Jason Mulgrew/Gym Etiquette

I’ve linked Jason Mulgrew’s page under the link section (where else would it go), pretty funny shit. But I must warn you, only read it if you have a lot of time on your hands. His stuff is so entertaining you won’t want to stop reading. Here are a couple clips I pulled off:

On the fifth day, I wasn’t sure if I had eaten something bad or if someone had shot me in the asshole. Yes, it was as horrible as it sounds. And no, I have no doubt that I have some sort of colon cancer. My whole "stop wiping when there’s more red than brown" approach went out the window. By the end of the week, all sorts of things were happening: I was seeing no browns, but lots of reds, greens - I think I saw some purple, but that could have been part of one of my balls. Just a total mess, figuratively and literally.

Oh been there. Especially after a trip to Mexico. Usually hits while I'm riding my mountain bike, stuck five miles out from home.

Part of the cleaning involved the fridge - throwing out both my old food and Brian’s old food. This did not take very long, since our fridge is usually completely empty, aside from Friday nights when it is filled with Pabst, leftovers, a pizza, whatever we can mix with vodka, and usually something horribly gross (band-aids, Q-tips, condoms, etc). After I trashed all the old food, I went to the super market to buy some new groceries.

[Seriously, you have not lived until you’ve masturbated into a cold condom. You’re welcome.]

Holy shit, the mother fucker stole my fridge!!! Except I have Busch Lite, leftovers, whatever you can mix with vodka, and usually something horribly gross (being leftover food that’s been sitting for two months, or the MGD’s that have been there since February). But what’s with the condom in the fridge? I don’t get it, wouldn’t it warm up to body temp almost immediately? Still I’m a bit curious…

Last night, I was planning on meeting an ex-girlfriend for a drink after work. She’s engaged now, moving out the city, starting her grown-up life. Meanwhile, I’ve been pissing in a cup and throwing it out our bathroom window because the toilet’s broken and spent most of the last week organizing and renaming the porn on my computer.

Makes my slow-draining shower seem harmless.

Me: “Dude, Mike, do you want a blanket?”
Mike: “That’d be great man.”
Me: [throwing blanket] “Here you go.”
Mike: “Thanks - BLLEECCHH!”

I’m not sure if that’s the correct spelling of the puking noise, but for the next ten minutes I got to watch Mike puke over almost everything in our apartment, including but not limited to: the floor, the rug, the walls, the couch, my blanket, my jacket, two of our pots (?), our silverware, some glasses, our toilet, shower curtain, and bathroom floor. Unbelievable.

I haven’t personally done this (oh wait, maybe when I was 21), but I can imagine it is equivalent to peeing yourself at the bar.

So the older woman at the gym asked me to play on her softball team yesterday. Mind you I haven’t swung a baseball bat in years and never could catch a fly ball (they put me at catcher in grade school, and I was deathly afraid of the throws coming to home trying to beat the base runner). But hey, I’d be sitting on the bench in between innings with the hot 40ish woman who I’ve observed from afar (at least from across the gym) for quite some time now, maybe we could strike up a conversation and head out for beers after a game. Maybe I could purposely get loaded and have to spend the night at her house, never tried that one before (think it would work?). I could finally find out if they’re real or not! But no, my hopes and dreams were shot down the shitter faster than diarrhea from a fat man: it was a Marquette University softball league, and since I don’t work for Marquette I can’t play. Damn you Marquette, first you put me through two stressful years of college and now you take away any chance I had of scoring with this woman. Well, not really, I guess I could just ask her out to dinner (gasp, dinner with a woman!), but I can’t do that sober and I can’t go to the gym loaded so I’m screwed (and at the same time not screwed). Come on B, grow some balls. Worst fear would be her giving me this look like “are you crazy, what would you want from me, are you some perverted 29 year old who just likes older women (well actually…), you’re too young for me, what more could you offer besides some hot steamy sex (ok, she wouldn’t have that look, but a boy can dream), or dude, get away from me, I was just making small talk in the gym, now that I know you’re psycho please stop staring at my chest/ass all the time (most probable scenario).” And my response to this look would be… I don’t know what the hell I’d say, probably start talking about my dead cat (I’ve never had a cat), maybe I’d just turn around and start lifting weights again. Oh, I’m secretly hoping that if I did grow some balls and ask her that she’d say she was flattered but married, that would let me off the hook and I could resume observing/lusting from afar. Unless she said “I’m married, but…”