That's all I have to say about that.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
online dating
Here’s a hint.
If you are closer in age to my father than you are to me? I’m not going to date you.
My stated age range on match.com is 27-40. If you are 53? You are well outside that range.
My stated age range on match.com is 27-40. If you are 53? You are well outside that range.
Sending me a wink won’t change my mind. Seriously.
Get a clue.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Cold Stone
I went to Cold Stone after work today and came to a conclusion: the singing has to stop.
Whenever you tip them, one yells, “Hey guys, we got a tip!” and they all break into song. It is very, very uncomfortable. The last time I was there it wasn’t a big deal, because when I tipped them the place was packed with people and there were a lot of Cold Stone workers behind the counter singing, so I just got the hell out of there and let the crowd deal with the song. But when I went today, there were only three employees working and myself and another woman in the store. So when I got my ice cream I tipped and sure enough, the three employees started singing. I didn’t know if I was supposed to sit there and listen to them sing or what, but I got the hell out of there and let the other customer deal with it. Very, very uncomfortable.
The sad thing is that I don’t think I can tip these guys anymore. I mean, I really want to - what with them giving me a delicious and over-sized ice cream treat - but I can’t take that singing. And I feel like if I tried to tip the guy but said something like, “You don’t have to sing”, it would turn into some Larry David-esque episode with him calling me out on it and saying, “What? You don’t like our cheerful singing?” and then a customer saying, “Yeah - what’s wrong with you?” and then some hot guy saying, “She’s just bitter because she’s fat!” But unlike Larry David, I would grab a fucking chair and hit the fucker who called me fat and would scream “You fucking douchebag! I will kill you and shit on your grave! I will shit on your fucking grave in front of your family and your pets! I was on TV! Do you know who the fuck I am! I have a blog! I have a fucking blog!”.
I am sensitive about my weight. So sorry, no more tips.
Whenever you tip them, one yells, “Hey guys, we got a tip!” and they all break into song. It is very, very uncomfortable. The last time I was there it wasn’t a big deal, because when I tipped them the place was packed with people and there were a lot of Cold Stone workers behind the counter singing, so I just got the hell out of there and let the crowd deal with the song. But when I went today, there were only three employees working and myself and another woman in the store. So when I got my ice cream I tipped and sure enough, the three employees started singing. I didn’t know if I was supposed to sit there and listen to them sing or what, but I got the hell out of there and let the other customer deal with it. Very, very uncomfortable.
The sad thing is that I don’t think I can tip these guys anymore. I mean, I really want to - what with them giving me a delicious and over-sized ice cream treat - but I can’t take that singing. And I feel like if I tried to tip the guy but said something like, “You don’t have to sing”, it would turn into some Larry David-esque episode with him calling me out on it and saying, “What? You don’t like our cheerful singing?” and then a customer saying, “Yeah - what’s wrong with you?” and then some hot guy saying, “She’s just bitter because she’s fat!” But unlike Larry David, I would grab a fucking chair and hit the fucker who called me fat and would scream “You fucking douchebag! I will kill you and shit on your grave! I will shit on your fucking grave in front of your family and your pets! I was on TV! Do you know who the fuck I am! I have a blog! I have a fucking blog!”.
I am sensitive about my weight. So sorry, no more tips.
Monday, June 2, 2008
I have joined the gym. I figured it was time, as I went ahead and spent about $200 in preparation for joining the gym (I-Pod with requisite arm-band, gym clothes, new pair of sneakers, some vitamins, etc). In my short time there I have learned many things, which is good because I have probably ten days before I quit. The five that immediately come to mind are:
1) There is nothing good about working out. Any way you cut it, working out stinks. Pedaling on a bike for forty-five minutes that is going nowhere is just plain stupid. And afterwards, the feeling of, “Great - I just did thirty minutes on the treadmill” pales in comparison to the following feelings: “My god, this ice cream is delicious” or “Holy shit I can’t believe I am this fucking high” or “I never knew Southern Comfort tastes this good.” Waking up the next morning and not being to raise your arms above your shoulders because you are sure that they are hemorrhaging is not good. Being in a room with a bunch of sweaty people breathing heavily who smell bad is not good. Expending energy in the hopes of fitting into the societal model of “attractiveness” and developing an inferiority complex in the process is not good. Spending $50 per month for all this is the worst of all.
2) To work out is to waste everything our species has worked toward for millions of years. Fundamentally, when you work out, you are doing something physically taxing that you are not required to do. Can you imagine trying to explain working out to someone from the past? “So, let me get this straight - you’re going to take this really heavy weight and keep lifting it, over and over again. Then you are going to get on this machine and run, though you are not running anywhere. And no one is forcing you to do this with the threat of physical punishment, starvation, or torture. Am I missing something? Because it sounds kind of stupid to me.”
Human beings have evolved to this point in time mentally so that we do not have to make our bodies work as hard as our ancestors did, because our brains are much more advanced. For example, no longer do we need to spend hours hunting for our food in the hot sun, fighting off big-ass fucking tigers and other monsters, because Festival Mexicano will bring it to your door and it will be delicious (and reasonably priced). I needn’t get too into details of evolution (mostly because I don’t really know what I’m talking about), but when we force ourselves and our bodies to perform such equally strenuous and unnecessary activities, it is an affront to evolution, and, as such, to God Almighty Himself. [I know that the theory of evolution and the Judeo-Christian story of creation don’t exacly mesh, but the point is you don’t want to piss off God]
3) A good thing about the gym is that it’s totally ok to be really sweaty. This is especially great for someone like me, who sweats while breathing, sleeping and showering. One caveat: you have to find the right sweat balance between, “Wow that guys looks like she had a good workout” or “Jesus, someone should call the paramedics for that fat ass - is she turning blue?” I have not been able to find this balance, as evidenced by the looks of pity, concern, and alarm when I stumble off the exercise bike and into the locker room, gasping for air and weeping.
4) I just do not like right at the gym. Meaning, I really stick out, or at least I really don’t fit in. Everyone there is either: 1) in really good shape; 2) in really bad shape; or 3) old. There aren’t really many husky, early 30’s gals there. Or maybe they go at other times, like 2am, when no one is there to watch them struggle with a machine, get up and walk around the machine to try to figure out exactly what the machine is supposed to do, sit down and try the machine again, then finally walk away from the machine in disgust and shame.
5) There are many hot guys at the gym. I don’t know - I guess I always thought that sexy guys grew on trees, but apparently they have to work hard to look good. Who knew? Well, I now know that the gym is crawling with attractive sweaty guys who would like nothing less to be approached by a sweating, panting girl named Sandy hitting on them with her “sure-fire” jokes about retards and the homeless. Just sit on your lil’ bike and watch Fatty - don’t talk them, because they really don’t care that you’re “funny” or that “family is the most important thing” to you. You are chubby - please go away and take your smell with you.
That’s all I can think of for now. I’m sure I’ll be adding to this as time passes and I continue to embarrass myself in new and exciting ways in front of people who view me with disdain because I occasionally throw back a ten-pack of soft tacos.
1) There is nothing good about working out. Any way you cut it, working out stinks. Pedaling on a bike for forty-five minutes that is going nowhere is just plain stupid. And afterwards, the feeling of, “Great - I just did thirty minutes on the treadmill” pales in comparison to the following feelings: “My god, this ice cream is delicious” or “Holy shit I can’t believe I am this fucking high” or “I never knew Southern Comfort tastes this good.” Waking up the next morning and not being to raise your arms above your shoulders because you are sure that they are hemorrhaging is not good. Being in a room with a bunch of sweaty people breathing heavily who smell bad is not good. Expending energy in the hopes of fitting into the societal model of “attractiveness” and developing an inferiority complex in the process is not good. Spending $50 per month for all this is the worst of all.
2) To work out is to waste everything our species has worked toward for millions of years. Fundamentally, when you work out, you are doing something physically taxing that you are not required to do. Can you imagine trying to explain working out to someone from the past? “So, let me get this straight - you’re going to take this really heavy weight and keep lifting it, over and over again. Then you are going to get on this machine and run, though you are not running anywhere. And no one is forcing you to do this with the threat of physical punishment, starvation, or torture. Am I missing something? Because it sounds kind of stupid to me.”
Human beings have evolved to this point in time mentally so that we do not have to make our bodies work as hard as our ancestors did, because our brains are much more advanced. For example, no longer do we need to spend hours hunting for our food in the hot sun, fighting off big-ass fucking tigers and other monsters, because Festival Mexicano will bring it to your door and it will be delicious (and reasonably priced). I needn’t get too into details of evolution (mostly because I don’t really know what I’m talking about), but when we force ourselves and our bodies to perform such equally strenuous and unnecessary activities, it is an affront to evolution, and, as such, to God Almighty Himself. [I know that the theory of evolution and the Judeo-Christian story of creation don’t exacly mesh, but the point is you don’t want to piss off God]
3) A good thing about the gym is that it’s totally ok to be really sweaty. This is especially great for someone like me, who sweats while breathing, sleeping and showering. One caveat: you have to find the right sweat balance between, “Wow that guys looks like she had a good workout” or “Jesus, someone should call the paramedics for that fat ass - is she turning blue?” I have not been able to find this balance, as evidenced by the looks of pity, concern, and alarm when I stumble off the exercise bike and into the locker room, gasping for air and weeping.
4) I just do not like right at the gym. Meaning, I really stick out, or at least I really don’t fit in. Everyone there is either: 1) in really good shape; 2) in really bad shape; or 3) old. There aren’t really many husky, early 30’s gals there. Or maybe they go at other times, like 2am, when no one is there to watch them struggle with a machine, get up and walk around the machine to try to figure out exactly what the machine is supposed to do, sit down and try the machine again, then finally walk away from the machine in disgust and shame.
5) There are many hot guys at the gym. I don’t know - I guess I always thought that sexy guys grew on trees, but apparently they have to work hard to look good. Who knew? Well, I now know that the gym is crawling with attractive sweaty guys who would like nothing less to be approached by a sweating, panting girl named Sandy hitting on them with her “sure-fire” jokes about retards and the homeless. Just sit on your lil’ bike and watch Fatty - don’t talk them, because they really don’t care that you’re “funny” or that “family is the most important thing” to you. You are chubby - please go away and take your smell with you.
That’s all I can think of for now. I’m sure I’ll be adding to this as time passes and I continue to embarrass myself in new and exciting ways in front of people who view me with disdain because I occasionally throw back a ten-pack of soft tacos.
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