I went to a party last Saturday night
I didn’t get laid
I got in a fight
Uh huh…It ain’t no big thing.
Lita, you know that’s not how I do it! I haven’t had to scrap in years and instead of going to a party I strung a few lights and a little garland on my banister, decorated a mini-sized X-mas tree, lit the Duraflame, and the couch ended up getting much hotter than the fireplace ever did. And no Evan, I'm not talking about a menage-a-mois or a one-man-show. But seriously I might start building a fire every night! Or at least 23 days a month.
Oops, almost forgot that little kissing and telling rule of mine… Moving on…
On the 7th day, Tony said---Mad Pony get thee a wish list. And so it was. It’s actually just Lauren that heeded Mr. Pierce’s advice. Kristin apparently agrees with me that there’s just something a little cooky about persuading strangers from the internet to buy you stuff. But, I have no doubt that Lauren is going to have a very Merry X-Mas, and get absolutely anything she asks for. Probably for the rest of her life. If I was going to publish a 3rd Leg wish list, it’d probably include this or this…and a special PG-13 photo gallery of Lauren on her 18th birthday…in her riding pants. Oops, was that out loud? I am a bad, bad man.
Damn, two ‘Oops’ in one post, I need to get it together. Alright, so I promised you the 3rd Leg Diet today, and I’m not the kinda guy that breaks my promises. But keep in mind I am neither a certified personal trainer nor a dietician, though I’m willing to play one on the internet.
I’m not going to give you a complicated point system and have you adding numbers all damn day. Nor am I going to suggest you give up bread and pasta forever. That’s insanity----bread and pasta taste too damn good! Alright get your Big Chief tablets ready and your #2 Husky pencils sharpened…Ready?
The plan is starting now (not January 1 when everyone else attempts a new diet that they’re never gonna stick with) consume less calories, and burn more calories. That’s it! Pretty simple, huh? I call it 3L’s More and Less. Tell all your friends and have them send me a check for $19.99. And if they’re not happy with the results, F-em!
How did I devise such a brilliantly simple/infallible plan? Well, I’ll tell ya. On Wednesday I weighed more than I ever have in my entire life. 198lbs if you must know. Keep in mind that muscle weighs more than fat, and I’m not exactly jiggling when I walk. But still, the prospect of weighing in over 2 bills was a little unsettling to me. During the course of my workout I sipped on a 20 oz. Mountain Dew for a little pep in my step, which I later read contained over 100 calories. The time burned during my short 8 minute jog on the treadmill?... That’s right, 100 calories. So I basically spent an hour and a half in the gym and just broke even. Actually I did much more than just jog, but you get the idea.
Now if your gym is like mine, come January 1, membership is going to seemingly double. They won’t all be new faces, some will be slackers that have decided to eat as they please during the holidays and whip themselves back in to shape in 2003. Uh-huh. So why wait 30 days, and have to fight a crowd of softies?
Since Wednesday I’ve already dropped 4 lbs. No pills, no addition, no binging, no purging and no kidding. I will try my best to hit Starbucks no more than once a week, cut my Mountain Dew fix to once a day or less, eat half a pizza instead of the whole thing (yes, I’m looking at you Hosemonster!)---and hit the gym religiously 5 times a week---one hour a pop. If I get a digital camera for X-Mas, I’m even willing to show you the results right here. Ladies, hopefully you don’t mind a little hair on your chests… Er, I mean hopefully if you have hair on your chests, you would mind---and maybe even do something about it. But I’m sure you realized I was talking about mine…. Nevermind. Anyway, if you're with me and really, truly want to find out what it is I do in the gym for 5 hours a week---feel free to pull my leg below.
Thanks for Nothin'
11/30/2002 12:28:00 PM
I’m the kinda guy that can get easily annoyed, and I’ll admit the cause can be awfully trivial. Like surfing around and finding that my favorite blogs haven’t been updated in a few days can instantly put me in a bad mood. So I don’t blame anybody who’s visited this little slice of blog heaven during the Thanksgiving break without finding any new content. At least I’m not quite as bad as Meesh. Hopefully she’s been good enough to get electricity from Santa this X-mas.
It’s not even that I’ve been entirely busy---actually more lazy. While my two favorite sisters from Oklahoma are back under the same roof and tightening up Mad Pony, and while Moxie is already experiencing a not-so-fresh holiday feeling I’ve been enjoying every minute of college basketball’s early season deluge including the late night offerings from the Great Alaska Shootout and Maui Classic and even found some new favorite shows. I’m usually watching T.V. upstairs in my living room or office, even though I have about a hundred more channels on the Wega downstairs. Including the BBC and IFC.
I caught the BBCs Coupling, and have lost all appreciation for the writers of NBC’s Friends who obviously crib early, often and heavily from their English counterpart. While the Friends cast is definitely hotter, save for Susan (played by Sarah Alexander) the only significant difference is Couplings three guys and gals hang at a bar rather than a coffee shop. And of course they get away with a much more mature content across the pond, but what else would you expect from Benny Hill’s homeland.
Even more compelling is IFC’s Dinner for Five hosted each week by Jon Favreau (Swingers, Made, Rudy) entertaining four other actors/Hollywood types over an evening’s dinner. The success of the show is the unique pairing of guests which makes for compelling and hilarious conversations. Like say Darryl Hannah, Andy Dick, and Marilyn Manson. Or Peter Falk, Cheri Oteri, Vince Vaughn and Gary Shandling. You know if I’m recommending it, it’s good stuff----just another reason to get Tivo/Replay TV or ask Santa for an extra couple of hours a day.
One last story for ya before I’m ready to completely move beyond Thanksgiving. On Wednesday (i.e. the day before Turkey Day) I stopped in at Starbucks for one of my last Zebra Hot Chocolates of the year (more on that garbage by the end of the weekend). After taking my order and my money, my overly perky barista asked me what I was thankful for today (again, we’re talking Wednesday). To which I responded, “Um, I thought that was tomorrow.” She replied, “Well yea, but isn’t there anything you’re thankful for today?”. And I said, “I think I better keep saving them up---I don’t want to jinx anything.” Probably not the good-spirited response she was looking for but this story brings one of the personalities of the world I’m least thankful for to light.
I’m talking about people that are just too nice. You know what I’m talking about. The people that are always smiling, always chipper, never have a bad day, and are just plain annoying. There are people that I’ve had to disassociate a friendship with because they were just too nice for my liking. I’m the kinda guy that will occasionally start a sentence with “I don’t mean to be a dick---but…” and you just know the next thing out of my mouth is going to be overly rude or offensive. But it will be from the heart and the alternative is for me to harbor that thought but not have the courtesy to share it with others. Like “I don’t mean to be a dick----but does your girlfriend have your balls hanging from her rearview mirror or does she keep them under her pillow?”.
And I expect my friends to have the capacity to be just as mean-spirited. So long as they’re speaking their mind and helping to keep my legs on the ground---all three of ‘em.
By the way, this year I'm most thankful that Heidi Klum (the flawless and un-enhanced Miss Klum) is single again, and that the Kansas Jayhawks lost two straight games in the NIT... Rock, Choke, Chickenhawk!
If these two crazy, rock and roll lovin’ kids can’t make it together in this world, is there any hope at all for the rest of us? I’ve got a good friend who swears that anyone who gets married before the age of 25, might as well hire a divorce lawyer on retainer. I’m assuming he’d have even stricter counsel for two entertainment types attempting a happy ending. It never works. Ever. Except for Kurt and Goldie, but they don’t exactly count since they’re not legally bound. Which is probably the secret to their success. I’d argue that the rest of the allegedly successful Tinseltown unions are pre-arranged in order to socially profit while hiding a same-sex skeleton or two in the closet, maybe each of their closets.
I may be looking Matthew Broderick’s way, and I’m definitely looking at Christopher Guest. And how you say-----Antonio Banderas, I’m keeping an eye on you too. Kevin Bacon, you might be fakin’… David Gest, surely you jest!
I’m not buying Tom and Penelope, any more than I did Tom and Nicole and I suspect most of you aren’t either. We’ve all known which team he prefers to suit up for since he was saying, "Talk to me Goose," in the late 80’s.
Jennifer might make it, Anniston of course-----not Lopez. That fly girl’s working on her third husband in four years… But then again, I’ve always thought Ben was a little swishy, so maybe she’s finally on to something.
Who really cares anyway? People get married, separated and divorced everyday. That doesn’t mean each and every event merits its own Access Hollywood episode or E: True Hollywood Story.
If I’m sounding a little more irritable and pessimistic than my usual chipper self, it might be because I’m experiencing a very special combination equal parts groggy and bloated. Groggy in that I’m not yet in regular season basketball viewing mode, and am working on 5 hours’ sleep after staying up and watching the conclusion of Gonzaga and Utah in Maui. I hope to be back to form by the end of the weekend.
Bloated because I work with a bunch of chicks who just love to bring in decorative, edible holiday crap during November and December. It’s not so bad when it’s spread out----but today my office was deluged with bagels, banana bread, and iced cookies. And as one of the very few males of the firm, I feel like all eyes are on me, and I have to help keep the ‘men love it when we feed them’ mantra alive for the benefit of their respective spouses and loved ones. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I had become an immeasurable standard for their snack-loving couch potatoes. I’m not exactly running to the bathroom and purging up Frosted Santas mind you, but I do feel even more obliged than normal to hit the gym 5 times a week, in an effort to remain under 200 lbs. Always thinking of others before myself---as far as you know anyway.
Than I can hit the couch my damn self, and nestle in for an evening of Kentucky/Virginia, Real World: Vegas, The Osbournes, Gonzaga/Indiana, enough Food TV to convince me to deep fry my turkey this year, followed by another shortened night’s sleep.
But tomorrow I’ve got the Bosstones to look forward to. As in The Mighty, Mighty. They may have lost a couple of miles off their fastball, but they’ll still get me to drop a twenty for an all-ages show. Ugh. I truly hate all-ages shows, so they better rock my fkn socks off.
Monday, November 25, 2002
11/25/2002 09:06:00 AM
I caught 8 Mile this weekend, and must admit that I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. Though it would have been better had Brittnay Murphy dropped more than just her panties. When 40-something Kim Basinger is showing more skin than you----well, you're really not even trying.
As a white kid, who also grew up in a racially diverse school district, I can distinctly recall sitting in the back of the bus and kickin' it freestyle. In an effort to hold on to those memories and dust off my flowing abilities, the rest of this blog will be rapped. I'm leaving it up to you to get the pacing right, you know speeding up the long lines to match the shorter ones.... Now somebody give me a beat!
Nah, nah, it's gonna have to be a little funkier than that... Uh, uh, ah-ight, ready? Heeeerrrrreeeee we go:
3rd leg on the mic and you got no excuse,
Pull up a chair and listen cuz I’m about to get loose.
Tony Pierce leads, and everybody follows,
Headin’ up to Canada cuz wRyan swallows.
Take a few Wet Wipes just in case,
I decide to pull out and shoot in his face.
Of course I’d apologize if he started to cry,
You know deep down I’m a pretty nice guy.
Hitch a ride from a trucker and say take me to the Minx,
Drops me off in Toronto, and Raymi looks at me and winks.
Takes me to a club to bust my cherry-oke,
Can’t sing "My Way"—that’d be too hokey.
I’m not down with her strap on but it’s going really well,
Takes me back to her place but I don’t kiss and tell.
Sneak out without wakin’ her cuz I don’t like goodbye’s,
Cruisin' through Customs before the sunrise.
Back to the States with nothin’ to declare,
Tough as Clubber Lang and smooth as Fred Astaire.
Fixin to take a trip from the East to the West,
Droppin’ in on all the bloggers that I like best.
Hop on a plane and head to Boston, Mass,
Forgive my flight attendant for pattin’ my ass.
Knock, knock "what’s up Mr. Ryan McGee?"
"Just brushing my forearms and watching Buffy."
Take the keys to his car and roll to MSU.
Call Louisiana Smith, she answers and says, "Who?"
Get directions from her to drop in on Fat Sarah,
Girl’s room is dirrtier than Christina Aguilera.
Having so much fun kickin’ it college style,
Decide to head to Oklahoma for a little while.
Christmas in Hollis on my Walkman-Sony,
Next thing you know I’m face to face with Mad Pony.
Lauren and Kristin in person are looking finer,
Being careful to avoid Contributing to the Delinquency of a Minor.
Almost drop the ‘L’ word so I’ve gotta move on,
Straight up north, to visit the hottie from Mulan.
Actually I’m talkin’ Meesh who’s cold chillin in Aspen,
Check myself in the mirror, and I think it’s gonna happen.
We drink a few pitchers and play strip pool,
I end up in just my socks and feelin’ the fool.
I grab my clothes and leave with much haste,
Feelin’ like a piece of meat her eyes never above my waist.
Now I’m out to Cali where it all began,
Lay out for an hour to work on my tan.
Ashley’s in her schoolgirl skirt and lookin’ real foxy,
Tony tells me to go on and hook up with Moxie.
She’s at the Derby talking with the Champagne Guy,
I almost tell her I’m Jewish but that’d be a lie.
I know that means I’ll never be her Mr. Right,
But that doesn’t stop us from having a sleepless night.
I say "There’s no place like home" and click my heels three times,
Back to my blog so I can tighten up my rhymes.
If you’re ever in K.C., I’d love to show you around,
Now go tell all your friends bout the dopest blogger you just found.
3rd leg’s the name, he uses capital letters and punctuation,
The only blogger with a secretary, who loves to take dictation.
She didn’t wear a bra today so I’m off for a peek,
Now get back to work so you can enjoy Thanksgiving Week!