SPRING BREAK CINCINNATI!!! YEEEEAH! WHOOPTY WHOOP! TAKE YO SHIRT OFF AND TWIST IT ROUND YO HEAD,
LIKE A HELICOPTA!
My grandma's new thing is she claims that my hair is "shiny, glossy, jet black." Last time I saw her, this week, my hair was a little wet, and she commented on its darkness, and I was all "it's wet." And she was all "Well, you know what my pappy always said, don't go outside with your head wet..." She trailed off into I knew what would have been "YOU'LL CATCH COLD AND DIE!"- I've heard it enough times. It's bad enough that I get her Irish-Hungarian Catholic parents' neuroses genetically, but she has to pass them on verbally as well. They were real hard-working self-made people, in a way I will never be, but they were also pretty fucked up and my grandma is living proof.
Over the phone she kept trying to get my mom to admit that I dyed my hair, which I didn't. Tonight at dinner I was at this Turkish place with two aunts, one uncle, my sister, my mom and two cousins, and grandma was trying to start shit again, and my mom was like "Okay, let's take a poll. Is his hair medium to light brown? Raise your hand." (everyone but grandma does) "Is it shiny, jet black?" (grandma raises her hand)
My grandma also told me I look like I should be carrying a sign that says "DOWN WITH CAPITALISM." That is probably the highest compliment she is capable of giving.
Last night I had a very realistic dream that I had signed up for a sketch-comedy group (you hear that, Phil? yeah, you) and had to perform but hadn't come up with any material. So I decided to have it all be jokes about my family. I decided to start out with this joke I came up with in my dream: "Yeah, my older relatives are always bitching about the Depression. My grandma's all (shrill voice) 'During the Depression, I had to sleep in a cot that was 2x2 feet!' And I'm all 'Grandma, that's not because of the Depression, it's because you were a baby!'"
But I ended up not being able to go to the comedy thing after all, because I needed to sleep at this bed and breakfast, and the kindly old lady there heard I was Jewish. So she was all "Well, the thing is, deary... most of the people who stay here are, well, white." And I was like "So? I'm white." "No, you're not." I was pissed, but I was also holding onto it, like "Look! I'm not a white male after all!" Then I woke up.
I think about my grandma way too much.
I started off a new workout scheme today. The point is you alternate upper and lower body workouts with no rest in between, on a circuit, using multi-joint exercises like squats and deadlifts, and it manipulates your body chemistry to be super-awesome and mindblowing. If it works as it's supposed to, it's pretty much the only thing other than steroids that can make you gain muscle and lose fat at the same time. It's supposed to make you throw up, and has these nicknames like "high-speed projectile training" because of that, and I was thinking "yeah yeah, they said that about rugby training too and I never puked," but I had to stop near the end today because, yeah, I really was going to puke up my pea-protein.
Anyone want to go see The Legendary Shack Shakers and Reverend Horton Heat with me at Top Cat's? How about a bunch of really cool old blues guys like T-Model Ford at Southgate House? I'm serious. Jeni?
My grandma's new thing is she claims that my hair is "shiny, glossy, jet black." Last time I saw her, this week, my hair was a little wet, and she commented on its darkness, and I was all "it's wet." And she was all "Well, you know what my pappy always said, don't go outside with your head wet..." She trailed off into I knew what would have been "YOU'LL CATCH COLD AND DIE!"- I've heard it enough times. It's bad enough that I get her Irish-Hungarian Catholic parents' neuroses genetically, but she has to pass them on verbally as well. They were real hard-working self-made people, in a way I will never be, but they were also pretty fucked up and my grandma is living proof.
Over the phone she kept trying to get my mom to admit that I dyed my hair, which I didn't. Tonight at dinner I was at this Turkish place with two aunts, one uncle, my sister, my mom and two cousins, and grandma was trying to start shit again, and my mom was like "Okay, let's take a poll. Is his hair medium to light brown? Raise your hand." (everyone but grandma does) "Is it shiny, jet black?" (grandma raises her hand)
My grandma also told me I look like I should be carrying a sign that says "DOWN WITH CAPITALISM." That is probably the highest compliment she is capable of giving.
Last night I had a very realistic dream that I had signed up for a sketch-comedy group (you hear that, Phil? yeah, you) and had to perform but hadn't come up with any material. So I decided to have it all be jokes about my family. I decided to start out with this joke I came up with in my dream: "Yeah, my older relatives are always bitching about the Depression. My grandma's all (shrill voice) 'During the Depression, I had to sleep in a cot that was 2x2 feet!' And I'm all 'Grandma, that's not because of the Depression, it's because you were a baby!'"
But I ended up not being able to go to the comedy thing after all, because I needed to sleep at this bed and breakfast, and the kindly old lady there heard I was Jewish. So she was all "Well, the thing is, deary... most of the people who stay here are, well, white." And I was like "So? I'm white." "No, you're not." I was pissed, but I was also holding onto it, like "Look! I'm not a white male after all!" Then I woke up.
I think about my grandma way too much.
I started off a new workout scheme today. The point is you alternate upper and lower body workouts with no rest in between, on a circuit, using multi-joint exercises like squats and deadlifts, and it manipulates your body chemistry to be super-awesome and mindblowing. If it works as it's supposed to, it's pretty much the only thing other than steroids that can make you gain muscle and lose fat at the same time. It's supposed to make you throw up, and has these nicknames like "high-speed projectile training" because of that, and I was thinking "yeah yeah, they said that about rugby training too and I never puked," but I had to stop near the end today because, yeah, I really was going to puke up my pea-protein.
Anyone want to go see The Legendary Shack Shakers and Reverend Horton Heat with me at Top Cat's? How about a bunch of really cool old blues guys like T-Model Ford at Southgate House? I'm serious. Jeni?