Actually it's not. Sorry. I haven't had an encounter with mary jane in the last couple of weeks and we just sort of ran into each other. The headline just means that this is my 300th blog entry. But yeah, I look in the mirror and I'm a little on the Asian side right now, and it's a pretty big deal because this is the longest I've gone without it in I-can't-even-remember.
Editor's Note: 300...woo fuckin hoo...big deal. Yeah that's sarcastic. I mean, it's cool that I've been writing a lot, but it kind of bothers me that people make such a big deal out of "300" as opposed to "323." Something about the powerful hundreds-number that makes people respect it more. It's probably just because of money. Fuck money. Seriously, fuck it. I don't mean it like "forget about it" - you can't do that - I mean fuck it. I imagine you would need a lot of it though...okay I'll stop.
The reason why I chose to avoid mary's tempations as of late is because I'm gettin' on the 'get in shape' tip. Blunts don't help that. Going to the gym does. I feel like when I'd smoke a blunt after working out it negated each other. So I was in the gym today gettin my swell on...
Editor's Note: Sorry I couldn't help it. I never say 'gettin my swell on' in a serious way. It's just that I'm writing it to you and I can't say it in my sarcastic 'tough guy' voice, or as we'd like to call it back home, Johnny Tough Balls (JTB).
Anyway, I was in the gym and I wanted to try to go up some weight, since I've been doin' the gym thing for about 4 months. Here comes the part where either I tell you how much the weight is, or I don't. I'm not going to. It's a no-win situation:
1) You'd think it's too little and think I'm a nancy.
2) You wouldn't believe it was that much, and you'd think I'm a cocky douchebag.
3) You'd believe me, but still think I was vein. Is it vain? Shit. I'm gonna think about this and not look it up...it's gotta be vain. How many fucking times have I looked at a prayer book, and I still don't know how to spell that word? I gotta go with vain. This is tearing me apart. "Yeah, definitely vain." That was my Rain Man impression.
So because it was a lot for me, I felt more comfortable if I could get a spotter. There's this ridiculously jakked dude who I get along with so I asked him. I'm pretty sure he's gay. I don't know...I guess it's not a big deal. At the same time, I don't have a problem with it in pretty much any other scenario. I'm laying on this bench squeezing for the life of me while this dude is yelling in my ear, "Let's go motherfucker push it! Let's go! Motherfuckin push that!" Meanwhile I'm trying my hardest to stay focused and not either 1) Laugh my ass off. 2) Shit my pants. 3) Break a bone in my body. 4) All of the above.
Editor's Note: Since I go to the gym alone I'm really careful with what I lift, so I never need to ask for a spotter. This was my first time. I think I might have to chalk it up to a "one-time-only experience." Ugh...maybe I shouldn't be like that. Fine I'll be PC and let him spot me - - ew that just sounded gay.
Anyway. Like I wrote before I'm kinda dumb-fucking-high and it feels like I'm a kid blazing with his little herb friends. I feel like everything is just too much right now. For example when I wrote yesterday that I'm a good dancer, now that I'm high I don't think I'm good at all. That's just weed I guess.
So before I started writing I went to Taco Bell. So good. I've been there dozens and dozens of times at least, but once in awhile when I'm not paying attention, my munchie-havin' ass gets caught by Bill. Allow me to explain: I pull up to the window to order my food, and when I finally get the chance to fulfill my innermost demand at the time, a recorded voice comes on and says:
"Hi welcome to Taco Bell this is Bill, I'll be with you in one moment."
Fuck you Bill. You had me at "Bill." And it's not like Bill had some accent or anything - he had an eloquent oh-so-smooth I-know-English white dude tone. I bought it. I was processing Taco Bell very quickly and then I had to wait in my state... ... disappointed. See people look at life in terms of the amount of years they live, not months. Not weeks, or days. So certainly not minutes to seconds. Well Bill, for those five seconds...that was the worst five seconds I can remember in a long time.
Editor's Note: Actually, I was about to write something totally different in this spot that was proabably relevant. But just now, as I was writing it, I knocked over the sizeable blunt clip under the seat. So now I have to accept the fact that I'm pretty fuckin twisted and that that loss wasn't that big of a deal. Yeah, I did just write 'that' a lot, but it makes sense so house it. Don't get me started with that. Anyway, so at this point I've rambled so much that I have no idea what I was originally going to write. In fact you should know that I will continue to ramble for a few hundred words at least.
I'm about to go in the fridge and Joey Chestnut it. It's amazing how much this shit makes you want to eat. Smoking's gonna hold me back because I'm training for an obstacle course. This course is 12 miles and it's in the woods - it's in late November and we have to go underwater and shit. I'm vacating myself thinking about it, and not in a good way. Van told me that he went to dive school, and in it he learns that nothing breaks a man like bad weather with freezing cold water.
Speaking of Van, if you're still reading this, you're about to hear something Van hasn't. I think it's pretty funny so bear with me. Uh oh, I'm having another stupid 'vein' 'vain' moment, except now it's 'bear' 'bare.' Bare with me. Crap. That's not it. Can't be. But yeah, when you feel as lit as I do you can't discern what makes sense right away. My head weights a lot.
Wait so back to Van. Van's a teacher in middle school. He does his thing over there and when he's done he stays in shape. Dude's a monster. He runs marathons, he does triathlons, he won a fagathlon...gotta hand it to him. Dude did a marathon - and had a beer and a cigarette during.
Editor's Note: Sorry Van, I had to make the gay joke. It's the suburb kid in me. I don't make that joke to city friends. You guys practicially force me to do it.
So, turns out my little brother knows some people who know some people, who happen to be 13 years old. Wow that came off pretty dirty. Moving quickly so people don't think I touch kids, my brother is 15 in high school and he knows girls in middle school who say Van is the "Hottest Teacher Ever." I put it in caps like that because from the way my brother said it, it was like there was no one better...ever. I love that word - it's so final.
Funny thing about this is I haven't told him yet. To me this is kind of a big deal. I know they're young and of course that's disgusting, but they still think he's the hottest teacher in not only the school, but ever. That's gotta count for something. Do you think if he waits it out 10 years, they'll want him when they're 23 and he's 35? That would be amazing.