Tag: comedy

A Day at the Gym

Reasons why the gym is my personal 7th layer of hell:

1) Gym Short Boners.

tiny man shorts

I don’t really feel like this needs more in-depth reasoning, but I’ll give you an example. The 24 Hour Fitness on Hollywood has windows that look into the swim area. This is one of the reasons I choose not to utilize the swim area. Another reason is that this one guy insists on wearing flesh color shorts and then struts around in front of the window, like he’s proud of it. I know exactly what this guy’s junk looks like. EXACTLY. And, I haven’t even entered the building yet. Then naturally, you have your average, run-of-the-mill gym short boners and visible basketball-short dick outlines.
2) Aggressive man-roids

I hate when guys at the gym make eye contract with you like, as they are doing push-ups or some shit. Like, hey girl do you think this is hot? and I’m like, well sort of in a really primal way, like I feel like you could carry me out of a burning building, but at the same time I’m a little turned off by your aggression.

3) Classes I don’t understand

What is Grit? What the hell is Body attack? It sounds like someone is going to come in and hit me with giant palm tree leaves and then force me to do gravel pushups and then publicly ridicule me as my hands get more and more hamburger-y from the pushups. I want abs, but I also don’t want to sweat blood and dry heave all over the damn place. Plus I have shin splints so, I’m going to have to sit this one out.

4) Classes I do understand

Image result for zumba

I’m pretty convinced Zumba is just a bunch of moms (Not new moms, like I-have-three-kids-in high school and-don’t-know-why-I-get-out-of-bed-everyday moms) who wanted an upgrade from reading their People magazine on the treadmill at speed 3 for a half hour. Bopping around in neon clothes was dope during the In Living Color days, but now it just seems, well, dumpier and a little sad.

5) Packed yoga classes filled with old creaky men (yes I meant creaky not creepy. No typo here. I can literally hear their bones rubbing against their other bones.)

Sometimes I try this yoga class at the gym and then always end up walking out half way because I’m either frustrated that I don’t have enough black magic stored up to move my spine closer to my hips like I am instructed to do, or I peace out half way through because I’m BORED. I’m sick of doing cat, cow, cat, cow then downward dog. Unless someone’s penis can be inside me during said animal style poses, it’s really a waste of my time.

The only time I get through a whole hour of class is by staying in child’s pose, because you know yoga is all about calm music and dim lights and nothing being mandatory, so it’s the perfect place to take a nap. Everything in yoga is “up to your body”. Well my body wants to drink alcohol or sleep about 95% of the time, so I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here.

6) Community Stretch Mats

Gym-People have very little respect for others personal space. No I don’t want you to stretch my hamstring. Yes, I was planning on using this 2 ft of space to do, I don’t know, a crunch. Please stop staring at me.

I hope you enjoyed my reasons for why I skipped the gym to write this blog, eat an entire wheel of brie, and use my It Starts With Food, Discover the Whole 30 book as a mimosa coaster. See you assholes at CoreCx on Sunday.

XOXO,

The Weekday Hangover

Tags comedy, fitness, gymlife, pdx, portlandlife, postcollegeculture

aftercollegelife biking comedy lifestyle

Neighbors

This post will be available in video format as soon as I figure out how to work Imovie, since my Final Cut Pro finally figured out I illegally downloaded it and wants an “authentication” or some bull shit. Anyway, below you will find some words.

I woke up hungover, which for any of you who have ever been hungover, you know it’s not a very good way to wake up.

Work was fine, but slow and I didn’t really want to be there. It was sunny and I was powered by an energy drink and a can of french cut green beans (woo diet!) so I was having a hard time staying focused. Chair circles, and one, and two, and three.

The time comes to ride my bike home and I nearly die from choking on my own sweat while simultaneously dry heaving. I arrived home, ending the worst, thigh-chaffing 15 minutes of my life, parked Gatsby (yes, I named my bike Gatsby) into the rape basement, and come to find a colony of ants decided to move into the kitchen while I was at work. Naturally, I bleach the shit out of them. Fucking free loaders. I then realize the cat has knocked over our glass Ikea shelf where all of our plants hung out on. The plants are strewn all across the floor. Dirt. Is. Everywhere. I start collecting shards of glass using my hands, instead of a dust pan, because that was just the kind of mood I was in.

Low and behold I hear a violent knock on the front door.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

I run to the door covered in sweat, my $40 t-shirt bleach stained, and wielding a handful of glass.

Note that this was not the friendly knock of the pizza delivery man this time friends, oh no. It was Deborah. That old crabapple that was birthed from a demon’s womb back in 1924, who never died and then decided to stop living off sheep’s blood and start feeding on the happiness of her neighboring South East Portland residents.

FUCK.

I answer the door with my non-glass hand.

“What was that?! What fell?!” Her dumpy face exclaimed.

“Our cat was trying to hunt a fly, but he’s not very good at it, and he knocked our shelf down.”

“What kind of shelf was it?!” She’s spitting as she yells.

Wait what? What kind of question is that. I humor her, “It was an Ikea shelf, it was made of glass.” I giggled the pieces in my hand to make a point, hoping she would sympathize with the shotty craftsmanship of Dutch wholesale furniture.

No dice.

“My light fixture broke! I’m calling the landlord!” She hisses with her snake mouth.

I appologize which for some reason makes her hulk out even more.

“You girls are always stomping around up there. It’s like a circus upstairs! And I know it’s not just you three up there. I see men come and go at all hours of the night. Sometimes it’s like a clown car coming out the front door in the morning.”

Deb must have a thing against carnies, with all these circus references. But hold up. Did Deb just call me a loose woman? Not cool Deb. Not cool.

Now I’m mad. No one is allowed to check out the men I’m trying to sneak out of my room at all hours of the night and call me out on it! Get your own Tinder account Deb! (I actually think she was referring to the guys in our writers room for my comedy show, but either way it’s none of her damn business.)

I run up the stairs and immediately call our landlord Dan. That’s right Deb, I’m telling on you. Take that! Dan reassures me that Deb is in fact a lunatic and might in fact be a demon. He advises me to salt my doors and apologizes for the trouble. I appologize for using him as my therapist and promised I won’t burn this entire complex to the ground to smite her.

Needless to say this was the worst 420 ever, and now I’m off to play “Bad Day” by Daniel Powter on full blast next to vent that leads to her bedroom for a couple hours.

XOXO,

Deborah’s whore-elephant circus loving neighbor

Tags 420, aftercollegelife, bad neighbors, bikes, blaze it, comedy, dailygrind, dealth, hangover, neighbors

comedy eating food

5 second rule

I was raised by a 35 – 45 year old male stoner so the five second rule is very lax for me. If a macaroni noodle falls on a bar table. It’s fair game. It doesn’t even have to be my noodle.

Does the five second rule apply to birth control pills? I always drop mine on the floor but can find them very quickly. I feel like that is my drunk super power. Some people can make it to the bathroom in time to throw up, others can hail a taxi like nobody’s business. Myself, I can always find a birth control pill on the floor and manage to get it into my mouth.

I don’t really understand germs. You can’t see them, so therefore I just live my life pretending this don’t exist. Like ghosts, the suffering of the masses and my repressed memories from childhood. If you can’t see it, it’s probably nothing to be worried about.

If I pick something off the ground and it has a hair on it of course I’ll throw it away. I’m not an animal. Unless of course the hair can be easily picked off, then it’s kosher.

I have a lot of fears: never getting married, waking up with a giant tattoo I don’t remember getting, being eating alive by a large animal, you know normal shit. I just don’t think I have the capacity or understanding to add bacteria to that list. Plus I think there are some benefits to being a little bit, well let’s use the word “dirty.”

1) I get sick less often because I’m building an immunity to bus people germs, bar germs and all the other germs out there. Bird flu? I would let a bird eat out of my hand then eat the rest of the food in my hand. Boosh. Bird flu avoided.

2) I don’t waste food. Half a granola bar fell out of my pocket? That’s my breakfast homie, what do you think I’m made of money? Pick that shit up and eat it. Think thin bars are like $2 each.

So, I can only think of two benefits right now. I might come up with more after a few glasses of wine but I think I have established a pretty solid argument. So rejoice in the 5-second rule and don’t be afraid to cross contaminate. It grows hair on your chest, or whatever.

Tags comedy, foodie, health, lifelessons, rules

comedy eating fitness food

The Food Pyramid

I touched on my feelings with food briefly during my post on getting older and dying, but I feel like I have a little more to say in regards to eating, food, and my love/hate relationship with it.

Let’s call this what it really is. A cry for help:

Why the food pyramid isn’t working for me:

1. I have the palette of a 90’s pre-teen. My favorite foods include: Bologna (BAH-LOH-KNEE) sandwiches with yellow mustard, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, and ham and cheese Hot Pockets. I basically had to put myself through a 12 step program just to quit Pizza Lunchables, which I am proud to admit I am one year clean from.

2. I think beets taste like dirt and kale tastes like butt. I’m not saying this to be be mean, I really feel this way, and am sometimes scared to admit it. Everyone in Portland lovvvveeees beets and kale. I’m hoping something slightly more appealing like iceberg lettuce with ranch or a modest potato will become the new “superfood” but with my luck it will probably be turnips or some other avant-garde horse shit.

3. I actually follow the rule of no carbs after 7 p.m., but that is because most weeknights I have wine for dinner.

4. The entire staff at Bowery bagels knows me by first name and they know that I always get a salt bagel with bacon cream cheese. I can’t go two work days in a row without one. It’s Wednesday and I already miss them so much.

5. The Dominos guy can tell when my roommate has gotten a haircut….That’s how often we see him.

5. I don’t understand what Paleo is.

6. I’m not a vegetarian, I’m just too scared to cook meat. Well, any meat that isn’t an easy meat.

Easy Meat. DEF: Chicken is a hard meat to cook. Chicken sausage however, is an easy meat because you just cut it into circles and the rest is up to god (or the deity of your choice.)

I also can’t really cook non-meats. I can never tell when Soyrizo is done, because it’s already cooked but it specifies you have to cook it to a certain degree to eat it. Asking me to take the temperature of a food before putting it in my mouth is like asking me to floss my teeth before going to the dentist. I don’t see the point and I’m never going to do it.

7. If It only cost $1.99, in my mind it’s completely safe and you should totally eat it. I survived an entire summer eating nothing but bowtie noodles with frozen peas and cans of french-cut green beans. If you can feed yourself for two days on less than $5, you may be getting progressively fatter and slower, but you’re winning at something.

I need some serious guidance or hypnosis to get me away from processed cheese singles and toaster pastries, but if loving cheesy stuffed breadsticks, mayonnaise and tiny microwavable pizzas is wrong, do I really want to be right?

Tags adayinthelife, comedy, fitness, foodie, health, humor

Uncategorized

Bachelors Degree

I’ve been thinking about going back to college. Yesterday I completely forgot the word “oval.” I seriously considered googling it, but the only thing that came to my head to google was “circle.” I was just going to bank that one would get me to the other, you know, because they are friends.

Then I remember how Google worked and that if I googled anything I would probably just wind up with a bunch of photos of cats, Beyoncé and some random guy named Edward Circle.

Thank god I was in my room alone when this happened and not trying to succeed in a public conversation.

So I gave up. I threw in the towel and three days later as I’m laying in bed, sincerely reconsidering my choice to drink a bottle of wine last night, it came to me. Oval! Hip hip hurray it’s a fucking oval!

Tags adayinthelife, college, comedy, humor