Right, so, I've been really, really, really trying to incorporate at least 30 minutes, if not an hour of cardio daily in my effort to not be such a lard ass. The up side is less jigglyness and realized value of super-expensive running shoes. The downside is a continued proclivity for TERRIBLE FUCKING music. I mean, craptastically awful. Check this shit out.
I'll be honest, I don't know who half of these people are or how I hear them. Except the old school Shakira. I heard new school Shakira and she was talking about being a wolf or something retarded and I flashed back to awesome Spanish class era Shakira and took an iTunes trip down memory lane (expensive). But, turns out "Estoy Aqui" good running music. So, there you go. Also, if there's anyone left out there who reads this (I know there are at least two and one is my mom), PLEASE HELP ME!
In a related story, I went to the OU/K State game Halloween. I dressed up as an OU fan e.g. I actually bought an $11 OU t-shirt and wore it public. Something I swore I'd never do. I rarely even wear Smith garb (mostly because people think it's a made up school). Basically, I have no school spirit for any school. I'm so much fun! Hang out with me! Anyway, it was a lovely evening, OU played perfectly for about 47 seconds, the band did Thriller, I got in some cardio climbing up and down the stadium stairs ten thousand times (we're up on row 67), and then we met some friends for a beer at Brother's on campus corner. They have cheap pitchers. Woo hoo! Since I'm trying to not be so lardassy, I'm trying to drink less. So, I actually only had about 1.5 solo cups of beer over two hours, which equals not even tipsy. You hear me? Good. I'm looking around, taking in the scene of oldsters (it was homecoming weekend) drinking it up and eyeing all the coeds in their retarded sexy anything getups. Two grey dudes are walking arm in arm toward the door. One tells the other to hold on, there's a big step here. I smile and think, someday, I hope I have a friend who will still hit the bars with me when I'm 80. Cut to us leaving. Our booth was directly in front of the front door, next to the big step. Cut to me falling off the big step and slow motion rolling onto the cold, brick floor, laying at the feet of ID checkers/bouncers and the owner of the bar. The moral of this story is, had I known that was going to happen, I'd have just said fuck it and had a pitcher. DAMN!