So this evening, I had the ex-hot FuckStick mostly to myself. Of course, he was trying to be all cute and charming and shit, but I wasn't having any of that. He was just trying to DISTRACT me from the insane number of reps he expected me to do on the lat pulldown machine and the rowing machine. And more fucking ab crunches. If I don't look significantly more buff and cute at the end of this 8 weeks, I am so giving up and going on the chocolate cheesecake diet.
I did gain a little insight into FuckStick's character tonight, though. He's very competitive. He also happens to be the only trainer at the Y right now who has any sort of clue what he's doing. Basically, he has decided that our little group is winning this here showdown, and we will not be standing in the way of this happening.
Under ordinary circumstances, I would not mind this one bit, and I probably do need a sharp boot to the booty once in a while. Seriously, though, we are going to the Y, where everyone is a winner, and I'm sure that whatever happens at the end of this challenge, everyone will get some sort of stupid certificate about how they had the cutest workout clothes or something. Really, that philosophy is good for kids playing sports, but we're all grownups now and we should all know that someone has to win and someone has to lose...if I weren't so sick of all the election shit, I would make a crack about George Bush being the loser in that metaphor.
Blah, blah, blah. With all this talk about aches and pains and Icy Hot, I'm starting to sound like a freakin' senior citizen. Please stop me before I start talking about my colon.
So after the whole Total Y Experience, I have to go to Wal-Mart (WM from now on). You see, Loopy has been VERY VERY VERY poor for the last week. And Loopy was out of toilet paper and paper towels (which, in Loopy's house, count as dishes), and anything resembling edible food.
Before hitting WM, I stop to have some nachos at Taco Cabana. It's right next door to WM, and I've earned them for being in pain. Taco Cabana provided the first clue that perhaps this was not going to be the quiet "sneak in on Friday while people with lives are out having fun" excursion. The place was fucking packed. So I think, okay, it's not the best part of town, probably just the po' folks having a decent meal and shit. Then....I enter the Evil Empire.
First of all, the carts provide lots of slalom practice in the parking lot. After finally locating a parking space (and yes, my Inner Lazy Bitch won, and I drove around until I found a close one, thankyouverymuch), I mosey inside, and see....one retard trying to explain cart collection practices and procedures to another retard. By "retard," I do not mean someone who is just a person of average intelligence doing some stupid shit. I mean, the mentally challenged leading the mentally challenged. Had I not been so fucking worn out, I would have had to try MUCH harder not to laugh until the tears ran down my face. Yep, I feel them flames, Oh Lordy. What made it even more entertaining was that the one doing the explaining was a fat guy in an elf suit. I really wished BFRB could have been there, but she was eating dinner somewhere nice with her Republican relatives....the only person she could talk to without fear of being discovered was her 12-year-old cousin.
After taking my sweet time unsticking two carts, I fight the crowds to obtain the necessary items. However, tomorrow, OU is going to pound the shit out of the ‘Pokes (OSU)(and I should explain at this point that I really don't care that much about football, but the rest of this freaking state sure does), and plus, it's trick-or-treat night, and ain't nobody got no costumes. At least not in my town. Despite the serious feeling of claustrophobia which settles over me every time I'm in some crowded place (especially crowded places where I would rather not be), I did overhear some amusing things....
(Mustache-y short scrawny dude talking to slightly pudgy chick with a bad bleach job and their teenage offspring-gender undetermined): "Ah don't know why you always have to make some goddamn SCENE." Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
(African-American twenty-something talking on the phone in the meat department): "Girrrrrl, so should I make the ro-tel or just get some hot-dogs or something?"
(Hispanic family, several children under 7, oldest of said children talking on some pretend PA system which nonetheless certainly carried loudly into my auditory space): Gobbledy-Spanish-Gook. I think he was pretending to be something, but I don't know what.
Luckily, despite the overrunning of Wal-Mart with varieties of trash, especially White Trash (WT), they actually did have plenty of cashiers. Mine was even friendly and dressed up for Halloween. I don't think I was very nice, because by the time I fought all the screaming hordes, I could barely keep my eyes open, so we were at monosyllabic grunting communication. I felt kinda bad, because most of the time I try to be nice to the usually rude checkers.
Finally get home. But the Econo-Jug of cat litter is still in the car. My arms don't need to be lifting anything else tonight. GID is coming over tomorrow. I'll freaking make him carry it. For some reason, he likes doing macho shit for me. I think it's because I'm pretty much the independent type and won't let him. However, he can thank FuckStick. I only wish I'd left more stuff down there.
No comments:
Post a Comment