Archive for November, 2007

Bored Maybe?

November 12, 2007

I need to come up with a hobby.

And this hobby needs to be something that, preferably, is not Facebook Scrabble or 2 hour movies on TBS or food.

I’ve been trying to get into the gym thing, but I’m about as inspired to do that as I am to take up thumb tack diving. Usually this never bothered me. Back in college, I never had to worry about the gym. It would always be there, and I could go whenever. This, actually, is one of the things I miss most about college. Getting up and doing something at 2:30 in the afternoon. Gym included.

But for the life of me, I can’t figure out what anybody that has a job does for a hobby. For real. Because there is just so much to do during the course of a day, how can you ever accomplish it all and THEN have time to go about putting stamps in a book or dried out butterflies in some shadow box [I’ve seen this before in the basement of a family friend’s house, which was so creepy on so many levels].

So I want a hobby in my life. I really do. But I can’t figure out what it will be. And how I’ll incorporate it into my life.

But remember. I’m not going to cut down on work time and I sure as hell won’t be cutting down on my DVR or Facebook Scrabble. I need those.

More Rolls Than Rock

November 6, 2007

This week is the week that I start my gym routine. I swear.

I haven’t stood on a scale in awhile [except at Kevin and Laura’s at their Halloween party…and I’m choosing to believe that their scale is horribly and unquestionably damaged beyond repair]. But I’m fairly certain I weigh more than most large sea and land mammals. I don’t doubt it for a second.

Because of this, I’ve signed up for a gym membership through my company, which will give me a discounted monthly rate, as well as a return at the end of the year. Sweet, right? Wrong.

One problem. The gym clothes I used to wear would most likely make the current John look like a street walker with exceptionally loose morals. So this means I need to either A) find some new gym clothes even though I am horribly broke and have about $200 until the next paycheck, or 2) slap on the prostitute pants aka gym sweats I have and make my way to the gym, praying to the baby Jesus I can lose some weight fast enough to fit into my normal attire.

Because seriously? When stretchy things you own no longer fit you because of the deflated balloon baby you’re carrying around inside your tummy prevents you from wearing them, it’s time to do some crunches.

However, recently, I’ve been getting comments. Odd comments. Comments that I’m sure are meant to boost my ego and compliment my superficial side. But lots of people [read: 5 in the last 3 days] have said I look “like a man”. I even got “sexy football player”.

World wide web. PLEASE do not misconstrue this as bragging. I believe myself to be a fat ass of the highest degree, shaming all those who dare challenge me [I made Sally Struthers cry]. I’m used to being around a certain weight area, but for some reason, sickingly obese works for me too. So who knew.

I can only attribute it to one of two possible things. It’s either my height [6’3″, almost] that disguises my gelatinous frame from world view, which is likely. Or it’s liquor. Lots and lots of liquor, just thrown down their throat without even a whim, causing everyone to view me as “a man slash sexy football player”.

But who knows.

[To be honest, I’m hoping for the tall thing. Because I would rather people think I carry my weight well rather than people having all the sudden, as if God himself whispered a secret into their tiny fragile ear, learned that I am indeed a man. And, funnier still, have been one all along. SURPRISE! The cash and prizes have always been accounted for.]