The Fax of Life: Poopin’

My ten-year high school reunion will occur sometime next year, bringing with it various significances. Naturally, the first and foremost is that it will mark a decade of my life without a dishwasher. Since graduating high school I have washed damn near every dish I’ve ever eaten off of. The amount of dishwashing I do decreased greatly when my cousin told me that tortillas are edible plates. These are the important things you need to know in your mid-20s.

Another aspect of my life that’s been missing for the entirety of the aughts has been exercise. Early in puberty I realized that my utter and inherent whiteness would relegate my chances of succeeding in the arena of sports to baseball and lacrosse, namely sports I wasn’t very good at. So in lieu of playing on any varsity team, I took “weightlifting” three times a week. Usually that fifty minutes was spent helping the coach/overseer do the USA Today crossword puzzle, but by the time I graduated I was actually doing some lifting and found myself to be in the best shape of my life. Turns out, all it takes to lose that form is a steady diet of terrible food, zero exercise, and the corporate environment.

So to reverse the effects of a hedonistic decade, I’ve begun exercising and eating better. For my troubles, I’m getting two things out of it: a smug sense of self satisfaction and some glorious deuces. If that ain’t a hook to get you to read on, I don’t know what is.

The guy I share an office with had a baby about six or seven weeks ago. The lil lady feller’s still getting over the shock of being born; she essentially just sleeps and poops right now. It’s frightening to realize how similar our lives are. Anyway, leading up to the baby, the proud mama and poppa were looking to unload some redundancies and offered me the chance to buy one of their bikes. Thinking about that reunion 18 months away sealed the deal.

Despite owning said bike and being out of work, I hadn’t had the chance to ride much the past few months due to my wandering ways. Turns out riding a bike is like riding a bike, in that you never forget how to do it. My cousin and I pedal around beautiful beachy people and we ride to some diner, grab a bite to eat and a beer, and ride back. Sure, it might negate all the calories we’re burning to eat in the middle of a ride, but we don’t like to dwell on such trivial things. My quads ache, ergo I’m getting healthy.

The major benefit of eating in the middle of an activity that sloshs your stomach to and fro is the glorious dump that inevitably follows. You’d be amazed at the bouquet of fragrances that avocado and bacon form in 90 degree heat. It usually hits after a game or two of Madden, and like Bobby DeNiro in “Heat” you must have no ties you aren’t willing to cut when you feel the heat around the corner. Lets just leave it at that.

The other cause for my gastric awesomeness these days is the kind of foods I’m putting away. I’ve become a big fan of grocery stores, Foreman grills, and the Omaha Steak Company this past year. Turns out that buying groceries does, in fact, end up saving you money and in my particular Ralph’s in the heart of Hollywood, there’s a better-than-good chance you’re gonna see a pornstar roaming the yogurt aisle. The hard part is deciding if it’s cool enough to tell them you follow their Twitter feed.

Dating a “foodie” for two years has certainly changed the way I look at meals and in a very positive way. My palette is more refined and I’m exploring exotic cuisines from far off places like Buffalo. The little lady usually looks out for my sensitive stomach on these whimsical culinary adventures, but occasionally things go awry. When they do, you’ve got to go into DeNiro mode, which, if we’re being honest is the “Neil McCauley Mode”. Luckily, after a two-year stint, it takes more than an outrageous grumpy to end this relationship.

So what have we learned today, aside from WAY too much about the author? We’ve learned that not showing up to your 10-year high school reunion looking like Butterbean from “Mike Tyson’s Punchout!” can be a pretty solid reason to start exercising again. We’ve learned that dining in is the new black, and will save you money while expanding the list of Thing You Like. (Full disclosure: fellow CubeGM Mickey’s list–which may or may not still be on mom’s fridge–consisted of buttered noodles and french fries for the first 16 years of his life.) I’m grateful for the exercise I’m getting and I new nooks and crannies of Los Angeles I’m able to explore on my bike. I’m excited about the foods I eating and the foods I’m able to bring to the fridge at work. Bringing in your own lunch is essentially planting a flag in the corporate world, and proclaiming that while you MAY TAKE OUR LIVES….BUT YOU’LL NEVER TAKE…OUR CHICKEN SALAD!!!!!

Share/Save