Due to recent circumstances, I have not been attending my usual Friday night dance/workout at myNightclub. For [mumble] the past six weeks. During which time I have had a personal chef at my disposal 24/7 . . . Strangely, a mysterious seven pounds of weight has crept onto my frame and I just do not understand why the lack of cardio and the increase in dietary consumption has led to such a condition. So, last Friday I decided to get my arse off the sofa and get caught up on the hours of missed cardio. Amazingly, as it turned out, you cannot pack eight hours of missed cardio into roughly 45 minutes.

Due to a heavy dinner (it wasn’t MY fault!!, blame the chef), I got a late start and when I left home and jumped on the freeway I found that the route I needed was closed for construction and so I had to take a 10-minute detour. When I finally got close to the club, I discovered that the trendy restaurant next door was having a function and thus there was no parking for blocks around. Eventually, I ended up parking in front of a house/store up the street and (still) forking out $5 to the latino parking attendant who swore up and down it was a legitimately rented parking space. Upon stepping out of my vehicle, I was instantly harassed by a crackhead who claimed to be a Hurricane Katrina victim … I responded to his request for money with: “I’ve been unemployed for FIVE MONTHS, why don’t YOU give ME some goddamn money????” . . . the parking attendant kindly walked me to the opposite side of the street from the door of myNightclub. I’m fairly certain that viewing what I was almost-wearing under the jacket I had just removed had nothing to do with his gentlemanly conduct … or the wolf-whistle he almost-suppressed. There was a huge line outside the club and several idiots people were trying to worm their way into the front of the line. The door-guy was quite rightfully turning them away and telling them to get into line and then I walked up and he hugged me and opened the door for me and I went right in … of COURSE I didn’t feel in the least bit smug . . . so I head on back to my bartender, who never charges me for my drinks, but whom I tip $1 for each drink (I rarely have more than one anyway … at the club, that is) … and I didn’t realise until I got home that I had managed to drop my “emergency” $20 bill into the tip jar rather than my intended $1 bill … not that my bartender doesn’t deserve the extra cash, but that was my cellphone bill money!! Well, half of it anyway. The dance floor was packed and much to my horror, I found myself to be mildly winded after about 30 minutes. (I can usually manage to dance for almost two hours straight!) After greeting a few acquaintances and flailing enthusiastically on the dance floor for less than an hour I was ready to get the hell out of there. Especially when the DJ announced that cars across the street were starting to get towed.

I arrived home and opened the door to the most incredible fragrance of freshly-cooked homemade potato soup . . . by pure coincidence, I just happened to have worked up an appetite.

On Saturday, the beau and I drove out to his place of employment because he had to have a brief meeting … I waited outside and read a book until the need to use the bathroom became overwhelming. Just as I stepped out of the car, he stepped out of the building to check on me. Apparently, my bodily functions are somewhat predictable. It’s great to have a bladder the size of a peanut. When we went to leave, my car wouldn’t start and I knew right away that the battery had abruptly and without reasonable warning died on me. Usually, I require a 3-month notice if anything/anybody is going to die … especially when I am out of work and barely keeping my head above water. So, we had to borrow a company truck and head to Sam’s Club to buy a new battery . . . who needs to pay the electric bill anyway?

This entry was posted on Monday, May 22nd, 2006 at 12:12 pm and is filed under Humour. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.