June 21, 2011
This is my next door neighbor. Her name is Kim, and she really is that cute.
Two weeks ago I ran into Kim at the end of our cul-de-sac. It was a random Tuesday night, and I kid you not, the girl was wearing a bedazzled halter top, perfectly pressed trouser jeans, and some kind of shoes that weren't Crocs.
"Damn Kim! Check you out," I said. "Where'd you just come from?"
She looked at me like I thirteen heads wearing thirteen really ugly hats. "Huh?"
"You're wearing a bedazzled halter top," I stammered. "People don't just wear strapless bras for nothing. There's something fancy going on, right?"
She shook her head apologetically, because no, she wasn't on her way home from a photo shoot. She wasn't on her way to a trendy restaurant that I've never heard about either. Apparently, the girl just wears embellished clothing (and footwear) on random weekdays.
Me on the other hand? Well I wear sh!t out of the Goodwill bag...because I hate doing laundry....more than I hate wearing ill-fitting neon t-shirts from the mid-1990s.
This past Saturday Kim left a message on my phone saying something to the effect of:
I'm driving down the highway, and my thighs won't stop jiggling.
We really need to do P90x or something...
Cut to me, yesterday, meeting up with an incredibly sketchy guy, in an incredibly sketchy parking lot, buying the entire set (of DVDs, not VHS tapes--I'm not that lame):
And I don't even think it's pirated.
You all know I've had some unique encounters thanks to craigslist, but I've got to say, craigslisting that involves the purchase of exercise equipment is my absolute freaking favorite.
My first used treadmill purchase is documented in this book. Let's just say that Jared decided to give that treadmill a test drive and ended up doing a seriously intense speed workout in a friendly stranger's living room.
My second used treadmill purchase involves a woman doing a little bit of fake crying, going, "Oh no! My treadmill! This is so sad. I don't know what I'll do without it. This is the worst part of moving..." I took the circa 2006 treadmill home, ran the diagnostics, and guess what? 39 miles/17 hours of use. Total.
This time, they guy "couldn't use P90x because when [he] ordered it, [he] forgot [he] lived in a second floor apartment, and that it would bother the downstairs neighbors." Now that's an excuse I actually believe, because sometimes, when I let the grass grow all the way up to my knees, I forget that it bothers my neighbors, too. Dude, say no more.
I did the P90x plyometrix workout last night, and I'm already trying to think up a good excuse for when I unload this thing on craigslist. "It made me cry too much," sounds way too dumb. Don't you think?
In spite of the pain, I'm trying to stay positive over here. So, if you're one of the fortunate ones, I'll let you touch my butt in 90 days. For free. How does that sound?