Probably won't post tonight, as I'll be watching the Bears win the Superbowl, so I'll just jot some bullshit down now, while the spawn run around upstairs, engaging in some maximum lid-flippage.
Swam yesterday, and it was a fucking nightmare. Anarchy reigned supreme, as a cast of about six hirsute, heavily tattooed chucklefucks had taken over half of the pool. I walk out there and there they were, kinda lounging in lanes one through three, yappin', splashing and, occasionally, actually swimming. I couldn't quite figure out the demographic from whence this clan came. I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess merchant marines. I don't really know what merchant marines are, but I'm pretty sure they look and act like the pool-hoarders.
So I stood there for a good ten minutes deciding where I should attempt to swim. The other two lanes had 2-3 swimmers in each, so they were pretty much off limits. So I got into lane three, which had two of the yahoos in it, lounging at the far end of the pool. One of them started swimming toward my side of the pool, and when he touched the wall, I asked, "Uh, do you mind sharing the lane?" Without looking up, he growled, "Whatever, dude, there's enough pool for everybody." Pretty hostile for a "go ahead," but I went ahead because a) I need me my swimmin', and 2) I was getting so fucking cold standing on the side, my left nipple had already cracked off and plipped into the drink.
So, I spent the next 1/2 hour dodging these romping ruffians, as I attempted to get in my meager workout. I narrowly missed getting kicked/punched in the head multiple times by errant frog-kicks and their near-constant homoerotic water horseplay. I guess when you're lonely out at sea, selling things or doing whatever the "merchant" part requires you to do, you develop a close camaraderie with your boatmates that spills over into the real world. And what better place to engage in watery grabass than at the local YMCA.
They finally tired of their maritime merrymaking, and headed off to the showers while I was still mid-workout. Luckily, by the time I went in to rinse off, any evidence of the rollicking that went on under those spraying nozzles had already been washed down the drain.
They had vanished just as mysteriously as they had appeared. Perhaps their ship was pulling up anchor, setting off for some other port in the storm. For they were Merchant Marines: the military salesmen of the sea.
And the motto of the Merchant Marines? I'm pretty sure it's Semper Clausus -- always be closing.
7 comments:
This is where I'd talk smack, if I knew, um, how to talk smack.
It was a fun game, Prince rocked, and I'm guessing nothing will get done in Indianapolis tomorrow--'cept maybe fighting fires, saving babies and feeding poor folk.
Off to bed....
Talkin' smack?! Why, what happened? I turned it off after Hester ran the opening kick back for the touchdown. Did something bad happen after that?
You did not miss a thing, Crabby dude.
I get all giddy when I think about Prince. I cannot believe how much I loved the half-time show.
I watched again on YouTube this afternoon. Nothing like a little Prince singing Foo Fighters blaring from your speakers in a non-profit office.
I didn’t realize just how phallic Prince looked behind the cloth.
Kim needs to weigh in with her Super Bowl elevator experiences.
...and see, I really don't know how to talk smack.
I think the YMCA hires hairy men to swim around in their pools. Their excessive body hairs traps small particles, much like the baleen on some whales sieves small organisms out of the water.
You may find less room to swim, but I think you'll also find less used condoms in the water as well.
Yeah, Miami was pretty freakin' awesome, considering I didn't get anywhere near the actual Super Bowl football game.
We stayed (and by WE, I mean my rich employers, their spoiled 3 year old, and myself) in a 5-star hotel that was chock full of celebs. I saw Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes twice, as well as John Legend, Troy Aikemann, John McEnroe and Hulk Hogan. Last night, my boss rode down in an elevator with his tiny-ness PRINCE after his phenomenal halftime gig.
I got to spend Saturday in 86 degree temps at the POOL, eating little spoonfulls of coconut sorbet brought around by yummy pool boys. It was bitchin, to say the least.
Today, I'm back home in the 4 degree weather. Tell me again why I live in the midwest?
Oh yeah...GO COLTS! BEARS SUCK!
Heh.
Nora, Prince did rock, I'll give you that. It's amazing all the things that guy has accomplished, considering the fact that he's only one-foot three.
Jon, I think you're onto something with the Baleen whale comparison. I did notice an inordinate amount of krill in the pool that day. Hm.
Kim... oh it's ON, woman! Quite the collection of stars at your hotel, by the way. Are you sure they weren't filming "The Surreal Life 5" while you were there? By the way, that confirms my suspicions -- I'd heard that Troy Aikman and Hulk Hogan were an item... now I know it's true. Did you happen to see Troy rubbing suntan lotion on the Hulkster's 24-inch python? Er, pythons?
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