And I'm off....

I only have a second, because in a little bit Dominic is taking me out to do a little dancing. I had a great half day of work, spending the other half in the sun at Gas Works, napping, reading, laughing, eating, knitting and watching Friday Night Lights. But here's what I really wanted to tell you.

This morning, like most mornings, I was walking to the gym when I looked down and saw a dribble of toothpaste on my black workout pants. This happens to me almost every day, and my head immediately goes to jizz. Yep, jizz. Why? Because when the toothpaste is all dried up, it look just like whatever was on Monica's blue dress. So the entire time I'm at the gym, doing pull ups or running 5 miles on a treadmill - I'm also spending half the time spitting on my pants, trying to get that damn spunk off me.

Maybe tomorrow morning I'll start brushing my teeth a little more carefully.

Please don't do this. Please.

When I spend an hour and a half at the gym, I know I might not smell like butterflies and candy corns. But why should I have to endure the smell of a fresh fart in the middle of a narrow hallway? Couldn't you have saved that gas when you entered the much wider locker room? Or in the actual gym, where you could easily walk away and pretend it was grunts o' lots guy? No, you couldn't do that could you? You just had to eat burritos last night and then you waited for the perfect opportunity to let one rip in one of the tightest space ever, so that the smell couldn't properly escape.

So, from all of us at the gym, I would like to say fuck you. I hate you. And I really despise your fart.

To the lady who wears white pants…

Hello,

First off I’d like to say I’m happy to see you at the gym. We don’t know eachother and if I saw you on the street I don’t think I would even know you as a frequent gymer. But you’re doing something toward a healthier life and for that I applaud you.

Yet, today I saw something disturbing covering the lower half of your body. It wasn’t exactly the white pants you were wearing per se. But rather, it was the ill-fitting black undies you were sporting underneath the snug white pants that I wanted to talk to you about.

Clearly I’m no one to talk. I wear Naots that are about 10 years old. I also wear hot pink shorts when the weather permits. But I’m a semi-hippie, and doubly I have a wild side where I want to show off my runner’s leg every now and then.

But the one thing I do know about fashion, Mrs. White Pants Lady, is that you don’t wear white pants if:

a) you are over 150 pounds. I’m not even saying 150 pounds is fat, but if you over this weight and of normal height, white pants just aren’t for you. I’m sorry.
b) you only own black underwear that is all bunchy so anyone within viewing distance can clearly see your granny panties showing through.

In some cases, like if you were trendy or a hipster or a free spirit I could understand if you wanted to purposely wear a polka dotted pair of underroos to show off how trendy/hipster/free spirited you actually are. But you, Mrs. White Pants Lady, weren’t that type of girl. Even if I don’t know you at all, I can just tell. You are just another person going to work and when you walk off to a meeting, someone is going to say something behind your back.

So I hope you read this because I wouldn’t want you to make the same mistake twice. I once forgot to pack a bra in my gym bag, so I wore my coat for the first half of the day to cover up my floppy boobs. We’ve all been there. Hopefully, you won’t be there again.

Have a good one.

Word,
Barrie

I win!

I sign up for a lot of shit. I mean, if I have the time and all I have to do is fill out a form, then why not. The worst thing that could happen is I just wasted about 5 seconds of my life. I've wasted 5 seconds doing much worse.

So this week I signed up for this thing at my gym. They were giving away different prizes every day to promote some new technology device that I'll never, ever use. And yesterday, I noticed my name as a winner.

Wait, I'm wrong. I actually saw this:

Congratulations to Barrio Arliss. You won last night's drawing!

I couldn't remember what I signed up for, as each day was a different prize. And when I first talked to the dummy's behind the desk they told me I probably won the lifetime supply of some shitty bulk-inducing powder. Now I'm not one to complain (who am I kidding, yes I am) but I did not want this as a prize. If this is what I really won, I would've just told them to keep it or give it to someone who might actually want it.

But I didn't win the shitty powder. What I did win was something practically tailored just for me. One hour of a personal yoga session, followed by a one hour massage! How friggin' awesome.

Now, of course, the other day I ordered a massage for next Friday but who cares. It's my belief that you can never have too many massages. Especially when one of them is free.

So today I get a gold star. Tomorrow I get on a plane to NYC. And then my Mommy and I will be together again.

Why would Arliss be my first name?

Today, 6:15 am.
Location: Gold's Gym counter.

Me: I forgot my card thingy today. Can I just give you my name?

Stupid fucking girl at the counter: Sure, what is it?

Me: Barrie Arliss. B. A. R. R. I. E A. R. L. I. S. S

SFGATC: Whoa, can you say that again?

Me: Sure, B. A. R. R. I. E. (longer pause) A. R. L. I. S. S

SFGATC: So, it's BARB....

ME: NO, B. A. R. R. I. E. ARLISS

SFGATC: It's not coming up. What is it again?

I look over, and she's been typing Barrie as my last name.

Me: Barrie is my first name.

SFGATC: OH, so what's your last name?

Me: It's I'm gonna kill you with the biggest knife I can find and feed you to the "homeless" 20 year old girl who asks me for change every day outside the QFC.

SFGATC: Cool, have a good workout.

Me: Thanks. Bye!