinking a number of other items) and he threw up. Not everything, just one ounce of tequila. And then he did a beer bong. And I fell in love. And later I threw up all over his room. AND HE STILL LOVES ME!!!!
Peeps is sayin'