DISCLAIMER: This entry drops the F bomb all over the place. Please protect your virgin ears if you are into that sort of thing. Everyone else, all the F bombs are toward the end. Fuck. Except that one. That's the thing about the F bomb. It drops when you least expect it.
Phoebe gives me really weird looks when I sing, OK yell, Journey lyrics at her. Whatever, CAT, you spent the entire morning staring at the sun reflections on the ceiling! DON'T YOU JUDGE ME. And seriously? Anyone who doesn't like Journey can just get the hell out of my apartment RIGHT NOW. That is a new rule. Everyone must sing a Journey lyric before they enter the apartment. Heidi, I hope you're OK with this. I mean, I spend the majority of my life with a Journey song stuck in my head so I'm just trying to pass along the joy.
So, you know how I was complaining about having to work yesterday? I realize it's difficult to keep track of all the things I complain about, but try and keep up. Right, so, I was complaining about having to go to work but really? On the Saturdays that I have to get up early and go into work, I am so much more productive than I am on normal Saturdays. For instance, yesterday after work I got gas, checked my oil, got a hair cut, dyed my hair, went to the gym, balanced my checkbook, cooked dinner (although "cooked" might be stretching it since I mostly used the microwave), and . . . OK, that's it. But last Saturday? When I didn't have to work? I worked out. That is the only productive thing I did. There was that whole prime rib incident, too, but I'm not sure that counts.
There are these two weight machines at the gym . . . I have no idea what they're really called, but Heidi and I call them the slut machines. Because, see, they both involve spreading your legs as wide as humanly possible. The first night we tried to do them in shorts and I will never, ever do that again because there are some things I do not want strangers to know and that includes the color of my underwear. So now I make sure I do those machines first, while I still have my pants on. LET ME ELABORATE, when I do take my pants off at the gym, I always ALWAYS have shorts on underneath them. I do not walk around the gym pantsless because I think they frown upon that. Anyway, the slut machines are my favorite ones in the whole gym so I'm not sure what that says about me.
Did I tell you that you can watch movies while you work out? Well, you can. There's even a sheet at the desk where you can request movies. Only there's a little note that says "no nudity," so I guess I can't request, I don't know, Wedding Crashers. Who wouldn't like to watch Wedding Crashers while they work out? Sure, it might be dangerous because I could start laughing really hard and slide off the treadmill but that is a risk I'm willing to take. But we can't watch it because there are boobies in it. And if we have learned anything from Janet Jackson, it is that boobies are scary and should remain hidden at all times, especially during sporting events. I don't even remember where I was going with this. Let's pretend that what I'm saying makes sense, though, OK? OK. So, we can't watch movies with boobies or hoohas in it, but apparently profanity and violence are totally fine. Yesterday they were showing Courage Under Fire, which alternated between Denzel Washington in an army uniform (mmm) interviewing hot soldiers in uniform (Matt Damon, for instance) and battle scenes that went something like this:
Soldier 1: Woe is me! They are fucking shooting at us!
Meg Ryan: I would suggest that you fucking shoot back!
Soldier 2: Ma'am, with all fucking due respect, I cannot seem to hit those motherfuckers with this fucking gun.
Meg Ryan: Blow up their fucking tank!
Soldier 1: Ma'am, I do not have any fucking ammo left with which to blow up any fucking tanks. I fear we may all fucking perish.
Meg Ryan: I would be much obliged if you would shut the fuck up and obtain some fucking flares.
Soldier 2: Fucking flares, ma'am?
Meg Ryan: I do believe that is what I fucking said. Fucking flares will be ideal for blowing up their fucking tank and saving our fucking lives.
Soldier 1: Yes, ma'am.
Soldier 2: I don't mean to be a nuisance, but I have just been shot in the fucking jugular.
Soldier 1: Fuck. Fuck fuckedy fuck fuck fuck.
Meg Ryan: Fuck.
Me: Bring back Denzel!
Gym Attendant: Ma'am, please don't yell at the screen.
Me: Don't fucking call me ma'am.
Anyway, so my point is I think we should be allowed to watch Wedding Crashers.