Does It Still Count As Exercise If I'm Drinking The Entire Time?

I like to consider myself a pretty active person. I'm not the most active, but, I mean, I live in California, so there are all kinds of tree-hugging, bike riding, dirty feet, granola eating hippies (sorry *mom*) that like to show us normal people up when it comes to exercise (and the worst part? They don't even consider it exercise... it's "getting closer to nature" or "enjoying Mother Nature" or some other bullshit like that). On the other hand, if I lived in the Midwest, I could just stay home and bake pies all day and eat pies all night. That is what mid-westerners do, right? Please tell me it is, because if it's not, then I need to rethink my retirement (you know, the time when you quite working, so you no long have clients to impress, you've been married for 458 years, so it doesn't really matter that you gained a bunch of weight because you've stopped boning your spouse a long time ago anyway, and you get to stock your house full on candy for when the grand-kidlets come over so you can get them all cracked out on sugar then send them home with their parents.). So if pie making and eating is not on the short list of things mid-westerners do, I might sink into crisis mode.

Shit! I just realized I don't even LIKE pie.

While I come up with Plan B, let's get back on track...

I do the following sports on a regular basis:

• Softball
• Bowling
• Frisbee Golf
• Competitive Sailing

I also do the following things while doing the above mentioned sports: DRINK.

So, my loyal readers/followers/posse (can posse be plural? posses? posse'? posses'?), I pose this question (wow, 'pose' is really close to 'posse'): Does it still count as exercise if I'm drinking the entire time I'm doing said activity? Sometimes I actually work up a sweat. Sometimes I smoke a cigarette. (Look at me! Dr. Seuss, y'all) But I'm still active, right?!

My Apologizes To My Future Children

You know those anti-depressant commercials that make you want to slit your wrists? There's the weird one with the little sulking white blob thing that gets all happy and bounces around at the end, and there's that lady who walks around to sad music feeling sorry for herself.

Well, it just dawned on me that I might be the only person I know who wants to PUNCH HER FACE IN, as opposed to giving her a hug. Man am I going to be a pain-in-the-ass mom one day.

Lunching with the Ex. Also, things I do to drive myself crazy.

I just had lunch with my ex... the one with the awkward grocery store run-in...

Things I said would or wouldn't happen that did or didn't:

• What I said I wouldn't do: Have lunch with him. 
• What happened: We had lunch. I swore that wasn't going to happen. But he called at my office from his office phone. Sneaky, very sneaky. Why I said is still something I'm trying to blame on someone, but haven't figured out who yet. I'll get back to you on that.
• What I said I WOULD do: Tell him that he's a selfish asshole (but in nicer words). 
• What I didn't do: I didn't tell him how I think he's a selfish asshole for doing what he does to girls (not in the dirty-sex way... THAT is just fine).
• What I said I WOULD tell him: That I'm on to his evil ways and will spread to word to all other females I come across
• What I DIDN'T do: I didn't tell him that I know the REAL reason he broke my heart and that I plan to ruin his life with it.
• What I said I WOULDN'T do: Make this a regular thing.
• What I did/didn't do: I didn't say "no" to the invitation to go to a movie next week. BUT... I didn't say 'yes' either.

All in all, it was actually a nice time. There's a reason we had such a good time together. Because we're both a good time. If (and I emphasis the IF IF IF IF IF) he wants to be JUST FRIENDS, then I might consider it. However, if he wants to get the stick-it-in-okay, then I'm out.

So... THAT just happened.

Where's My Beer?! Oh yeah! Here it is...

Beer Holster to the rescue!

I, um, do a lot of things around the, um, house (one-bedroom apartment), where, um, I need (want/require) a beer, but I can't carry it because I'm being too, um, productive with my hands (playing video games). Yeah, that's why I need this! (Not because I usually always have a beer open, but can rarely locate it, even though I have a one-bedroom apartment and don't have a lot of crap laying around, yeah, I still lose it all the time). So, please, support my (drinking) habits and keep me happy.

The Obligitory Birthday Fortnight

August 2nd was the last birthday I will ever have in my 20s. A friend (who is 30, with a house and a husband and a child), was sure to point that out a few days prior to my actual birthday. I hadn't thought about it until RIGHT THEN. I freaked out for... about 4 seconds, then didn't care anymore. Age is not what matters. How awesome you are is the only thing that counts. And, since I'm pretty damn awesome, I really don't have anything to worry about.

It's been a tradition that started in college, that you don't just get one day, or the weekend closest to your actual birthday to celebrate. Oh no. You get an entire fortnight. And since everyone seems to be catching on that this will be the LAST fortnight in my 20s (I mean seriously, do these people just sit around thinking about this shit all long?!), it's a BIG fortnight. I had a softball game on the actual day-of (hence the misleading hippy-vibe I am giving off in the picture below--team uniforms), but the team surprised me at the dive bar across from the field with drinks and a cake! We lost the game, and I was burping up a very strange cake/beer situation in the middle of the 3rd inning, but it was pretty awesome.

(What is REALLY AWESOME is that it says "Adolf" on the chalkboard to the left of my head in the picture below. AND I'm wearing hippy-Nazi red)

This weekend there are two surprise-days happening. One where I get to wear yoga pants (my friends are awesome) and one where I'm going to see an airshow.

AND THEN, on Monday, I'm going to see Miranda Lambert at the Ventura County Fair for the second time in two months. (see?! Told you I was awesome).

Now that I've spent at least 5 minutes of your time talking about ME, I want you to wish me a happy birthday fortnight and move along with your day.

Be sure to check back soon. Why? Because I said so.