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breakfast with no hog is a good day?

Regrettably familiar role.I skipped Monday night writing because Sharaun and I made a joint jaunt to the gym after dinner.  By the time we got back it was time to get Keaton in bed and after that I wasn’t in the mood.  I stared at this screen for a while, but after a few minutes decided to read a little on the chance it’d loosen up my keyboard fingers.  No such luck.

Tonight, on the other hand, we went to the gym early, before dinner, and I’ve got Keaton down now and feel quite like banging keys on the laptop.  Maybe I’ll at least get a couple respectable paragraphs.

The new Malajube record leaked today (if you don’t care for albums sung in your non-native tongue, and you’re not French, than this isn’t for you).  I had loved their last record so hard that I’ve been waiting for this follow-up with a good bit of anticipation.  And, I gotta say, after a casual listen while cleaning up dishes from our pork chop and rice dinner, I’m worried.  Seems like I don’t hear that bouncing energy of that last LP.  Where’d it go Malajube?  Where’d it go?!  Maybe I need to listen more.

Today was a good day for instant messaging, and there were a couple exchanges I thought were comical enough to post.  First, a friend IMs me asking a question similar to those I get rather often:

Her: “Hey, I want to watch the ‘Sex and the City’ movie, where can I download it?”

Ah, a casual need-driven pirate… the worst kind to instruct.  Since using a real tracker is out of the question, I opt for the masses-friendly route and suggest The Pirate Bay.

Me: “Try The Pirate Bay.”

Her: “OK, I typed in ‘sex and the city’ and got a million results.  Most are porn.  Which one do I want?  Why is this so disorganized?  What do the little skulls mean?”

Begins pasting in random TPB links asking if that version is the best.  I surf to TPB, find the aXXo rip, and paste in the URL.

Me: “This is the one you want.”

Her: “How do you know this is the best one?  How did you find it that fast?”

Tempted to prattle on about seed-to-leech ratio, my mad skillz, and snatch-count, I instead settle for,

Me: “I’m familiar with the ripper, his stuff is always good.”

Her: “OK it says it’s downloaded, but it doesn’t play.”

Ahhh… the torrent novice’s favorite question.  Something along the lines of, “Sweet!  It downloaded so fast, how come it won’t play in Media Player?”  I respond succinctly,

Me: “It’s a torrent file.  Do you have a torrent program?”

Her:  “Uggg let me look.”

While the above response may look ominous, it’s a good sign actually: the word “torrent” is obviously recognized, and the term “torrent program” is not met with confusion.  Heartened a bit, I decide to paint a little reality, just to be safe:

Me: “You need to open the torrent file first and then download the actual movie. It will take time, maybe a day even… unless your internet is awesome-fast.”

Her: “Ughh…”

Me: “Yeah. This is why I tell my dad to just go rent movies.  Odds are you’ll curse the whole time it takes to download and then you won’t be able to figure out how to watch it anyway.  Then I have to teach you about codecs, and that’s at least as hard, if not harder, than this.”

Her: “Shut up.”

Me: “Welcome to piracy.”

Her: “Shut up.”

And then there was this gem with some co-workers as they tried to court me into going out for lunch (I’ve been heading home almost every day to save money and, more importantly, calories.  I know this is not typical for a dude, but I’m really giving this fitness thing the old college try.)

They have decided they are going to Mongolian Grill, which, if you don’t know, is like this huge line where you take an empty bowl and fill it to toppling with meats, veggies, noodles, and top it it with an array of tasty  sauces before the dudes fry it up on this huge round cooktop.  Because my eyes are bigger than my stomach, I typically end up with a four-pound bowl of food.  With my present goals, I don’t think this is the right place for lunch for me today.  Our exchange:

Me: Ugh.  I should try and consume less calories than Mongo will present to me.

Interloping Coworker #1: Just make a small bowl, it’s OK.

Interloping Coworker #2: Veggie bowl.

Interloping Coworker #1: Lots of veggies.  Not so much oil.

Interloping Coworker #2: Can make anything at Mongo.

Me: No way to pass up noodles.  I love noodles.

Interloping Coworker #2: Smaller portions.

Interloping Coworker #1: You can still have noodles, just don’t have a billion noodles.

Interloping Coworker #2: Mr. I Lack Self Constraint.  Do you avoid gas stations in fear of consuming all the twinkies?

Me: Hehe.  Even like 1cp of noodles is prolly 300cal.  I love me some nooooodles.

Interloping Coworker #2: You can always puke afterwards, works for teenage girls.

Me: LOL.  I suppose I could still go.  Just go light.  I can view it as a challenge.

Interloping Coworker #1: Yeah!  11:30?

Me: Works for me.

Interloping Coworker #2: Sounds good.

Me: Now leave me to my calorie-math so I can have a mental image of the size bowl I can create…

Interloping Coworker #2: What is your cal for lunch?  500?

Me: Yup.  500 is about right for lunch.  Part of the problem is that I have no native sense of size for the measure “ounce.”  It has never been mentally indexed in my brain like “foot” or “yard” has.

Interloping Coworker #1: Not even from your drug selling days?

Me: Haha.

Interloping Coworker #2: LOL.

Me: I also get confused because weed is dry ounces.  An ounce of noodles… what is that?  I know “cups,” but not ounces.

Interloping Coworker #1: You know pounds, right?

Me: I know pounds.  Pounds I can estimate.

Interloping Coworker #1: And you can divide… 1/4 pound = 4 oz.

Me: Did you have that in your brain?  Or did you use the joogle?

Interloping Coworker #2: We’ll pick up a kitchen scale at the Dollar Store before we eat.

Me: Hahaha.  This is a good IM.  This could be a blog.

Well folks, writing is easy when you just post what you wrote over IM earlier in the day.  I should keep an eye out for this kind of thing more often… maybe I could put them on auto-publish and get the blog running itself.  Nah… but it worked well today.

I actually wrote a lot more tonight… on three separate “themes” in fact.  Instead of posting them all here I think I’ll queue them all up for the rest of the week and really will get this thing on auto-pilot.

Until then, goodnight.

Posted on

who am i to mess with tradition?

Whaaa?Sunday.  By tradition (or decree, depending on your bent), a day of rest.  And, who am I to mess with tradition?

(Note: I read somewhere that Stephen King once said to an editor something along the lines of, “Whoever made the rule that sentences can’t start with ‘and’ is an idiot,” and went on to note the usefulness and impact of doing so in literature.  And I gotta say, while I’m not a bona-fide writer, I totally agree on this one.  It’s got to be one of the worst, most limiting rules of grammar.  So, I do it.)

My sabbath plan includes a trip to the gym, listening to some music, and reading a little from my book (ten years later and I’m once again trying to finish the Wheel of Time series… but we know how that’s gone for me before).  The iPod is on a Grateful Dead thing, shuffling them up disproportionally – not a bad thing, it’s a good day for some Dead.

I talked about the rain the other day, in the context of our night-of-horrors with sleep-averse Keaton.  Well today the sun’s out and (most of) the clouds have retreated to wring the mountains dominating the eastern horizon.  Most of the time sun after rain is a welcomed change, but we could really use some more rain here… and the bright skies did none-too-much to drive off the chill in the air – so it’s more the kind of sunshine and blue skies you admire from behind windows.  It’s does pick-up the mood a bit though, cheerier than grey and wet to be sure.

So after the gym, and after a quick contorted nap on the loveseat (Sharaun had the couch), we piled into the car as a family and went grocery shopping together. This is a rare treat for me, as more often than not I’m banished from trips to the grocery store.  Sharaun doesn’t do well with my experimentalist approach to  discovering new foods – and has a low tolerance for my aisle-wandering in while I search for interesting stuff I’ve never eaten before.  I want to buy steel-cut oats in bulk, am drawn to the cans with Spanish labeling and a picture of a rooster in flames perched on an ear of blue corn (what the heck could that even be, I wonder), all of the sudden get a hankering for some braunschweiger on rye toast.

In the end I went along with “the list,” and we stuck to our normal fare.

And now I’m outta here to read a little bit more.  Goodnight.

Posted on

thump-thump th-thump-thump

And that's being generous.Friday; the weekend cometh.

It rained yesterday and through the night last night.  Reminded me just how infrequently we’ve had rain this year.  I’d just flipped our sprinklers back on this past week, normally the lawn is dormant enough during winter that I can easily go without them – but the increasingly brown hue had me concerned.  No rain, no fertilizer, brown lawn and bright green weeds.

In other news, I’m still going to the gym.  In fact, I’ve been somewhat obsessive about the whole diet and exercise thing.  I even installed an application on my iPhone that helps me track all that stuff which I would have, until now, called dudes “chicks” for talking about (calories and protein and the like).  You can track what you eat, what you exercise away, and all sorts of other stuff.  They even have “sexual activity” as a type of exercise… but what’s up with the five minute granularity?

I don’t know… I guess I would like to get in shape.  Maybe this is really happening.  Maybe.

Anyway,  I’m not in much shape for writing; walking dead.  Let me explain through a series of e-mails my Mom and I exchanged this morning:

=================================================

From: Dave’s Mom
To: Dave
Subject: Keaton

How’s babygirl today? Hope she’s doing better! Tell her Grammy loves her!

Love, mom

=================================================

From: Dave
To: Dave’s Mom
Subject: Re: Keaton

She’s better, but we’re both mad at her today 🙂

Last night it rained pretty good and the sound woke her up around 12:30am. From that point on, it was a 4hr struggle to get her back to sleep – 1.5hrs of it with her screaming and having a huge fit all alone in her locked room. Sharaun and I were both furious, and of course got no sleep. It really was awful, and no matter what we did she would not listen and go back to bed. Ugh, just thinking about it makes me mad all over again.

=================================================

From: Dave’s Mom
To: Dave
Subject: Re: Keaton

Poor baby – you tell her how proud we are that she’s being such a “bad” girl. Not really – just kidding. I don’t think even you were that stubborn and bad. I do feel for you and can totally relate. Glad she’s better, though.

=================================================

From: Dave
To: Dave’s Mom
Subject: Re: Keaton

You would not believe how amazingly stubborn she is…

Even under threat of spankings, locked doors, confiscated toys… she still deliberately does exactly what you tell her not to.

It really is infuriating 🙂

Sharaun said this morning when she got her up and was changing her out of her overnight diaper she was still angry and tired and so didn’t say much to Keaton. Apparently Keaton recognized this and looked up at her with a huge smile and the first thing she said was, “But you still love me, Mommy!”

What a punk!!

=================================================

From: Dave’s Mom
To: Dave
Subject: Re: Keaton

Ahhh – how well I remember those days. That’s my girl! Gotta love her, huh? You can’t tell me that kid’s not smart – just like her dear old Dad.

Love, mom.

=================================================

Well, aside from that – not much more to write.  My new subwoofer came from Ebay and I installed it tonight… having the bottom-end back to my driving experience is wonderful.  Come ride with me in my super brokedown Ford Explorer and you, too, can feel the thump.  Thump, thump, thump-thump th-thump-thump.

And, before I go – I thought this site was pretty cool.  Hopefully they’ll keep it updated throughout the next four years so we can get a neato real-time scorecard of how our new Commander In Chief executes to plan. Not sure where its partisanship lies, or doesn’t.. but it’s worth a glance.

Thumpin’ outta here for the weekend, goodnight.

Posted on

undaunted

Still smiling.Hi online friends.

A little after 10pm and I’m just back from the gym.  Yeah, I’m still going.

The sawmill is playing Obama’s inauguration on the big screens tomorrow down in the cafe, and I’m gonna go truant on my meetings to sit and watch with a fresh cup of coffee and a banana.  My Mom said her work is showing the event too, and I know some government-related workers who are totally shut-down for the event.  And, while I think the news is overdoing the hype more than just a little but, I am anticipating witnessing an somewhat momentous event.  Kinda nice of the sawmills around the country to sponsor some time to watch it, yeah?

Oh, and for those who are curious – no, I don’t work at an actual sawmill.  Yes, I’ve been asked this before; it’s understandable.  I work at a big computer-type company, where I’m a manager of engineers.  I’m supposed to be an engineer myself, but I’m rusty having been in “management” for the past several years.  So yeah, I don’t work at an actual sawmill… I just like to abstract my real employer from my personal blog a bit.  Now you know.

Poor Keaton is sick.  And, having now been through almost three years of come-and-go colds and bugs, we’ve learned a few things about how our little girl usually suffers.  Here are my generalized observations (meaning more often than not, when she comes down with something, we’ll see the following):

  1. If she has a fever, it will come on very quick and rise very high just as quickly.  This girl gets fevers in a blink, and they almost always top out higher than you’d expect for just a little cold.  For instance, right now she’s just shivering on Mommy’s chest trying to break a fever that peaked around 103° just twenty minutes ago.  We can effectively keep these fevers down, cyclically, by dosing her with Motrin as often as the indications allow.  But it’s always an up and down thing.
  2. If she has a fever, she’ll be wheezy and have a hacking cough.  The doctor has told us she exhibits signs of “virus-induced asthma/wheezing.”  Apparently it’s a childhood thing, though, and often dissipates with age.  (What is it with my bloodline and strange temporary randomthing-induced maladies?)  And, like my childhood asthma did me, I hope hers leaves her sooner rather than later.
  3. Her reaction to everything but the highest points of her fevers is to roll right on like nothing’s wrong.  We have to encourage her to take breaks and rest when she’s sick, or she’d continue to run around and play as if nothing was wrong.  What makes this sad is when she’s really sacked-out by sickness (like today) and really only wants to be held.  Poor thing.

We’re keeping our eyes on her and keeping her quiet and full of fluids… and will seek Mr. Doctor should things continue.  But, for now she’s recovering solo at home with Sharaun, and we’re both warding off the virus with index-finger crucifixes and necklaces fashioned from garlic bulbs.  Wish us, all three, luck.

Goodnight y’allz.

Posted on

besting the 8 o’clock monster

An element of trust.Hi new week, the blog welcomes you.

I’ve written a couple times here recently about the escalation of our bedtime situation with Keaton.  To recap for those who can’t be bothered to look here or here, since sometime in December last year she’s really been fighting us at bedtime.

At first it was the whole, “One more story; one more kiss; one more hug; one more one more one more…” bit.  But things had also been steadily escalating, turning from fairly innocent (yet bothersome) delays into full-scale fits and tantrums.  Last week it was to the point where every bedtime was fraught with knockdown-dragout displays on her part: screaming, crying, banging on walls, you name it.  During the peak two weeks ago, these outbursts would last well over an hour before the poor thing gave up and crawled into bed in an exhausted, frustrated defeat.

For us, it made those early hours of nighttime a time to dread.  We both felt bad for how worked up she’d be, yet we were both pretty angry at how ridiculous she was acting.  That “only kids can make you feel this way” mixture of anger and sympathy is sure an uncomfortable fence to be waffling on – one minute wanting to storm in in anger and the other feeling bad she’s having such a hard time.  But one thing was for sure, it was wearing on us all – Keaton perhaps more than we even realized.

Looking back, I told Sharaun we probably should’ve been a bit more cognizant of the fact that the whole  “bedtime/sleep” thing had become quite consuming to our little girl.  In fact, when I mentioned to Sharaun how often I’d played “time to go to bed” with her, or heard her putting her dolls to sleep (under threat of locked doors) – she also realized she’d played along with or seen Keaton playing “bedtime” quite a bit.  I told Sharaun we probably shoudl’ve recognized how much the idea had taken over her imaginary play situations… maybe should’ve seen how much she was thinking about it and realized it must be fairly foremost in her mind.

But hey, I’ve never been a parent before… so I cut myself a little slack.

And, as parents, Sharaun and I figured we better sit down and think out a new approach.  Having seen things steadily grow worse over the last month, we worried that unless we made changes and turned the tide now, it might get even worse (which, honestly, was hard to imagine).  Discussing with our friends (and fellow parents of a three year-old) one night, we laid out our situation and frustrations.  They mentioned that their boy liked to sleep with the door open, and we all wondered together whether or not something like that would work for Keaton.  Being ready to try just about anything, we decided we’d give it a go for a week.

So, a week ago today I setup the new method before bedtime, “OK Keaton, tonight we get to try something special for bedtime!  Mommy and I think you’re such a big girl that you deserve to go to sleep with your door open, just like big girls do.  That means that, after our prayer and story and songs, I’ll give you a kiss and leave your door open when I leave.  If you want to listen to Mommy and Daddy you can, but you need to stay in bed like a big girl.  And, like a big girl, you won’t cry.  You can think of happy things like your friends, or the Backyardigans, or the park, but you need to stay in bed.  Doesn’t that sound good?  Mommy and Daddy are so proud of you for being a big girl like this.”  Yeah, I laid it on nice and thick.

Believe it or not, it worked 100% perfect all week long.  She stays in her room (sometimes with one weak attempt at coming down the hall, which is easily corrected), doesn’t cry, doesn’t scream, doesn’t get all worked up.  She simply rolls over and goes to sleep.  And, for a week now we’ve had nary an issue; it’s been like a miracle turnaround, a bedtime exorcism.  Given the omniscience of hindsight, I wrote to my mom the other day that I think the whole thing might have been one big exercise in a toddler’s desire for control.  In other words, it was Keaton being a control freak; let me explain:

If you’re a regular reader, you’ll remember that, quite a while back, we had started locking Keaton’s door from the outside (yes, despite making us feel just a little “wicked stepmother” -ish).  At first, the lock worked – and seemed like a decent idea.  Keaton would get out of bed, try the locked door, offer a weak protest, and climb right back in to go to sleep.  Sharaun and I thought we’d found a good solution for our wanderer.  As a matter of fact, after a while we even ditched the lock because she appeared to have learned that getting out was futile.  But, as the whole thing got worse over the last month we’d moved once again to using it.

Looking back I think this was our mistake, and it was one with long-to-develop consequences for us and Keaton.  My theory now is that, being three (and perhaps also having something to do with being a little girl), Keaton has reached a point where she likes to feel like she has authority or control over things.  As a kid who’s parents praise her developing autonomy: being able to put on her own clothes, go to the bathroom unaided, etc., I can easily see how she’d place value on being able to exert her will.  And the lock, well that’s just a dead-end street to her free will.  There’s no degree of control on her part, she’s simply stuck in her room with no options.

Think now about an open door and the “big girl” trust involved:  Just knowing she could leave the room if she wanted to… just knowing she’s able to get out, even though she’s not supposed to and it’ll make Mom and Dad upset… just the simple fact that it’s in her hands and not ours.  In fact, we’re leaving the option of good behavior up to her at that point – she’s completely in control of her bedtime fate.  I suppose, if you want to take it to extremes, you could say a lock on the door comes with an assumption of misbehavior or presumed breaking of the rules. I doubt Keaton’s brain evaluates things on that level… but…

Truth in the psychobabble or not, the new “big girl style” bedtimes have been working like a charm.  We’re hoping for another week of good sleep, followed by another, and taken to a point where we can finally call this bedtime beast tamed.

May the good Lord be with us, eh?  Eh.

Goodnight folks, have a good Monday.

Posted on

a little mixed up

Bully!Thursday.  Trash is out at the curb and I’m just poking around the internet.  Here goes.

A true-life conversation betwixt my daughter and I, circa a week or so ago:

Enter Dave, father to almost-three-year-old Keaton, fresh out of work and walking through the door.  Keaton looks up from her playing and runs to greet him with a hug.

Dave:  “Hi Keaton!  How are you?”

Keaton: “Good!”

Dave: “How was your day?”

Keaton: “Good.  I played.”

Dave: “You played?  Wow!  That sounds fun!  Did you go to the kids club at the gym?”

Keaton: “Yeah I did!”

Dave: “Did you play with the other kids?”

Keaton: “Yeah, I did…. but… they were mean!”

Dave: “They were mean?!  What did they do?”

Keaton: “Umm… I took their toys!”

Dave: “You took their toys?”

Keaton: “Yeah!”

Dave: “Sounds like they were sad, and you were mean!”

Keaton: “No.  They were mean.”

Dave: “Yeah… wonder why….”

Ha!  Goodnight.

Posted on

some hangup, huh?

Anathea.Today I joined the gym.

Let me tell you why this is such a big deal to me.

For as long as I can remember knowing about the noun “gym” in the English language, I’ve hated the gym. As soon as I set foot in a gym I feel instantly out of place, intimidated, and self conscious. I imagine all eyes on me, the pudgy balding guy who obviously has no idea what he’s doing hooking his arms into that leg machine. The one sweating profusely while his step machine “time elapsed” counter reads only 02:13, you see that slacker? In fact, the prospect of going to the gym ranks right down there on my list of “stuff I avoid like the plague” with things like “playing organized sports” and “dancing.”

In my rational mind, I know this is an irrational response… yet it’s still my natural response.
I’ve wondered before if this is somehow tied, psychologically, to my pubescent hatred of middle and high school’s mandated Physical Education. It’s no secret that I’ve never been a jock (although I did enjoy my weightlifting elective immensely back in high school). I lack the coordination, discipline, and basic skills and knowledge required to enjoy and/or be successful.

I’ve made my peace with this, and it doesn’t really bother me. I’m not the sports guy; I read books, listen to music, write. I’m the guy the sports guys beat up because he “throws like a girl” and doesn’t care that Matt Cassel is a free-agent this year. PE was never my thing… mostly because I was never good at anything (mostly because I never tried, nor cared to try, to be good). Yeah, I was that kid.  Funny thing now is that I wish I hadn’t been that kid, had had those experiences, and hadn’t been the wallflower who didn’t care that his fingers should make a diamond to catch a football… or something.

Anyway, in the past I thought that perhaps going to the gym with someone else might help ease my troubles, but it actually exacerbated things. Either I go with someone more experienced than me who makes me feel (quite unintentionally, I’m sure) like a fitness idiot (which, coincidentally, I am), or I’m with someone as unmotivated as me and we just serve mutually inflate each others’ appreciation for our mediocrity. Long ago I arrived at the conclusion that my personal approach to fitness, kind of like masturbation, was that it’s something I enjoy much more when I’m able to hide out and not be seen. For a while, I tried running around the neighborhood… and that was OK, but I gave up. For a while I tried going to the free gym we have at work, but I gave up. And for a while I tried riding my bike to work, but I gave up. See the pattern?

Latent misgivings about PE aside, the source of my gym-aversion isn’t that important. Suffice to say it’s there, I know it’s “stupid,” but it’s not going anywhere (yet). What’s more, it, combined with a total lack motivation on my part, has kept me from the gym for my adult life. Now, I’m not trying to “blame” my irrational aversion to the place for me not going, if you took a percentage it’d be the smaller of the two reasons, and would be dwarfed in fault by a plain lack of caring on my part. So, before I talk about how I actually joined the gym we should recap: 1) Hate the gym, feel absurdly uncomfortable there. 2) Not motivated to go anyway, so it works out OK.

Sound like I’m setup for success here? Yeah, I thought so.

But, last week, Sharaun finally managed to convince me to join her there for an hour (and let me tell you, it was a hard sell). To my surprise, I actually really enjoyed the visit (I used a free guest pass). We spent about 40min on a step machine and then meandered down the rows of machines, trying different ones. It was nice to have her there, and nice to be able to drop Keaton at the kids area to play. The place was expansive enough that I didn’t feel crowded or watched-over, and there were so many machines and things to do that I never felt like I was holding any serious fit-folk up with my lameness. After leaving, I confess I felt great and wanted to go back. And, after using another free pass and not hating it again I decided to sign up.

Now, I know that a financial commitment is no insurance I’ll actually develop a habit of going – but I desperately like to think it is.  However, as long as I can continue to enjoy myself there, I think I can manage. A large part of that is the fact that I get some uninterrupted music time while I’m there (I know, this might sound ridiculous). I live for those times: mowing the lawn, driving, etc., and I’m hoping I can just see the gym as an “escape” where I can go to at least make myself a little more proud that I’m not simply eating and sitting myself into heart disease – all while I can jam on the new Animal Collective record. So, while I’ll be the first to admit it’s out of character for me, I’m trying to be dedicated to making it worth the $20/mo that’ll go down the drain if I fail to use it.

And now that I’ve taken the plunge I have to deal with the “hey that kid who doesn’t ever dance is totally making a fool of himself on the dancefloor” thing.  Meaning, when I tell anyone who’s known me for any stretch of time that I plan to start getting fit, they almost always laugh or respond with some sarcastic comment along the lines of, “Yeah, that’ll last.” And hey, who can blame them? My actions surely never back up my words when it comes to fitness, that’s for sure.  It’s not like I hate the concept of being fit, or even the threat of exercise… in fact there are a (very few) things I do enjoy doing that are sort of fitness-phyllic (hiking, for one… you silent doubters).

When it comes to follow-through, I suppose only time will tell… but history sure ain’t on my side.  But, while visiting the gym over the past few days – I did learn a few things.  I’ve noted them mentally, but I figured I’d share here too…  So, what have I learned about going to the gym?

  • Don’t forget the headphones (kicked myself today for a 3G connection to my 200GB NAS of music and no way to listen to anything)
  • Bring deodorant and baby powder (for going back to work after)
  • Quite a few dudes really do have bigger peeners than me…
  • I am so, so, weak and out of shape
  • I need to use a gym bag instead of a Wal Mart bag next time
  • The gym can be OK when you’re listening to some good tunes and watching COPS on the flatscreen in front of the machines

So… that’s my story.  Don’t wish me well OK?, that makes me all weird too. Some hangup, huh?

Goodnight internet.