And lately I've been giving a lot of high-fives.
So I know that reading about other people's gym adventures is usually about as fun as head butting a golf cart, but trust me, this one's worth it. Last Friday I went in to do a casual workout and I knew it was going to be a special day as soon as I walked in. Upon entering the locker room, I nearly ran into a fellow gym-goer as I rounded the corner. Normally you both just side step, awkwardly mumble something about your directional authority and possibly an apology, and move on with life. This guy apparently didn’t know that. I could instantly tell that he was a whole different breed of weird. I'm talking about the kind of person that you walk in on and find him yelling obscenities at a jar of Marshmallow Fluff. Anyway, instead of moving on, Mr. Fluff takes a large step back, cocks his head at the kind of angle that girls do when they're taking a picture at a bar after one to many drinks (you know, the girl-from-the-horror-movie angle), and just stares at me. It wasn't an intimidating or angry stare, it was more like he was just mind blown that I even existed. I stood there awkwardly for a second, waiting to see what would happen, and when nothing did I slowly side stepped and kept walking. It was weird, but it wasn't over. I changed and went out into the work out area and after a little while I noticed he was there too, on the opposite side of the room on an elliptical. Side Note: As far as I'm concerned the elliptical is by far the most ridiculous "workout machine" ever created. It's like the snuggie of the gym. Just stupid. Anyway, so he's over there looking slightly off balance but decently normal. I go about my routine and eventually reach the part where I'm using the equipment on his side, and this is where things get amazing. I'm off to the side of him when he apparently hit the part of his workout where he was supposed to speed up to Mach 3, and he is chuggin. By that I don't mean that he's only going fast, I mean he's also breathing in such forceful ragged patterns that he sounds like a freight train with Asthma. At this point there are a few other people around me glancing in his direction, slightly worried and a little scared. I don't blame them. He goes on like this for about three or four minutes, and I am now completely still, just watching him. Then it happens. All at once, he reaches for his water bottle, never slowing down at all, loses his balance, launches himself up off of the pedals onto the screen of the machine, emits an incredibly uncharacteristic yelp, and topples the entire machine onto its side. Nobody moved. It was amazing. After a few moments the gym staff came to his rescue, at which point he was just slowly rolling towards the far wall like an awkward beached whale, but when they reached him he got up, tried to explain what happened, then just jogged off the locker room. I had absolutely no clue what to do. I gave up trying to continue my workout, and sat there for a few minutes trying to decide whether to feel embarrassed for him or to laugh it off. Spoiler Alert: I laughed it off. And don't judge me for that. If you can't laugh at that, then either you misread the story, lack imagination, have no sense of humor, or all of the above. Also, you're probably an accountant with bad breath.
If you're anything like me, you have three addresses permanently embedded in your memory:
1) Yours.
2) Your parents.
3) P Sherman, 42 Wallabe Way, Sydney, Australia.
I don't know about you, but when I find a song that I really enjoy, like obsession status, I play it an absurd amount of times. I realize that’s pretty common but for me it's a serious problem. And nothing good comes from it either. It's not like after a few days of hearing it I can wean myself off and go back to normal. No, it's much worse. In short, I listen to the song on repeat for a minimum three weeks. There are absolutely no breaks. Just that song back to back. When I'm not listening to it, I'm whistling, humming, or singing it. At the end of that three-week period, I promptly wake up in the morning, delete the song from my phone and computer, and send hate mail to the artist. Nobody wins.
The other day I was zoned out whilst walking in downtown Atlanta, and began thinking about some really weird shit. Most of it revolved around the outcome of a potential battle royal between WD40 and Duct Tape. After much thought, I decided it would be a dead even fight, and the victor solely depends on who had the first move. It's the only logical outcome. If WD40 struck first, Duct Tape would never be able to stick to anything and thus would probably succumb to defeat. However if Duct Tape had the first blow, it could tape shut WD40's opening, rendering it defenseless. Trust me, I have thought out nearly every possible scenario. Those are the simplified versions. I need a hobby.
Of all the people in the world, I think I am most bewildered by the people who choose crunchy peanut butter over creamy peanut butter. I just don't understand them. Creamy is infinitely better. Why would you want little chunks of nuts in any sandwich?? And don't even get me started on the Extra Crunchy people. It's just whole peanuts in there. What's the point of even having the butter part? "I like the texture." No, you like murdering peanuts. The crunches are just little tiny peanut screams. "Hey, use extra crunchy on mine. And while you're at it, find out if the peanuts had any nicknames or family." You disgust me.
Fact of the Day: It only takes 7 pounds of pressure to rip your ear off.
Shout out to Rob Stiff.
