Heat Wave

It was twelve degrees when I walked outside this morning.

Twelve.

I shrieked like an adolescent girl at a Hansen concert and ran back inside to cower in the warmth for just a bit longer before forging ahead into the dark and frozen winter wasteland that is Kansas City.

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(at twelve degrees)

Trying to whistle a happy tune but only making a horrifying blowing noise with steam flowing out of my mouth like a ketchup packet filled with stale air and mucus being slowly driven over, I made my way to the truck.

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Have I mentioned that it was twelve degrees?

Even the truck protested at being awakened in the frigid morning. If an inanimate object can fake emphysema, my truck has it. Having been a daily chain smoker for 11 years now, it wheezes in the morning while coughing like a career coal miner with three pack a day unfiltered Lucky Strike habit.

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I have to admit that while feeling completely asinine for donning a swimsuit in order to immerse myself in water this morning, it was really nice getting in the pool. Pausing between laps to discuss our respective Christmases, the Aqua-Ettes and I were feeling pretty good doing our laps and listening to the oldies station (although I do find it disconcerting that the oldies are now ye olde Duran Duran and the timeless classics by Depeche Mode).

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Having let the shower warm up for approximately 40 minutes I hopped in, climbed the ice waterfall that had formed at the shower head and scrubbed myself in record time.

Looking down at the pride and joy I realized that the goods were missing.
I was as smooth as a JC Penny’s mannequin (one less thing to do my thinking for me…)

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Disregarding my lack of manhood (who needs it) I ventured back to the parking lot and drove my wheezing and smoking coal miner back to the house.

Ps. Eleven degrees by then. Mother Nature can suck it.

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Drool

Drool.

That unwanted and unnoticed trickle slowly and sedately making it’s way out of the corner of your mouth when you’re:

A: On a wonderful cocktail of pain relievers and anti-inflammatories.
B: Napping where other people are not napping.

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As you jerk awake like you’ve just dreamed that you’re in imminent danger of being turned into the squishy stuff between a raging elephants toes, you smack your lips and realize that although the dream wasn’t real, the people looking directly at you are.

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You wipe the crystallized trail from the side of your face (of which such sediment can only mean that there’s too much sodium in your diet so lay off the ‘tato chips) and act as if nothing happened while in your mind you’re still figuring out where the hell you are and trying desperately the get your sh*t together.

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Next time pay attention to the warning labels on your medications but for now, take your foot off of the brake and get out of the intersection.

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Ps. I recommend throwing your back out occasionally so you too can have such interesting mornings ūüėČ

The Wing Suit

And so Friday morning happened…

I learned a valuable lesson.

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After watching innumerable YouTube videos and making all of the required purchases I found that a wing suit is not nearly as aerodynamic in the pool as in those worldwide base jumping videos.

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I came walking in to hoots and cheers from the Aqua-Ettes clad in my new suit with the screaming raven stitched onto the back and dove into lane three between the chatty lassies water jogging in lane four and Samantha L. Jackson in lane two jabbering away colorfully with my special friend. “What the &*$# is that?!?!” I heard her say.

The dive was smooth and flawless but my new leather helmet immediately shifted all the way to the back of my head and began choking me with the nylon chin strap and the goggles leaked profusely, blurring my vision.

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The suit quickly filled with water and became the sea anchor I should have known it would be but hope clouded my judgement as it so often does.

Trying to salvage even a smidgen of my dignity I reached down in the water and ignited the smoke packs I had so hoped would trail my sleek and elegant swim through the pool leaving a mystic smoke that was a wonder to behold.

This was not the case either.

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Enormous gouts of red smoke came belching out of the depths of the pool from my ankles making my eyes burn and everyone else around me shoot away like grease from a drop of Dawn in the sink.

A strange film was left on the surface of the pool like an oil slick and I was left to trudge up the wheelchair ramp wheezing puffs of red smoke with every step and the sound of unrestrained laughter emanating from every corner of the aquatics center.

The maintenance crew showed up just as I was leaving and I heard one guy mutter under his breath “Oh, it’s him again…”

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Thank (insert deity here) it’s Friday.

I think the ladies should pay for my membership just for the entertainment quotient I bring…¬†

The Hottie

I met a new girl at the gym last week.

She was beautiful.

I don’t mean just good looking but really beautiful like an airbrushed Health & Fitness magazine cover model.

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I noticed that she’d gotten into the pool when I resurfaced after a particularly grueling set of laps.

I had ingested a mere 1.5 gallons of chlorine tainted pool water while thrashing back and forth like a first timer in the ocean during a shark attack so what I’m trying to say is, I looked pretty good myself.

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As she finished her lap she stopped for a minute and I though maybe I might lay a smooth line on her.

Maybe something classy like “Do you come here often sugar britches?”

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What actually came out of my face was “Good morning!”

A big smile broke out on her face and he said “Hi!” (Perfect teeth, of course)

Me: “I haven’t seen you here before.”

Supermodel: “This my first time but I like it so far. ¬†Everyone’s been really friendly and it’s close to my house.” (Sweet!)

Me: “Oh, did you just move into the neighborhood?”

Supermodel: “Mmm hmmm. ¬†I’ve been traveling between Paris and Milan between jobs (supermodeling, of course) and I decided to come home to Kansas City. ¬†It’s kind of a lonely life and I want some new friends.” (OMG, I’m feeling faint.)

Supermodel: “I found a great house about three blocks from… wait… “
As she said that last word “wait” her hand rose out of the water and her delicate finger was pointing up and down from my chin to about mid chest.
I looked quickly down to see what she was pointing at and the thin line of snot that had apparently been flowing out of my right nostril had decided to slowly escape the confines of my face and rappel toward the earth at a snails pace (and also viscosity).  It was hanging about eight inches off of the bottom of my chin.
It was also sickly multicolored and as I frantically tried to hide the evidence I sneezed , blowing the biggest snot bubble I’d ever seen. ¬†This includes the multitude of YouTube videos I’ve seen late at night (laughing maniacally).¬†
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It looked like I was trying to envelop my head with a green, yellow (& a little red) translucent and lumpy balloon.
The supermodel had a look of pure horror on her face and I could see her gag reflex working furiously as she did her best to keep her (dainty, I’m sure) breakfast from making an appearance.
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I ran as fast as I could toward the ladder (which is kind of funny because running in chest deep water is incredibly slow) and exited to pool, leaving my towel, goggles and dignity behind.
I haven’t seen her since.
 
 

A Word To The Wise

I heard the most ridiculous thing today.

The Glamour Boys were having their usual Oprah Winfrey show going on over in lane four when a strikingly beautiful woman walked out of the gym door leading out to the parking lot wearing pink yoga pants.

With the huge windows next to the pool you can see the entire lot and the conversation screeched to a halt (yes, complete with scratching record…) while the boys watched her walk away.

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“Man, would I like to get in her pants…” one said to the other.

 

Now, I don’t know about you but that line really stuck with me for a couple of reasons.

1. He’d look awful in pink.

2. She was like, waaaaay smaller than him.

 

I could see in my (psychotically bent) minds eye this huge man trying to get those teeny little pink trousers onto his enormous frame.

The seams would blow apart like an incredibly over inflated balloon and he’d be left wearing a little pink waistband and some tattered remnants around his ankles.

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Plus the authorities would have to be involved because let’s face it, both he and she would be half naked in the parking lot at that point, several laws having been broken or, at least bent beyond any reasonable flexibility.

Let’s take a look shall we?

1. Theft. (the pants themselves)

2. Public nudity. (two half naked persons of semi interest)

3. Lewd and lascivious behavior. (Glamour Boy in pink stretch pants)

4. DIsturbing the peace.  (Seriously, at 5:30 am the sound of rending seams on pink yoga pants drowns out the sound of a woman screaming about losing them.)

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As the pants trying-on-er was being carted off to the loony bin (still in my psychotically bent mind) I noticed that the pink remnants of the yoga pants complimented the stark whiteness of the straight jacket nicely…

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To recap, gentlemen, you NOT want to get in her pants.

Ever. 

 

 

Exorcise & Die-eting

I’m dying inside.

Just a little bit each day.

After several months of dedicated self emasculation and exercise I decided to make my way over to the absolute liar sitting benignly on my bathroom floor just to see if I’ve made any progress.

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I stuck my toe out towards the scale & I actually heard it growl at me.  It had a menacing look but I was dedicated to my task and I stepped aboard.

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I was delightedly surprised to see that in the last 6 months of swimming, running, weightlifting and projectile crying I had lost absolutely zero pounds.

Not.  One.  Ounce.

My eyes welled up and threatened to spill over.

My first thought was “What the *&%# have I been doing this for?!?!”

My second thought was “Maybe I should lay off that third funnel cake and the half pound of bacon in the morning…”

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So, rationale took over and I’ve begun to diet as well as exercise.

The first few days didn’t go so well.

On day 1, after a breakfast consisting of 6 wood chips and a bowl of grout, I began my run.  About 15 minutes in I heard a low rumble deep in my belly and was racked with spasms I can only equate to childbirth.  I ran the rest of the way home on my tiptoes with my knees clenched together and hunched over looking like a damned fool but not caring in the least. 

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I barely made it.

My blushing bride thought I was killing something in the downstairs bathroom but it was only my squeals of unbridled terror about what was happening in that very confined space.

Day 2 was slightly better with the morning meal made out of a miniature hay bale and flavored with beaver anal glands. At least the algae beverage was…well…never mind what it was. ¬†Rest assured that the result was clearly (rather murky actually) the same as the day before.

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I began to realize that apparently the correct diet was one that not only made you regular, but one that made you unstoppable.

I’m now happily munching away on a box of sawdust bars and not straying too far from my porcelain throne which, subsequently, is now decked out thanks to “Pimp My Throne” from the fine folks at Home Depot.

It’s got gold accents and the handle spins after it’s done flushing.

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Manly Man

Some crazy bastard wanted to hit me today.

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She was swimming (sinking, actually) in lane two looking like her body fat was about 0.000000000001% and her hugely muscled arms stuck out from her even more muscly body so swimming was a chore.

Occasionally she’d look over after a particularly harrowing lap, compose herself and give me that special “come hither” look that unfortunately looked more like the “I’m gonna get you” look.

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Once, after some particularly confusing body language that consisted of pushing herself halfway out of the pool and looking over at me “seductively” (as seductively as one can while wearing a track suit in the pool) I giggled nervously.

Mistake.

The woman came unglued.

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I think she thought I was laughing at her but any excuse I had would have been drowned out in her steroid fueled rage. 

She came after me like a hungry grizzly bear on a bunny.

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Swimming away in sheer terror I couldn’t help but think how insane this scenario was. ¬†I’d just come in, sleepily rubbing my eyes, to swim like any other morning and now this was happening.¬†

I was certainly awake.

Jumping out at the far end of the pool, I ran toward the men’s locker room but she beat me there by a couple of steps and I ran straight into her outstretched paw.

In the grip of my fight or flight syndrome as she reached back to punch the soul directly out of my body I did what any red blooded American man would do in that situation.

I wet my shorts and threw up on myself.

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Seriously, what girl wants to touch a guy who does that? 

She released her grip on me with a cry of disgust and I escaped into the relative safety of the men’s locker room.

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I’m currently waiting for her to come crashing through the cinder block wall like some deranged Kool Aid psycho.

We’ll see…