What a day.
After work at 7am, I headed downtown to a renovated hotel and loft where my three-piece cover band is allowed to practice and sharpen our skills (and considering we haven’t played together in more than a month, let’s just say we’re….crusty) and had ourselves and much-needed band practice. Playing the drums does help wake me up a little in the dreaded AM.
Then I stole Allie and forced her to come to my house so that I could cook her breakfast. It was torture; she cried, I bled, it wasn’t pretty. But the cinnamon chip french toast was pretty epic, if I do say so myself. Goes well with bacon. Everything goes well with bacon. Styrofoam, plexi-glass, the flesh of an old comedian…heck, even poop fresh from the crack goes good with bacon (I wouldn’t know personally, I’m just a fan of hyperbolic statements).
After work round two, we did the only thing I kind of regret working into the daily grind–the gym. Do you understand how bad it smells there? Forget the adorable Planet Fitness commercials that claim you’ve entered judgement-free zones; the minute I open that door, I get a small whiff of hell. In case you were wondering, hell smells like a permutation of sweat and regret. Let’s whine some more: did I mention I’m still sore from the last time I went? I’ve been walking around all day like an old man who couldn’t quite escape that colonoscopy he’d been trying to avoid. I know a year from now, the respective health goals Allie and I have cast upon ourselves will pay off. We’ll look alright, we’ll feel alright, and in the future we’ll encourage others to do the same.
Hopefully, dinner completely invalidated everything we did tonight at the gym. Afterwards, while at her house–with a bunch of sexy Chinese noms waiting to be annihilated by our mouths, no less–holla—we watched Olympus Has Fallen (aka White House Down vs. Die Hard 8) and settled for Lara Croft and the Guardian of Light on Xbox 360, and Age of Empires II HD–and subsequently, Adobe Illustrator. Allie says we’re a nerdy couple. I beg to differ. I beg. Maybe, thinks I, we’re just awesome.
Great. Now she’s playing Fable III. It’s sad, really. This is how we spend our Friday nights. We’re not out partying it up, snorting crack at the club while EDM-pop violently rages in our ears. We’re not checking out the latest IMAX flick, breaking our necks as we look almost directly into the ceiling to get a decent view at Owen Wilson’s nose or Cate Blanchet’s apparent immortality (Orlando Bloom could’ve used whatever she’s been using all these years for his “return” in The Hobbit: Desolation. And, not that her defeat over senescence isn’t cool….it’s just simultaneously unsettling). We’re in her room, playing video games. Are we adults, or are we adults?
Nah. We’re just human. Get over it.
TGIF. Party up, Knacksters. Party. Freakin’. Up.