Monday, March 5, 2012

Training Day

It always makes me laugh when black people have conspiracy theories about conspiracy theories. I remember in college, let's call it Fall 1996, that Tupac died. I was talking to my suitemate Quincy, obviously African American as I know no white people with that name, and when I brought up Tupac's murder he was like 'you don't believe that Tupac is really dead do you?' I need to paint a visual right now because it is imperative to this story. I had literally just moved to Long Beach from a small farm town in Central Illinois three weeks earlier.
"Um, yes. Yes, I do think he is. It's all over the news," was my answer.
He looked at me like I was a white girl from the Midwest wearing pig tails and overalls...which I was. I might have only had one overall strapped over my shoulder at the time in a valiant effort to be cool.
Fast forward 15 years later to a random conversation that I was having with a black friend of a friend about Tookie Williams, one of the Crip gang members who was convicted of shooting a convenience store employee, and sentenced to the death penalty. When we talked about the murder Tookie was convicted of, this guy was like 'do you realize that Tookie was convicted of crimes that others committed? Do you really think that he killed that convenience store worker?'
"Um, yes, yes I do," I said.
I can't help but imagine this paradise where Tookie and Tupac are hanging out with Harriett Tubman in the underground until...what, I'm not sure. It's just a funny visual.

The shot

I had not seen Branden since college, like 3 years ago. Time had passed, and memories and hairlines had faded. But I always remembered Branden as the nice Asian guy from the Sigma Chi fraternity that was super sweet. And not that he was not now, but let me set the scene. It was a Saturday night, and Branden and I, who had recently rekindled through Facebook, met up at Dogz. Btw, I thought Dogz would be douchy, but it is the coolest most chill bar on 2nd St. Long Beach. Anyway, they have this shot that is awful, but you win a hat if you take it. It is Everclear, Bloody Mary mix, mustard, and the tip, just the tip, of a hot dog. It is like a right of passage, other than wearing an RVCA shirt, into Long Beach cool culture.
I ask Branden if he would like a shot, but he declines. I am not one to push the issue as I do not want to be held accountable for anyone's actions, let alone my own. He still drinks beer the way Paris Hilton devours camera time every time she sees TMZ, but I thought that it would be fun to end our night at Crow's. For those who aren't acquainted with Crow's, just know that this is the place where you should end your night. I have kissed both a midget and a friend's dad there. I hope that I don't have to explain myself any further, and you're getting the picture of what kind of place this is. Either way, Branden drives me the half mile down to Crow's, and in that time, he tells me that the reason he did not take the shot is that he has had two DUI's. I wasn't sure if it was inappropriate to ask him to pull over so that I could walk the last 2 blocks to Crow's or not, but I did double check to make sure that my seatbelt was fastened. Does the first time you're taken to the clink really not deter one from future episodes of drinking and driving?

Cocoon

Since my patience is thinner than a piece of sashimi sushi, I may have even less patience for the elderly than I do babies. You get why a baby shits their pants, but you have to question if an adult is merely doing it out of spite. When I lived in Florida, I definitely felt like my road rage was much worse there than it was in California. In California, everyone is in a hurry and likes to fulfill their egos by weaving in and out of traffic in a Convertible Porsche and honking their horn...this is similar to the fulfillment a 4'9" gent with Spider sunglasses gets when driving his Ford F-250 in the Inland Empire.
I recently ran a 5K that I swore I was in shape for. This bout of smugness resulted in me drinking bottomless mimosas the entire afternoon before, which then led me to waking up in my bikini with a wicked smoker's cough and yesterday's makeup. I finished the race in 39:30 which I was sadly very proud of at the time. I usually have small goals when running 5K's, like beating the women pushing strollers and the blind, but this day I merely just wanted to finish the race. The warm Southern California sun was beaming bright by 9am in early March, and I was sweating out champagne and orange juice like it was my job. Our friend Juleen was way ahead, so Denise and I ran/walked together. I hate to add this to the story but I'm 3 house chardonnays in as I write this so what the hell. Denise may or may not have been suffering from walking pneumonia during the race, and she still waited for me to catch up to her. We decided to use an elderly I assumed to be 80+ year man as a marker...he was the one to beat. His apparent afflictions ran the gammet from scoliosis to camel toe, but he ran undeterred the entire time, and ended up smoking us. I'm not sure that there is a moral or a punchline to this story as much as it was just funny.
I was recently told that I bond with kids because I am a kid. First of all, I do the opposite of bond with kids. In fact, I don't like them as a general rule. They need too many things like clothes, food, books, medicine, shelter and unconditional love. If it came down to buying diapers or going to a White Sale at Nordstrom's, a nice pair of Jimmy Choo's will win every time (the kid can air dry).
Second of all, I am only a kid if kids like to drink house wines and smoke Marlboro Lights. Please, I grew up in Illinois, not Wisconsin.
**Disclaimer: you will only possibly understand this post if you were raised in the Heartland :)

Fluffy

I am no fitness expert as my body fat percentage is probably pretty close to my age (mid-thirties). However, the fitness commercials that they show at the gym are funnier than watching Step-Brothers. The funniest one I have seen to date is the one I saw last week. A girl whose body type I would affectionately describe as fluffy literally did one sit-up and then pounded her fists on the ground, fed up that the feeble amount of exertion she put into her workout was miraculously not working.
Listen, I am fully aware that my strict diet of taquitos and chardonnay is not doing me any favors. I just think that fitness videos should be more realistic. Especially the ones that they show in gyms. Just sayin'.