1.12.2010

Thoughts I Couldn't Flesh Out Into Full Entries

- For all of you Monday night TLC fans, the following is an email I got from my sister yesterday afternoon:

"I think I need an Intervention because I'm Obsessed with Hoarders...SEE?! See what I did there??"

...That's genuinely the funniest thing I've read in at least a month. So there's that.

- I've got an incredibly huge thing for bike messengers. They're dirty and sweaty and have sexy tattoos, bulging calf muscles, scruffy beards and one pant leg is always rolled up slightly higher than the other. I don't know what it is about that combination that gets me all hot and bothered, but holy fixed gear—it does. I actually looked into becoming a bike messenger during The Great Job Hunt of '08 in an effort to make money and infiltrate their inner circle. It seemed like a great idea until I found out that a large part of their job is physically moving oneself from one place to another in a quick and timely fashion. That's not really my scene. I'm more into sitting at my desk trying not to get a urinary tract infection while I muster up the energy needed to physically get up and go to the bathroom. More to the point, a bike messenger came into my office this morning to pick up a package and yowzah—he was the hottest person I have ever seen in real life.

That's not him. That's what comes up when you do a google image search for "hot bike messenger," but you get the point. (And you're welcome.) The second he rounded the corner and came into my office, I pardoned myself, ran into the back room and thanked god that this wasn't one of those mornings where I wake up at 8:57am and army crawl my way from my bed to the metro, dressing in whatever clothes and spare scraps I can find along the way. Because of all the mornings not to look homeless, this was definitely one of them. Now, normally when bike messengers come into the office, I'm a hot giggly mess who can only speak in broken English, but today I was on the ball. I managed to get out both "thank you" AND "you too!" without stuttering, spitting or blacking out and hitting my head on the way down. When Hottie Bike Messenger started to walk away from my desk with my package (bwahaha hehe oh my!) I declared it a personal victory and continued browsing through my iphone, looking for the picture I was going to use in today's post. PER CHANCE, the next photo I flipped to was this little doozie of Evie curled up in my mom's arms over Christmas break:

And oh...my...just and gentle God. I was in no way prepared for the extreme adorableness that is that photograph. I mean, look at her little chin resting on my mom's arm!!! And that spicy little chicken wing all curled up, tucked beside her!!!!!!1 I couldn't help myself. Before I knew it, a noise flew was flying out of my mouth that can only be described as a cross between "AWWWWWWWWWWWW" and the clich
é French "HAWH HAWH HAWH" laugh. "I'm sorry?" Hottie Bike Messenger asked as he stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, thinking I was still talking to him. "Oh.....no. I [points down to iphone] there was this picture. Of a cat. It's not a big deal. I'm sorry, that's all. You can go now." Hottie Bike Messenger nodded once, turned back around quickly walked out of the office and out of my life forever. So. Good. I meet the man of my dreams on a day when I'm actually looking presentable and I manage to alienate him and make him think I'm a Creepy Cat Lady in one felt swoop. That's cool. I'm not really into having sex anyway.

- Speaking of having sex, if you're reading this and happen to be a bike messenger living in the greater Washington, DC area or know someone who is—I don't want to say I'll pay you good money to have sex with me, but I also don't not want to say I'll pay you good money to have sex with me. Let's just say I've got good credit, live near a bank and am very discreet and just leave it at that, shall we? Good. meg@2birds1blog.com.

- Also, speaking of Evie! Did you know that when I was home for Christmas, I found out that my parents bought her from a woman in central New Jersey who they're 99.4% sure is a Neo-Nazi? I don't know why, but this makes the mythology of Evie McBlogger that much more rich to me. Plus, knowing she's part Jersey Neo-Nazi also makes reading Ambien & Evie a much more
complex experience that I think is worth another go.

- You know when you save an inside joke as a draft in your phone because you don't want to forget it, but forget it anyway and then when you discover it like, years later it's that much more funny because it's aged like a fine wine? Well that's what happened with this conversation between me and my dad that's been saved in my old phone since April of 2008:

Dad: I don't want to say Jimmy Buffet's a one-trick-pony...

Me: And yet, you just did.

Dad: Well let's just say he made an entire career off of the concept of an incredibly gay town on the tip of Florida.

I am now speaking directly to my future hypothetical children—Maybelle and Henry von Hottie Bike Messenger: You are to read, print and save this blog post until the day I day because that, and only that, is what I want engraved on my tombstone. In 44-point Trajan. Do that for mumsy. Thanks!

- It's been a while since I've done a "You Know What Ruffles My Feathers?" feature, but that's not due to lack of feather ruffling. Because my feathers have been a-rufflin', friends. My panties are in a twist. My bonnet is full of bees. My...thing is all...jacket up...? Point being: I'm pissed off. Specifically, I'm pissed off at two distinct groups of people. And let me tell you, there is a special place in hell reserved for these people. When Hitler and Pol Pot organize their 10th Annual Seventh Circle of Hell Block Party, these are the people they'll send evites to:
1.) People who don't respect the 30-minute time limit on machines at the gym
and
2.) People who lean against the metro pole during rush hour

I genuinely have trouble putting into words how irritating I find these people. I've been wanting to do a blog post on them both for quite some time, but every time I start writing it, I get legitimately flustered and overwhelmed and have to stop before I have a brain aneurysm.

Let's start with people at the gym who don't respect the 30-minute time limit on machines—what the fuck is wrong with you people? There are signs literally everywhere telling you not to do exactly what you're doing. And these signs aren't just afterthoughts jotted down on a post-it note, haphazardly slapped on the mirror. They're typed, printed, framed and nailed to the wall. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make sure this rule is known, so maybe it's a good idea you respect it. You know, THIS RULE THAT ALL GYMS IN AMERICA HAVE. Don't act like you don't know what's up. And by the way, it is a rule. If you were to take the time to glance up from your John Grisham novel and read the sign that's posted directly in front of your fat fucking face, you'll see that it's not suggested you respect the 30-minute time limit, it's not encouraged that you respect the 30-minute time limit, it's not preferred that you respect the 30-minute time limit; it's a RULE. I don't mean to be a total
Terry Cooper all fallin' in love with the rules or whatever, but that rule is in place for a specific reason—nobody has time to stand around the gym for 45 minutes while you leisurely stroll on the treadmill reading Us Weeklys from the past five weeks. The gym is the kind of heinous place you just want to get in, get out and be done with. I mean, we all have places to go; homes to get home to; episodes of Intervention waiting for us. And you're holding shit up with your own selfishness. You are a Selfish Shellfish and it fucking pisses me off!

Sit down and let me tell you a true story from my life. When I go to the gym, I have a specific routine I like to do: I start with 30 minutes on the elliptical and end with 30 minutes on the arc trainer. The other day I got to the gym and it was oddly packed. I walked past the ellipticals to scope out how much time people had left to see if it was more time efficient to wait or if I should switch up my routine and do the arc trainer first (shudder, shudder). Irritatingly enough, most people had like 18-20 minutes left except for one girl who had 48 MINUTES LEFT! 48 MINUTES! And she was already sweating like a bitch when I got there which I can only assume means she had been there for a while! She also had this huge test prep book draped all over her machine, papers flying everywhere, her jacket and bag strewn about like she fuckin' owned the place—I mean, what the fuck is going on here?! This isn't your apartment; you can't just set up shop and hunker down for the night! And I can understand this behavior if it's 9 o'clock at night and the place is practically empty, but this was seriously at 6:15 in the evening. You could not pick a busier time to raise a leg, spray a machine and make it yours for the night. And I know this has nothing to do with anything, but she was offensively ugly. There, I said it. I know, I know, I'm a horrible human being and I'm no prize piece either and blah blah blah, but seriously—that bitch had a face on her head. And that face looked like scrambled eggs. And for whatever reason it made the situation that much more irritating to be in. By the time I was done with the arc trainer and needed an elliptical, they were all still in use! Including, of course, by Head-Face Girl who had been there for the past babillion years! The fuck?! So then, of course, I was put in a position where I had to decide if I was going to say something to her or not. Did I? Of course not. Because then I'd be That Guy. Did I say something to the manager? No. Because then I'd be That Guy^max. I just don't appreciate being in the position where I have to choose between letting an inconsiderate A-fuck win or risk being That Guy. Because nobody in that situation wins and it's just not fair.

Christ. Now I'm all riled up just in time for Boss #2 to come in for the day. I'll attack Metro Pole Humpers tomorrow...Lord knows I just don't have the strength now. Time to lower my blood pressure with 'Ole Faithful:

28 comments:

The Realist said...

Gym is packed because of new years resolutioners. Fear not. They'll slowly dwindle til Valentines day where they'll all be out getting fat again.

My gym pet peeve: people who basically pour buckets of sweat onto a machine and then walk away without cleaning it. I cannot count the number of santizing stations in my gym...and yet...clearly they're invisible to some people.

Daniel said...

His name is Jeff Perkins and you might be able to seduce him by buying an iPod shuffle...

http://chicago.timeout.com/articles/sports/29604/interview-with-chicago-bike-messenger-jeff-perkins

Anonymous said...

Meg - please update your list to include not only the elliptical tards but the treadmill idiots as well. It always pisses me off beyond all holy hell when you have people taking up a valuable treadmill by walking on it for 16 hours. Seriously, if you can go downstairs to get a sip of water and burn the same number of calories that you did by spending an hour "exercising" while having the amount of air it takes to argue with your bff on the phone about which girl you most identify with on the bachelor, then do the world a favor and chase a beautiful butterfly off the top of a very large building. Not only will I have a free machine to run on but also will never again have to be verbally assaulted by the most inane one sided conversation I have ever had the distinct nightmare of listening to.

Biz said...

luckily, my gym is in a smaller neighborhood and i can generally always get to the machine i want.

but two things chap my ass. one, people who leave their sweat all over the place, and two, huge muscled up assholes who leave 7 billion pounds of weights on a machine rendering it useless because i have tiny arms and i can't lift that shit off.

Amanda said...

oh honey, hasn't eddie told you? (she moved to oregon, right?) every single boy in portland looks JUST like you described hot bike messengers. i'm serious, come see for yourself. you'll be up to your ears in delightful scruffy bike-elitist hipsters! =)

RetroTrasher said...

1)yeah everybody knows Mr. Perkins here in Chicago, he is like the celebrity messenger here, the poster boy if you will. I also know a few other messengers. So ya know, come here and I hook you up.

2) I had to pull the "cough laugh" here at work after reading about miss "scrambed egg" face. Stop it, I almost choked on my gum.

2 Birds, 1 Blog: The sardonic voice of 20-somethings everywhere, Monday through Friday. said...

My gym pet peeve: people who basically pour buckets of sweat onto a machine and then walk away without cleaning it.
IT BOGGLES. THE. MIND.

His name is Jeff Perkins and you might be able to seduce him by buying an iPod shuffle...
I'll buy Jeff Perkins whatever he wants as long as he gets the job done.

Meg - please update your list to include not only the elliptical tards but the treadmill idiots as well. It always pisses me off beyond all holy hell when you have people taking up a valuable treadmill by walking on it for 16 hours.
My list encompasses ALL people who fart around on the machines forever. The elliptical was just my case and point. I feel your pain, homes.

oh honey, hasn't eddie told you? (she moved to oregon, right?) every single boy in portland looks JUST like you described hot bike messengers. i'm serious, come see for yourself. you'll be up to your ears in delightful scruffy bike-elitist hipsters! =)
EDDIE DIDN'T TELL ME! THAT BITCH! Welp, suck it DC; I'm moving to Portland.

I had to pull the "cough laugh" here at work after reading about miss "scrambed egg" face. Stop it, I almost choked on my gum.
Don't die!

Anonymous said...

Effing metro pole humpers, don't get me started.

Anonymous said...

1) does it really bother skinny ppl when fat ppl who are gung ho take up all the machines in january?

2)CAN.NOT.WAIT for the metro pole humpers! seriously dying.
- i was on the blue line the other day going to the place that sucks the last bit of life i have, and as usual the metro is packed. doors open - ppl leave, ppl are getting on. this OLD SANTA wannabe man is standing parallel to the doors, at the pole. not even backed up against the side thingie, just paralell. so i end up behind him, i turn to lean on the side thingie, and homeboy nudges me into the door. as if I INVADED his space. now i'm a bitch, i nudge right back, i'm young i can take him. so at the next station - the doors open ppl leave, homeboy moves one inch and LEANS HIS WHOLE BODY on the pole. not on arm, not holding, but the whole pasty christmas looking body on the pole. poor ppl behind him desperately trying to not fly all over the place couldnt even hold anything. i hope he has a pole shoved up his ass one day....that pole.

i effing hate the dc metro system.

kallaydoscope said...

Aside from the elliptical death march machines and sweat dangling all over them like another swine flu outbreak (gimmeabreakpeopleplease) waiting to happen... I *hate* when the big muscle guys hog the weight machines. They sit there, resting between reps and my thought is, maybe we bring the ol' spray bottle over, wipe that girl down and let me have a whack at it? Ya know... while you're resting. Asshole.

I have never seen a turtle fuck a shoe. That was enlightening.

Also, I love the censored "A-fuck". Clearly ass is the Dirtier word here.

Malisams said...

...but seriously—that bitch had a face on her head. And that face looked like scrambled eggs.

Funniest 17 words I have read in a long, long time. Thank you.

Anonymous said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
William said...

Watching the Jay Leno show, and that joke of a person (Meghan McCain) is making a complete fool of herself. Leave it to the big breasted blond, who supposedly wants to be a face in the Republican Party, talk about the existence of the G-Spot...

laur1118 said...

Yes, yes it does really bother skinny people when fat people take up all of the machines in January. Come on, who are you kidding? Do you think the 2 weeks of resolutioning you put in is going to give you a lifetime of health? And plus, you know you're hitting up the McDonald's drive thru after walking at 3.2 mph for 20 minutes.

That Kind of Girl said...

Oh my gosh, the bike messenger story made me L quite literally OL. Amazing.

Also, don't discount the physical exertion of sitting around, trying not to get a yeast infection. I'll bet it burns tens of calories per year.

dontgetsentimental said...

What about the people who WHEN THE GYM IS MENTAL INSTITUTION EMPTY still insist on taking the elliptical RIGHT. NEXT TO YOU.

I think I hate these people more than anybody else. Because at least the 30-min rule breakers give me an excuse to leave the gym without breaking a sweat. But the d-bag crampin' my style on the elliptical whilst I'm trying to watch Final Jeopardy is the one I really want to take outside and bitch slap three ways til Sunday.

Anonymous said...

At my internship in Philadelphia the time cycle guys gave us these trading cards type thing with their pictures on them. It was probably the most amazing thing ever. God I love bike messengers.

Em said...

ugh in regards to the metro pole leaning people. i do this really obnoxious thing where i purposely put my hand where i know they are going to lean on it (b/c we all know that most of the metro pole leaners stand up at stops and trick everyone into thinking there's a pole to hang onto and then they wrap their bodies around it making everyone want to commit rush hour homicide... i digress...), and then when they lean on my hand (and they DO those assholes) I make a big show of extricating my hand, sighing and saying excuuuuuse me and that usually works.

No Faith In Humanity said...

omg omg omg I bet you encountered SexyAss Bike Messenger! He used to come by my office in Farragut West, and I swear I almost proposed to him at first sight. You cannot have teeth that perfect and deliver packages, you just can't. Mussed brown hair? Eyes that stare into the depths of your soul? If so, then it was him. Swoon.

Carissa said...

You are not the only one, by far, who rationalizes/bashes the over-30-minute rule flaunters based on their appearance. There are these two girls who are always in the gym at the same time I go, literally MARATHONING on the treadmills, and every single time I have to fuck up my very logical routine and wait for them to finish minute #126 on the treadmill I need to use, this is always, ALWAYS what I think: "It's ok, honey. With a schnoz like that, you need that body more than I do."
Snark is a lovely, wonderful, and sanity-keeping thing.

Caroline said...

I have to admit, I've leaned on the metro poles a time or two. But I swear I only do it if there's no one else standing near me! Yikes.

-M said...

ummm, what kind of cat is Evie (besides Jersey Neo-Nazi)? I want one.

Erin said...

Pole hugging during rush hour is so shockingly offensive it's difficult to even comprehend.

Also, I hate people.

Anonymous said...

you know, there's female bike messengers too. i happen to be one and i don't live in chicago, but i go there sometimes. i also have weird calf tattoos. just sayin. we could "do it". yowza!

Anonymous said...

you should probably tip the sexy bike messengers!

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