Spinning and Thumping: Alcohol

Somewhere between 9pm last night and 9am this morning I was able to lose 5 lbs.

At 9pm my friend came over reared and ready to go out to party at a club in the area. Naturally, as friends do, we got to cracking a few bottles of beer open together and threw them to the backs of our throats before taking off. I don't encourage drinking and driving (especially if we're on our way to go and drink some more), but in this particular case, I gambled.

A cousin of mine was djing the event and had spotted me in a crowd. He told the doorman to let me and my friend in. What happened next was a seemingly endless blur of strangeness:

-Every three steps I ran into somebody I knew, or at least somebody that knew me.
-A sea of bodies bombarded my senses, most of whom towered over me in height.
-I consumed way too many drinks of different varieties.
-I danced with random people left and right.
-Somewhere along the night I gave a really tall waitress a piggy-back ride.
-I threw up on the side of the road.

It would be futile to attempt to explain what happened last night in a way that would be anywhere near interesting, so I'll fast forward to what happened when I came back home:

-I fumbled with my keys at the front door.
-I stumbled in at 2:45am, most likely waking my roommates.
-I remember walking into a clean room.
-I threw my possessions on my table, disrobed and went to sleep.
-I woke up to the world spinning and my head thumping.
-In my mouth there were Mardi Gras beads.
-At my feet there was loose change, my wallet, keys, watches and coupons.
-I was curious about that, so I rolled over and felt markers, pens, pencils, mints, and vitamins against my arms.
-After assessing the situation, I went to the bathroom to try and sort this mess out.
-I weighed myself on the scale just because it was there (as I did last night).
-I lost 5 lbs.

What the hell happened last night?

I'm really uncertain, which probably explains the ragtag way this post was pieced together. My head hurts too much to try and make some decent sense out of things and make this post lyrical. Besides, the taste of the lingering bile is really making me more nauseous. I'm going to eat some Lil' Smokies to try and rinse that flavor out.

Birthday weekend night #1 on the books.

Bathroom Etiquette

Times may change, but the bathroom rules are still the same, aren’t they?

A simple overview of the common rules:

-Don’t talk to anybody. Look straight ahead or down when you do your business standing up.

-Only nod at one another completely before or completely after finishing.

-Try your best to keep a buffer stall in between you.

When people choose to disregard these rules by engaging in any way, shape or form with me, I simply ignore them. They can talk to me outside when we’re done.

So anyway, I had a weird experience in the bathroom today.

I went to the executive floor of our building (where all of the six-figure money-makers sit). After running a couple of errands, I felt that I should just go ahead and empty my bladder really quickly, since the bathroom was right there. It’s eight-fifteen in the morning and I figure that means the place should be rather empty. Very wrong, Matthew. Very wrong.

The bathroom on that floor from left to right looks like this: Handicap stall, regular stall, urinal, urinal, two sinks, door. The door doesn’t have a handle, it’s one that just requires a simple push to open and close, kind of like a swinging door. Anyway, my tennis shoes barely made a sound as I quietly walked in, the swinging door gently closing quietly behind me. Immediately I noticed that there were already two people using both stalls, each with a pair of feet and bunched up pants gathered at the ankles. Unusual, because I thought that executives would much rather prefer to use their own, personal toilets at home instead of the public ones at work, but still, it didn’t bother me much. I have a feeling that they don't notice me, and sometimes I like to play a ninja game to see if I can get away with it. I use the stall furthest to the right, just to distance myself and quietly handle my business.

It’s during mid-stream when it happens. One of the guys in there lets out the most gnarly, grotesque, wet fart you’d ever heard. For a second, it’s almost so quiet that you could hear a pin drop on the floor. And for a fleeting moment, it seemed as though it would stay that way.

That’s when the other guy in the handicap stall started to giggle.

And then the guy who farted let out an exasperated laugh, too. While doing so, he farted again, unable to control his flatulence.

Which ultimately left them both laughing loudly together.

Now, I’m not one for open communication in the bathroom, but I thought that was funny as hell, so I joined in the laughter, thus making me nearly miss the urinal. Instantly, the room quieted. It just hit me that they hadn’t known I was in there. I didn’t know if I should feel embarrassed with them, or not. But whatever the case, I finished up in a hurry. After I was done, I quickly washed up and left the bathroom.

I know that I have a lot of things to take care of today, but I figure that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, so I hung around outside of the bathroom, tinkering with some stuff just down the hall inconspicuously monitoring the men's restroom door.

Turns out the CEO and the CFO walked out of the bathroom one minute after the other.

They’ll never know who the mystery laugh came from.

Don’t worry guys; your secret is safe with me.

Workout Afterglow

In 1996 I was considered by most kids in my sixth grade class as 'one of the most athletic guys.' I had a diamond-cutting six pack, calves the size of tree trunks, and pecs that could, if flexed, hold a quarter in between them.

By my graduating year in 2003 I still felt pretty good about myself in terms of my physical shape. My muscles felt leaner, my physique had strengthened with more rigorous workouts, and my metabolism had skyrocketed through the roof.

But, as with most things, youth gets replaced by experience, and the lines that once reflected the ripping cuts in my arms have since then slid further south, turning into mere folds in the skin that permanently flop over each other, flexed or not. I've succumbed to the daily routine that people call 'a rut': shuffling my feet this way and that, the days seemingly blurring together in a confusing weave of deadlines at work and families that need constant maintenance. I've even begun to look at the young kids walking around public arenas and wonder why they're so loud.

I'm turning 24 in less than a week.

It seems as though not only did I graduate college, but since that time in my life, I've graduated early into the next portion of my life: Getting old, fat, and lazy.

Strange questions start to fill my mind nowadays. Questions like: Where did the courage of youth go? When did the social pressures stop me from trying harder? Did I peak in college and not know it?

Though I look back at my past with fondness, I realize that there is one constant variable that has always, and will always, keep my heart racing towards doing better for myself: Girls.

Which is why, for some God-awful reason, I convinced myself that I should probably get back into working out again. I've got an awesome deal membership with 24-Hour Fitness ($20 a year to renew), but rarely do I use it. Instead, I fooled myself into thinking that I could get just as good a workout at home as I would at the gym, so I bought home equipment. Little did I know that the distractions at home (TV, free food, warm bed, internet) were far more consequential than those at the gym (grunting men, waiting for machines, hot girls doing squats).

A couple hundred wasted dollars later, I let those things collect dust in my room, alongside my cassette tapes and walkman, waiting until they too, become obsolete. That's when I ran into an old friend from high school. She had been doing well for herself: looking good, feeling good, making money. So, naturally, we got to talking about the good ol' days back in high school, which led to who had gotten fat since then, which inevitably moved into the 'let's go work out together' conversation.

Fantastic.

Today, I woke up with sores all over my body, and I have to go back with her there in half an hour.

As I sigh with each passing minute, dreading the heavy things they call 'weights' at the gym, I must make a point to keep my eyes forward. Because when all is said and done, the soreness is just a subtle reminder that I am that much closer to making a girl want to jump my bones.

Then again, I've been able to do that without the soreness before. So tell me... why the hell am I going to the gym again?


...Oh yeah, the hot girls doing squats. I think I need to say hi to them tonight.

Ash Wednesday

Thought about Lent today.

Things I have given up in the previous seasons of Lent:
-Salt
-Soda
-Rice
-Youtube/Social Networking sites
-'Useless' dates with random girls
-Ketchup
-Fast food
-Self-gratification (for family-friendly readers, let's translate this as 'reading a magazine'; but for the rest of you... you know what? Let's just call it 'reading a magazine')

So I've thought long and hard (that's what she said) about what to give up for this season. And like thousands of other people who've brain-farted the issue every year, I've ended up at the same conclusion: I don't know. I could go down the route of 'making my life better' by adding things that I don't normally do (e.g. eat healthier, drink more water, work out more), but those things are not only boring, but they cause me irritation.

Eventually, I reach step-two of my yearly thought process: Lent is about sacrifice. Plain and simple. Jesus Christ sacrificed his life for me, and all I can give up is soda for forty days? Hell, I don't even drink that much in the first place! No, no. It has to be bigger. It has to be something that I've never thought I could ever live without, like my opposable thumbs, or both my kidneys, or you know, money.

I realize there are few pleasures in life that I absolutely adore, but none of them are things I want to stop doing for forty days. For example: taking my daily trips to the bathroom to relieve the turtle-head effect, or like... eating food I guess.

So it's back to step-one: What can I sacrifice that is worthy of God's Almighty Ultimate Super Gigantic Spectaculaaarrrrrrrrrrrr Sunday Sunday Sunday!!!!! (Ok, so Lent isn't exactly a Mexican-monster-truck rally, but you get the gist). Anyway, let's just say that I've decided on sacrificing something bigger than all of the Lenten promises before:

From now on, for forty days I am giving up saying "That's what she said"

Yes, you heard it first. It is the biggest sacrifice of my life, but I am determined to do it. Please, everyone help hold me to my promise. If you catch me saying that sentence in any fashion, force me to put $5 in a TWSS fund.

My goal is to have less than $25 there by the end of the forty days. Wish me luck. It's going to be really hard. THAT'S WHA----

DAMMIT!



P.S.
...Oh and just to ensure that I got my bases covered I'm also giving up putting seasoning/flavoring/sauces/dips etc. to already-prepared food (e.g. salt, ketchup, ranch, buffalo sauce, and many many others).