Making memories. One simple post at a time.

It’s been a mere 15 days since my last post.  Now, that is some serious dedication if I do say so myself.  Amazing commitment on my part, no?  What the fuck!  It’s not like have a full-time job or a kid or a wife or even a girlfriend or someone to spend… Wait.  Now I’m getting depressed.  

Okay, but seriously am I that lazy that I can’t even manage to press a few letter keys every now and again?  If you’re still reading the blog I appreciate your loyalty.  Lord knows you’re not coming here for guidance and/or instruction, so I don’t feel all that bad for leaving yous guys hanging for the last two weeks, but I do owe it to you to at least provide the drivel that one can expect when you log on to We’ll Always Have Terrace.  Actually, let me paint you a visual which might just illustrate how lazy I truly am and maybe better detail why it is that I sometimes go so long without an entry.  I don’t know if this illustrates that I’m lazy or stupid or both, but I have yet to figure out how to get my Powerbook to be truly wireless in my apartment.  It’s not like I just moved in either.  I’ve been here three years now. Oh, sure I’ve got a router and Time Warner’s shittiest DSL hook up – which is barely faster than dial-up, but it’s in my budget – and my computer has an Airport.   But daggum it if I can’t seem to get the wireless router (kindly given to me by good friend Orren – you’ll see pics from his house later) to enable me to type whilst I’m in the Great Room (I like calling it that, but in my 1BR it’s really not all that great, just the main room really – the Good Room I guess).  So, I’m resigned to doing me internetting from the bedroom – where I can choose to type while lying in bed or seated upright with the computer on a chair or my clothes dresser.  Fuckin’ efficient as hell, I know.  That’s me.  Mr. Functionality.  So, if you’re now envisioning me typing while I lie stomach down on a 15 year old, bed linen free mattress with my chin resting on two stacked pillows as my beautiful baby greens peer just over the top of a slobber-stained pillow – all the while in deep concentration as I prepare my next thought, you’re way off.  I have blue eyes.

Nonetheless, let’s post some shit and gets ya caught up.  If you only wanted to read 5,000 words – tops, then this brief recap is just for you.  Since we last chatted, I’ve had 24 beers or so, the majority being Miller Lite’s – maybe a handful were of the Coor’s Light variety and four to five were Budweiser Light – remind me to tell you my thoughts on that stupid campaign – Drinkability.  Your telling me you’ve got a beverage that can be consumed?  Fuckin’ brilliant. That’s like saying.  Subway.  It’s eatable.  When your selling point consists of touting the characteristic of your product which doesn’t really distinguish it from other products, I think you don’t really have much of a marketing strategy.  Sure, it’s neat to see the guy who’s been in a shitload of national spots draw his quirky little white pictures on my telly as he explains “drinkability” to a few racially and socioeconomically diverse friends, but all in all, I call lame.  My other beer advertising pet peeve – “Keystone. Bottled beer taste in a can”  I’m pretty sure once the tin of the can hits your lips it doesn’t matter how special the lining of your can is, cause it’s still gonna taste as though it’s coming from a can.  You want bottled beer taste?  Gee, I don’t know.  Maybe buy a beer in a bottle.  Just a thought.

Okay, where was I?  That’s right – brief recap.  I gave up on the brief part, sorry. The brewskie drinkin’ was first kicked off at my friend Orren’s house where we done a little Super Bowling.  Feel free to click on the photo below to take in additional pics from this glorious, sun-drenched afternoon on Feb. 1.  Which, in addition to being a day we all watch some pigskin and take in a few commercials and a load of calories, just happened to be the 5 year anniversary of my 2,100+ mile trek from Chicago to LA.  That’s a whole other entry will get to at a later date.  Briefly, it involves a deceased roommate, a Chevy Blazer, the St. Louis Arch, sleep apnea, the Great Wall of China, a speeding ticket in Oklahoma, an Arizona snowstorm and lots of beef jerky – just to name a few tidbits.  

I know I'm wearing a Dallas Cowboys Tony Dorsett jersey.  You would too, if you bought it 4 years ago and it just now fits.

I know I'm wearing a Dallas Cowboys Tony Dorsett jersey. You would too, if you bought it 4 years ago and it just now fits.

The Monday after Super Bowling I had to allow myself a little sleepy time in the AM, so I chose to attend the evening boot camp session.  It was the start of Week four and that’s all I gotsta say about that.  I can’t lie to ya.  My final boot camp posts are gonna be weak.  Marginal at best.  As I type this on Sunday night, I know full well that tomorrow morning won’t involve an 8:30 Dustin and Cazzy led boot camp workout, but only a Southwest Airlines commercial audition at 10:15.  You see, during my 15 day hiatus, boot camp came and went and I’ve been struggling with telling you it’s over.  Sure, it’ll start up again in a week, but I don’t think John David David’s gonna be there.  It’s just too much do-re-for-mi.  The free lunch is over and now it’d cost me $225. American.  I gotta do what I gotta do, but it was a good ride while it lasted.  We weighed in this past Wednesday on Dustin’s scales at 227.5 lbs – down 11.5 from my starting weight of 239.  Now, I probably weighed less after our final workout this past Friday as I tipped the scales at Lindora on the day before at 224.9, so I’d say it’s a safe bet that if your number was 12 and you had the over – you win. If you’re keeping track of my fitness assessment tests, as you all should be, I managed to trim a whopping 20 seconds from my mile time with a final 9:21.  I upped my push me ups to 49 in a minutes time from the previous 41.  And, even though this isn’t as great as it sounds, I doubled my sit ups in two minutes score from a ridiculous 13 to a still ridiculous 26.  There’s gotta be some abdominal muscles under there somewhere, I just can’t seem to get to them. Oh, we also had a day last week, Monday I believe, when we did the thing where we run a half-mile, do 100 standing squats, 200 crunches and 100 push ups and then run another half-mile.  I learned a lot from this camp, and lost a little, but I evidently learned nothing from doing it the first time some three weeks or so prior.  Cause I did not pace myself correctly and break up the exercises accordingly.  Instead, I decided to bust out the 200 crunches first, thinking it was these sunnuva bitches that kept me from completing it in a timely fashion before.  I wouldn’t let them take me down this go round, no sir.  Then I thought, Hey, let’s do me some 100 squats.  Nice, I thought as I finished them and heard Dustin announce it had been 15 minutes since we started.  Dude, I’ll definitely beat my 30 minute or so time from before cause all I had left was the push me ups.  Shit, I just told you I can do 49 in a minute, so it should take me, what? Two minutes or so to do 100.  Maybe 2:30 tops?  Boy, could I not have been any more wrong.  I managed to do 40 or so, but then muscle fatigue set in and I labored for the next 10 minutes or so to do the remaining ones until Dustin, realizing I was the only one who had yet to take off for their finishing half-mile, asked me how many I had left.  To which I begrudgingly replied, “Fuckin twenty-three”.  He then told me to do the run and then come back and finish up the rest of them.  Yeah, that was much easier.  Cause when I returned, I banged out 23 with ease.  Why didn’t I just break them up into sets in the first place – alternating squats and push ups?  Me not so smart sometimes. Oh, my time? Ten seconds slower than the first time.  31:41

During that last week, they also shot a little testimonial footage of each of the campers. I’ll be sure to let you know when it finds its way to their website so you can give it the once over twice and the twice over thrice.  On Valentine’s Day, Dustin invited all three of his classes to participate in a hike up Temescal Canyon, which I was all excited to attend, but ended up having to shoot a scene for this student film I had a small part in.  I played Jimbo.  He’s a 34 years old BB Gun shootin’, drums playin’, meat packin’ plant worker/drug dealer with ADHD.  You know, not much of a stretch from my real life.  

Another  good thing I think that’s come out of this boot camp experience is the making friends with Quicks aspect.  She got me out to do a little Speed Datin’ on the first Wednesday of this month, and I have to say it was quite entertaining. It took place at a little divey type bar in Hollywood, and involved me and eight other duds, I mean dudes, 10 lovely ladies and 5 minutes with each.  I’m gonna cut to the chase and say that there were 5 that I circled Yes.  Oh, yeah.  I forgot.  we each received a number, I was 46, and then a little pamphlet upon which you write your “dates” number and then circle “Yes” or “No” by their name, based on whether or not you’d like to go out with them again.  It was like grade school all over again when you’d pass a note to a girl asking them to “go with you” and to circle either “Yes” or “No”.  You’re then supposed to take this form home and enter your results into the website and then any mutual matches would show up if you said “yes” to someone who also said “yes” to you.  I chose five broads I’d like to “see” again.  I kinda define “see” rather loosely and used it represent either have sex with or do some neckin’ with or spoonin’ on a couch or buying a puppy with or maybe just, you know a little light petting.  Seriously, I haven’t gotten to first base in almost 5 years so I should probably go at this a little leisurely like – not take things all that fast.  Well, all my whores rejected me so it didn’t even matter.  Not even my “safety” gave me the nod.  What gives? So I asked everyone the same though out 26 questions back-to-back.  I don’t see the problem.  I’m not giving up though.  I’ll not let my .000 batting average keep me from stepping to the plate.  Even if I do get beaned in the head a few more times or go down on strikes – called or swinging.  Man, I do love me some baseball analogies.  Don’t you?  What the hell would I do without them sports? Don’t know I tell ya.  Don’t know.

Since I’m running short on time and need an additional hour or two of beauty sleep, I’m gonna close this post with a flurry of pictures.  Some photos may or may not have a link attached to them so feel free to click on them and see what happens.  Here we go:

I took a week off of my diet and chose to fulfill a cupcake craving.  Three times.

I took a week off from my diet and chose to fulfill a cupcake craving. Three times.

This here's what they call a black and white and it's REALLY.  I kicked off the sugary festivities with this guy.

This here's what they call a black and white and it's REALLY good. I kicked off the sugary festivities with this guy.

Right here is where I consumed number two.  The peanut butter chocolate.  I had a nice photo of it as well, but I must have eaten it cause I can’t find it.  Part of the reason I chose to go to Sprinkles on a Wednesday is because they only offer this tasty morsel on Wednesday and Saturday.  Moist and delicious.  No, it’s how I like my cupcakes silly.

RED FUCKIN' VELVET.  I saved the best for last.  These things are like black tar heroin to us fatties.  If I had to choose between any drug and this, I'm leaving with cream cheese all over my face every time.

RED FUCKIN' VELVET. I saved the best for last. These things are like black tar heroin to us fatties. If I had to choose between any drug and this, I'm leaving with cream cheese all over my face every time.

Those cakes never stood a chance.

Those cakes never stood a chance.

If you’re ever in the Beverly Hills area.  Not the one in Lancaster, OH, but the one out here, I highly recommend popping in (there’s usually a line and unlike the dumb asses who wait in line at Pink’s hot dogs, it’s actually worth the wait) for a cake or two.  They ain’t cheap though.  I think they’re now $3.25 a piece, but worth every penny.

I’m not sure this is proper blog protocol, but what the fuck do I care.  I’m going to bed and calling “TO BE CONTINUED”

Good night dudes.  Yeah, I guess my flurry ended up being more of a trickle, what with my 3 photos of cupcakes, but I’ll be sure to give ya what you’re jonesin’ for tomorrow.  Which, is actually now today.  Damn, I gotta get better organized when it comes to bloggin’.

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