You Bastard
Posted on February 16, 2008 08:35 PM
By Admin
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You had problems, we all have problems, and I listened. I listened a lot. I never preached sunshine and puppies to you, and you respected that.
You obviously respected that a lot. Because you seemed to talk to me more then anyone else, except maybe Sheri. But talking to her didn’t exactly help things did they? Did talking to me help things? I always thought they did, but something that Jay said to me on Friday really stuck in my head.
“The last thing a suicidal person should ever do is talk to you.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I didn’t really help you at all. Maybe you needed someone preaching sunshine and puppies. I just told you the truth. That’s how my father talked to me when I was facing death. He’d stand over my bed and look down and tell me straight. “Don’t make any plans.” But maybe I shouldn’t have done that. Maybe I should have told you that I was sure you’d get that next job, and everything would work out just fine. Maybe I should have told you that everyone thought you were just super and that you didn’t make people incredibly uncomfortable.
Problem is, I don’t like lying. I wasn’t going to lie to you. So I told you the truth. Sometimes I wonder if it was the truth that killed you. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame myself for what you did. I blame you and you alone. But still, I wonder what part I played. I know damn well you were strong enough to dig yourself out of the gigantic fucking hole you made. And I would have been there all along, pulling you out by your collar if you’d let me. But God forbid you show any weakness eh? God forbid you take the hand that was offered to you in friendship.
I’m not going to waste time being pissed at a dead man, but I’m not going to sugar-coat it either. You hated weakness and yet chose the biggest weakling option. It was selfish, it was childish, and it was hurtful to everyone you left back here that spent so many nights talking to you. How many hours did I spend telling you what a jackass you were being and how you didn’t need to kill yourself? How many you son of a bitch? In the end I didn’t even have the energy anymore to re-hash the same conversation for the 1000th time.
It’s the wrong choice.
I don’t agree with it.
You don’t need to do this.
I can’t even count the number of times I told you that. Over and over and over. But now here I sit, alive, you? notsomuch.
I wonder if I should have tried a different approach. Maybe I should have been sickeningly sweet and patient. Maybe I should have sat there while you listed everything you’d done wrong and offered encouraging words. Would you have grown frustrated and left? Would you have started laughing and maybe realized how absurd we both sounded? But no, I did what I always do. I was blunt, honest, and directly to the point.
Your career options were shitty, and I told you so. I also offered you a shit load of options, but you didn’t listen.
Your love-life was completely fucked and I told you why, I told you what to do, and you didn’t listen.
Your military options were fucked and I told you why, and I told you what to do, even if you didn’t like the option, but you didn’t listen
What did you do? You vented on me a couple hours a night, I responded with the same replies time after time, and we left it at that.
Was it right? Fuck if I know.
What I do know is that you’re a bastard. You made me a beneficiary on your insurance. Thats a lot of fucking money. It’s enough to give me a very, very different life. How can I possibly enjoy the life it gives me without thinking of how I got it? How do you spend blood money with a smile on your face?
“Give xx,xxx to Sheri.
Wipe out your medical debt.
Buy a new CTS.
other shit
other shit
other shit
Enjoy.”
How the fuck do you even do that? I’ll honor everything else on the list. But I can’t enjoy it. And I won’t. You’ve given me the greatest gift I could ever imagine. You’ve given me a fresh start in life. I promise you here and now, that I will make you proud. But fuck you Tony. Fuck you. I won’t enjoy it.
I hope that you and I are both wrong, and that there is an afterlife.
Just so I can get some answers after I kick your ass.
I love you man.
payclix addendum
Posted on February 5, 2008 01:40 PM
By Admin
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So, I call again, two hours later.
Different greeting this time. It’ s a recorded message stating they are so very very sorry that everyone was debited twice this month and they are currently issuing credits that should hit our bank tomorrow morning.
Well… ok. However if the check that my wife sent hits today however, I’m still fucked.
The future is now, and it fucking sucks.
fucking payclix
Posted on February 5, 2008 11:55 AM
By Admin
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So, my leasing office uses Payclix to run their payments. Basiclly you click through on the leasing office site and you pop into a payclix portal, login, and boom, hit send payment, it deducts from your verified bank account,a nd all is well.
Of course thats in a perfect world.
I do not, as you’ve probably surmised, live in a perfect world.
You see in order to ensure that the money for my home closing made it to the lawyers office in time to close, I had to ask my mother-in-law to get a cashiers check and take it there. Our money wouldn’t be available until a week later, and we’d just send it to her then. So that’s all fine and good, no problems. Except Payclix.
Payclix has fucked me with assistance from Summer.
We have Bank of America. Now they are awesome about online and digital payments. They hate, with a passion, with the fire of a thousand suns, paper transactions. They go out of their way to punish you for using paper when you could use certified funds. So, knowing this, what does Summer do? Does she do what I suggest and simply wire the money to her mother? no. Does she go to the teller and obtain a certified bank check for the money? no.
Bitch writes a $17,000 personal check and mails it. BoA will not overdraft a personal check. more then a dollar difference? They refuse it.
Doesn’t even tell me. Just does it. So when I look at my account today and see that Payclix has charged us TWICE for this months rent, I call Summer and say, “Hey, don’t send that money to your mother yet, not until we get this cleared up, otherwise we’ll be like $200 overdrawn on that account.”
Ohh…. I just wrote her a check and mailed it last week.
Of course you did. Why wouldn’t you? I always write personal checks for 5 digits and not mention it. It’s what I do for fun.
So I call Payclix. I punch in the numbers into their menu and wait. I’m told they aren’t open and I leave a voicemail. “Our normal business hours are 9am to 5pm PST.”
It’s 12:45 EST. You fucks are open.
So here I wait. No call. No answer to the email. I’m simply sitting here waiting to get a pissed off call from my mother in law about how I’m obviously a failure and my check bounced.
I can’t fucking wait.
on IL and the home-seller
Posted on February 4, 2008 06:13 PM
By Admin
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Fuck Illinois.
Seriously. Fuck that God-damned state in the ass. If I were to ever meet IL walking down the street… maybe it’s dark, maybe IL has had a little bit to drink… You see what I’m saying here?
Shit would get hectic.
We finally get an offer on the house, we’re excited it’s from a professional developer, we’re excited because obviously this guy has the money. He wants to buy it and fix it up and rent it. Which honestly, is exactly what I would have done in another month. The inside is remodeled, Summer and I spent the last 4 years fixing it up. So this dude has to like come in, replace the carpet in the bedrooms and it’s brand new. So Yay!
no.
not yay.
not yay at all.
The light from YAY would take a million years just to reach me.
See, in IL, before you show up to a closing you have to have cash in hand, even as a seller before you can begin. You ahve to have certified funds to cover another year of tax, title, liscense, lawyer, realty, and whatever other fees they can come up with, including the payoff to a second mortgage. Even if you are profiting, even if the money you’re making in 15 mins will cover all that and more, you have to have it before you can sit down. So we were scheduled to close on a monday.
Thursday night, 5pm, I get a call. It’s my lawyer. “Yeah, make sure the check is at my office by 9am monday so we can close.”
excuse me? what check?
“The check for $17,895.”
what in the blue fuck are you talking about?
This is when he explains IL’s “quirky” real estate laws. He chooses NOW… one business day prior to my closing to inform me of this. I now have a single business day to round up 17 fucking grand in certified funds.
Now I’m awesome.
no argument there, I know I’m the shit.
but damn man…. damn
So I get on the phone, call in favors, make arrangements, promise sloppy blowjobs and I get the money to his office by 9am monday. However this seriously puts a hurting on me financially. seriously. All this, for money I need for fifteen god damn minutes. It will take 6 months to straighten out again, but whatever.
The house is sold and thats the important part. So what does Summer do with our new found freedom?
She buys a pool table.
sigh
long time coming
Posted on November 7, 2007 03:04 PM
By Stale
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So here I am.
Blogging.
Shut the fuck up Jay.
What has happened since I last wrote? Let’s break it down, just for a second.
June we got the news that money was now gone from the work accounts. This is sorta a “bad thing”. The 1st of July comes around, and no checks. I hang in there for 2 more weeks, and then throw in the towel and drive back home. The rest of July passes with no news, no money, no nothing. I chill at home with Summer and the dogs, relax a bit, and start looking for a job.
A few weeks go by and no bites. There is NO work for a crippled white boy with no college in Bloomington. None. At all. Nada. August slips by and still no word, other then “EA is doing some paperwork”. Yeah. Right. Kinda like how AOL was doing some paperwork? I’ll believe it when I have a check. September rolls up and lo and behold, EA is serious. Of course the company is in the shitter finance wise, and even worse operations wise. Neither Jay nor I have even looked at the servers and network in over a month, so nothing at all is functional. We had stopped work in the middle of a build, so what was up there wasn’t even current. I was still without a check, so hey, not my damn problem.
The buout was going agonizingly slow, I would get a call from Jesper every couple days to tel me just to “hang on” and “we’re all hurting” and “it’ll be done next week”. I knew better, but went along with it. Meanwhile I decided to swallow my pride and apply for retail jobs, just to get SOME kind of money coming in, even if it was a shit wage. I knew the buyout was progressing, and that obviously I wouldn’t be holding onto it very long, but I needed something to offset the cash we were bleeding. So I apply at Gamestop in the mall. The mall. TH every thought of once again working int eh mall made my skin crawl. I’ve done my time in retail hell, I’ve paid my dues, I had no intention of ever going back.
But I also have a wife, a house, 3 dogs, and a mountain of bills. So I did it. Went in and applied.
and…… wait for it…..
was told I wasn’t qualified enough to work at gamestop.
I stood there and blinked at that woman for a good 30 seconds before I could even formulate a coherent sentence.
Excuse me? Did you say I’m not qualified to work… here?
“Well… I just don’t think it would work out at all.”
So, even though you said yourself you only want temp help for 3 weeks to cover back to college rush, and even though I have 10 years of sales and retail work behind me…. I’m not qualified?
“I just don’t think you would be a very good fit here. Have a good day.”
It was at this point she tore my application in half and threw it in the trashcan. Now I have a pretty decent amount of self-esteem. I’ve accomplished an awful damn lot in life, and I know I’m a pretty intelligent decent all-around guy. But motherfucker if that didn’t hurt the ego a bit. I’m not good enough to be a clerk at a store in a fucking mall. Wow.
Luckily three days later I got the news that everything had finally gone through and that my intial offer from EA was on it’s way. Well hot-damn! Swimmin Pools! Movie Stars! Summer pack up the truck we’re movin to Bev-er-ly!
Not so fast.
The intial offer was slightly more then I made at SCI. Which was chickenfeed. Seriously. I probably would have made more at Gamestop. I actually laughed out loud when I heard what it was over the phone. I informed Jesper, in no uncertin terms, that this was not even remotely acceptable, especially if they wanted me to move down to ATL. After another week or so of supposed negotiating, we arrived at a number I was at least more comfortable with, and I got in the car and drove down.
Keep in mind. I still have yet to see a single penny since June. I had zero available funds. No way at all to get home if it didn’t work out, and we had yet to be officially purchased. This was a monumental leap of faith on my part. I arrived at Jesper’s place to be greeted with the news that we would recieve checks on Monday.
It was Thursday.
This was a problem.
A problem that would repeat itself over and over for another 2 months until we were finally on payroll with EA. Now our checks are like clockwork. But up until now…. it was in the air when we would see another one. That got real old, real quick.
Then we finally got purchased, the deal closed, papers are signed, and we get our bonus checks in teh mail. YAY!
Swimmin pools…. Movie stars…..
wait
what the fuck?
My God Uncle Sam do take a bite don’t he? Well… okay…. Lap pools…. Soap Opera stars….
wait
God-Dammit.
Bank of America has never seen a check from this account, so because of the size it will be held for 10-12 business days.
Ohh you cocksuckers. I finally get paid on time and you ignorant fucks make me LOOK at the money in my account for 2 more weeks, but I can’t touch it. Luckily I was still able to close the deal on my new house, get that ready to move in on the 15th of October, and everything is groovy.
One snag though.
Just a tiny thing.
You can’t bring your dog.
excuse me?
yeah the HOA doesn’t allow Rottweillers in the community. They are willing to make an exception, but you will need to secure a $300,000 liability policy on him.
300 grand? on my dog?
yup.
Now I am under the impresson that the HOA simply thought that would scare me off and I’d leave. But fuck that. I’ve gone through too much bullshit already to let something this petty stop me. Oh ho ho hell no. I’m getting that fucking policy you yuppie fucks.
So I do. After going through a firm that insures circuses, I get a quote for $2900 for 12 months. pay up front, no financing.
Jesus.
What about Renters insurance?
Excluded breeds:
Pit Bulls
Dobermans
Rottweillers
Chows
German Shepards
Well fuck me runnin. I make one last attempt. I try Allstate. I sign up for a $500,000 renter policy, and ask for an additional $300,000 to cover the dog. See what I did there?
Money unlocks all doors. There isn’t a lock made by man that Benjamin Franklin can not open.
I got that fucking policy. I call my realty agent and tell him.
You did? REALLY? No shit….. Well then we’re all set.
wait
OHH COME ON !!!
The owner of the house needs extra time… can you give her til the 26th?
I think it’s right around here that I just stopped being surprised by things going wrong. I was a beaten and crushed man. I was looking at 2 more weeks at Jespers. He had already told me he wanted me out of the house as soon as possible, and now…. 2 more weeks.
Sure. Why not. I mean I just handed you like 3 grand…. why would I actually want to move into the house immediately? Thats just crazy talk. Hell… why move in at all? I’ll just pay you rent each month and she can stay there. Everybody wins then right? Sure! I’ll just stay here. Where I’m not wanted. Living in harmony and peace is over-rated anyway.
So I tell Summer, we have some extra time now, so go ahead and schedule the movers. I got quotes from this place, this place, and this place. But this one here was pretty nice and actually called me by my correct last name.
Kin-der. not Kind-er.
Kin-der. And this guy knew that. I think it belies some deep-seated intelligence. I like that.
SO I LEAVE IT UP TO HER.
Why? Well because I’m 800 miles away. It has to be scheduled around her timeframes, she has to provide the estimates of whats there to be moved, she has to schedule help with packing, all that. Made no sense for me to do it. So I left it up to her. You deal with the movers, I’ll just write the check.
Now, it’s at this point, before I launch into the herculean effort that has since become my daily existence, that I clarify one thing. I have never, not once, actually spoken to this company in person. I requested a quote online, and fowarded the response to Summer. I got a single voicemail from “Brian”, who was the young man to correctly pronounce my name.
That is the extent of my interaction with the company. Thats it. From here on out, it was all Summer. I’d like to think that if any warning signs came up, she would have noticed, but she has made no such claim. She simply said she worked with Brian on an estimate of the house, he sent a quote back, and she agreed. We laid out a $400 and some change deposit, and was told, not once, not twice, but THRICE, that we would have a:
PICKUP ON THE 3RD and DELIVERY ON THE 4TH
That is pretty damn straight foward wouldn’t you say?
Not a lot of wiggle room correct?
You pick the shit up on the 3rd and you drive it to GA, and you deliver it on the fucking 4th. That is what your company does correct? You MOVE things.
So, the 2nd comes around and I get a phone call. This call is to confirm your pickup date on the 4th.
Wait.
No.
NO NO NO. Pickup is on the 3rd.
Ohh we have a pickup “window” of the 3rd or the 4th.
I never opened a fucking window. I was never even told of a fucking window. This window shit is something you just now told me about.
Well sir… there is no way for us to pickup on the 3rd, we won’t have any trucks in the area at all.
Right about here, I began having grave mis-givings about young “Brian”.
Well, then I guess I’m just proper fucked then huh? Sure. Pick up on the 4th. When will it be delivered then?
We won’t know until we get it back to Chicago, unloaded, and repacked into a shipping container. Most likely 8-12 days.
You have to be kidding me. This is a joke right? How did it go from “overnight” to “2 weeks”?
Sir, we don’t even offer overnight shipping, it’s impossible.
Then you should inform Brian of this fact. Since he told us time and time again, that it would be.
I’m sure he didn’t, that would be dishonest.
Yes, yes it would be. It is the very definition of dishonesty.
It is about now that I began wondering how melodic young Brian’s screams would be as I tore him limb from limb with something large and midevil and very, very rusty.
I finally submit and we spend the remaining, now extra, day in IL visiting our families and finish final touches in packing. We leave bright and early on saturday in the HHR, myself, Summer, and all 3 dogs.
700-odd miles to go. With 3 dogs.
Joy.
We arrive after 8 and a half hours in the car, Summer loves the house, the dogs love the yard, Katie pisses on Jay’s chair. All is well with the world. I call my family to let them know we arrived and to make sure they were going to be there in the morning for the movers.
7AM. They will arrive at 7AM sharp, they swore to me they would be there on time.
The next morning I call my father at 9AM my time, which, for those playing along at home, is 8AM in IL, and ask how things are going.
Don’t know. No movers here.
Of course not. That would be logical and sane of the moving company to arrive on time.
I call, and get a recording that the office is not open on the weekends. Of course not.
So I wait. 9AM, 10AM, 11AM…. finally at 11:30 EST, 10:30 CST they arrive. 3 and a half hours late. No explanation. The movers speak very little english, thrust a stack of papers in front of my father and instruct him to sign as they “need get moving”. The truck seems to be a bit small, but they wave him off. He calls me to let me know whats going on.
Who are these guys? Who have you hired?
I dunno. Some guys from the internet, they did it for a dimebag and a copy of Rock Band…. what the fuck Dad? It’s the moving company, I don’t know.
About an hour into the move, the one who speaks the most english approaches my father and informs him that the house is infested with fleas, and his guys are being “eaten to death”.
Let’s stop right here for just a moment.
Over the last 4 days, 8 different people have been through my home helping us pack. Not a single flea bite.
I’ve spent 8 and a half hours in a car with all 3 dogs. Not a single flea bite.
Not a single flea to be found on the blankets, the toys, or the dogs.
If there are fleas in that house, they came in with the movers.
But regardless, my father goes to get flea spray and instructs the movers to keep moving. He calls me and tells me. I’m numb at this point. Whatever, sure, fleas. Of course. Summer and I go to Petco and spend $300 on chemicals for the house, the furniture, the dogs, and everything else and begin irradiating everything in sight. Why do we do this, when we know with 100% certinty that there is not a single flea to be found down here?
Becasue with my fucking luck, if I don’t, we will be beset by a biblical plague of shit and I’d rather not find locusts and frogs in the backyard.
So, 6 hours later, My father calls and tells me that they are loaded up and ready to take off. They told him that I could call Monday morning, and get a revised estimate and delivery date.
Wait. “revised estimate”? what the hell?
Yeah… apparntly the estimate was for only 100 items and 7000 pounds. You have over 300 items and are up around 9000-10000 pounds.
Of course. Makes perfect sense. Why would it be even remotely realistic?
By now I’m broken. A mere shell of my former self. I have no anger left in me. I just want this whole mess done with. But wait.
It gets better.
The next day I’m told my things are still on a truck, as there was “some confusion” in the billing. But based on what they got from the driver, It’s looking like I need to add another $900 to my bill.
So lets recap just to make sure we’re perfectly, 100%, crystal clear on this Mary. You show up a day and a half late, you bring fleas into my home like some biological sneak attack, you then tell me my things will be delivered 2 weeks later then promised, and for this privlidge, I pay another $900.
Well sir, thats a bit of a pessimistic view….
Yes Mary. Yes it is. I used to be a bright shining optimist. I was a regular ray of fucking sunshine. But you’ve broken that Mary. You and your company have taken care of that. I’d like to thank you for that. I am now truely ready for anything that life may throw at me, because I used your company Mary.
So now. Here I sit. At my desk at work. My house empty. My wife bored to tears becasue her TVs are in a container somewhere in Chicago. We moved 700 miles to ATL, and the movers took our stuff and stored it in Chicago, even farther away then Bloomington was. It’s like a negative move.
This is some quantum physics shit right here. My stuff is here, and it’s not. It’s being moved, but it’s stationary, and at the same time…. it’s farther away then where we started. My stuff, I’ve decided has become a fourth state of matter. Gas, Liquid, Solid, and Moved. My stuff is being held hostage in this state, which, according to the contract I was forced to sign after-the-fact, is not governed under either Illinois nor Georgia law.
Evidently moving companies rule with an iron fist in their own little country. I find it humourous that you don’t sign the agreement stating this until they already have your belongings safely locked up in their fortress. I often fantasize now about leading a group of commandos, inside the enemy lines, over the wire, and rescue my things, like a cross between Rambo and Martha Stewert.
Leave the dishes, grab the stainless steel cookware, grab my knives…. you! YOU LOAD THE KITCHEN AID MIXER!! Lets move people, movemovemove!!
So far, the total move has cost me, out of pocket, $4265. I have yet to see a single box. I’m not sure I ever will.
Honestly?
I’m not sure I even care anymore.
On the Gym, and going there
Posted on June 3, 2007 11:54 AM
By Stale
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So, in July I have a wedding to go to. Actually I have to a wedding to be in, so after 3 months of living off the same diet Jay is…. wich I pay for routinely with my gut, I’m all flabby and fat. Plus, in Sept. Summer and I are going to the Bahamas for a very, very belated honeymoon.
I was a schmuck when we got married and didn’t have the money for a real honeymoon, I’ve always felt like a total failure for that. Finally now I can make it up to her. So we are heading down to Nassau to stay at the Royal Bahmanian Sandals resort. Rockstar all the way. Private villa on the beach, whole 9 yeards. Hell we even get picked up and shuttled around in a Rolls Royce.
But now is a different story, I can finally give her the honeymoon she deserves. I’ll be damned if I’m going to do it looking like this however. So yesterday I went over to the local Gold’s and tried to transfer my membership from home. No dice, see Gold’s isn’t nationaly owned, it’s all franchises and apparntly my home one is franchised by a cocksucker. So no transfer and no credit for already being a member, leaving me the only option of paying for ANOTHER membership. At least the staff here is infinately more accomodating then back home. Really nice people. They gave me a bit of a discount for being jerked around by my home club.
Plus the girls all flirted with me. So I had that going for me too. I’m sure that had nothing at all to do with the fact I was signing up a new membership. Bah…. I’m married, I’ll take what I can get.
So starting this week, I hit the gym each night after work or before work, depending on when i get up, do a little cardio, see what I can do and what I can’t do now. It’s been a very long time since I’ve regularly gone, I have no idea what I’m capable of doing now. Luckily I get a few sessions with thier trainers, and I’ll probably buy a few more. I figure a solid month of cardio and toning should shave off a bit of flab by the wedding, maybe I won’t look quite as horrendous. If it does, then I keep it up until Sept, see if I can’t lounge ont he beach with just trunks on and not feel like a carnival attraction.
I’ve done it before, I will do it again. Plus, it’s not like I ahve anything else to occupy my time like I do back at home, this may actually work out just fine.
Ugh…
Posted on May 21, 2007 04:38 PM
By Stale
Filed Under Random | 1 Comment
So… saturday.
This is an open letter apologizing for me being so stupidly drunk. Dear God.
See… here’s the thing. I know better then that, and yet, I still drank like a champion on an empty stomach. As punishment for this blatant rookie-error, I found myself deep into DKA the next morning. I probably should have just swallowed my pride and gone to the hospital, but I didn’t. Instead I forced Jay to stay an extra day while I pushed 85 units of insulin on the couch and tried really hard not to die in his fathers basement.
By the way, Jon was awesome for letting us stay an extra day. He’s a class act. Unlike my ass. At least I didn’t puke on anyone… at least, no told me I did. Hell for all I know I could stripped naked and set people on fire. Total blackout. Been a very longtime since I’ve done that.
So… in conclusion, I’m sorry.
Posted on May 17, 2007 12:05 PM
By Stale
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So… I’m bored, so I thought I’d defend the gnome from the attacking armies of RSA SecurID.
All Hail Lord TinyBottom!!!
When I play the game…..
Posted on May 14, 2007 02:59 PM
By Stale
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… I play to win
Mine arrives Wed. I can’t wait to surprise Summer with it next time I’m home.
Stairs and why they are the enemy
Posted on May 12, 2007 09:08 AM
By Stale
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Ohh gosh, look at me…. blogging.
I’ve been down here for almost 2 months now, so I’ve made a few more observations. I do my best to stay alert.
The south, while perfectly acceptable, really sucks for cripples. There are hills, everywhere. The hills have hills. Driveways at 70-degree angles. the roads are constantly under construction and thus, cross-walks are like some sick game of chicken. Unless you are lucky enough to work for a big-money outfit, which I am not, you will climb stairs to get to work.
This is why I’m writing today.
Fuck stairs. They hurt. I don’t care if they are strengthening my legs. Fuck stairs. Can I stand up now without the sticks? Yeah, kinda. But still, it’s not like I’m jogging, so fuck stairs. I do actually need to get to the gym now that my car is down here. I have a wedding to look good at in July, and I promised the bride I’d be using a single cane. I intend to keep that promise. I have a membership to Gold’s, so I guess I start hitting it after work from now until then. I’m curious how much flab I can drop if I just concentrate on cardio and lifting. I obviously can’t get on a treadmill or epliptical machine, but I bet I could use one of the more stretched back bikes. Probably have to keep my hands on my knees to stop my legs from buckling out to the side. I’m sure I’ll be the hottest stud there.
“Hey there ladies, I’m a flabby married man, who’s dead from the waist-down. call me….”
Then I’d give em the old “double finger-guns and wink”. Ohh yeah… panties hitting the floor. I can see it now.
Each day I leave my house with Jay and get in my car to go to work. We go up and down the hills. up and down, up and down. Blind curves abound in our neighborhood. It’s like they designed it specifically to fuck with people. Navigating these roads with hand-controls is not fun, in the least. Imagine if you will, a very steep sloping hill with a 90-degree curve at the top, lined by trees and bushes. On the right side are cars parked on the road. Where does this leave you as you go into the curve? In the wrong lane thats where.
There are no fewer then 4 of these in the first 3 mins of driving.
keep looking »