I know this may shock some of you, especially newer readers who aren't yet fully aware that I have a highly addictive personality and tend to pick up, run with full force, and then totally drop hobbies on a monthly basis...but here goes:

I've become a bit of a gym rat lately.

Why? Other than aforementioned addictive personality? Maybe I'm training for a marathon. Or to get into ninja school. Not at all because it's probably a good idea to direct my general rage in a direction that doesn't involve punching people. Or because it might be a nice change of pace to spend less going out in a month than I do on rent. Or because maybe I'm just a tad sick of sycophantic assholes who make up the (I shudder at this term) bar scene. Nope. Certainly not any of those last few reasons.

Must be ninja school.

Exercise idiot that I am, even I knew that when you don't work out much (other than the occasional 'hopping fences and running away from the scene' thing I'm so fond of) and then you REALLY, REALLY DO, you're kind of prone to injury.

But people? I did not see this one coming. At all. At this point I've been working out regularly for over a month, and while I expected some pain in the beginning, I thought I was safely past that point of embarrassing lazy-ass-hits-the-gym injuries. But, oh, haha, body, you so sneaky! Way to get me drop my guard, and then fuck me up right good!

I won't get into how my almost totally or ok maybe not quite life-threatening injury happened (mostly because I don't know!) but after a major workout (I recommend listening to hardcore at the gym and proceeding to kill machines) I went home, slept like a baby, and woke up an elderly cripple. My neck refused to turn more than a few degrees in either direction, which necessitated me turning my entire torso everytime I had to look any direction other than straight ahead. Dudes, even walking hurt.

To help make work bearable today, I stocked up on Ibuprofen, maybe something a bit stronger, annnnnnnnnd brought my microwaveable neck cozy to work. I'm just gonna keep typing like that's not a really embarrassing admission. (It gets worse: it's scented. With potpourri.) I only wore the cozy in the back, at my desk, not where the general public could see it and laugh and point. Only where coworkers could. And myself, cause, let's be honest, I look really fucking stupid:

And after working really super hard for a bit I took the neck cozy off to head out front for my turn at the reference desk. Only, ha, once again, foiled by my body! Thanks, super-pale, sensitive skin! It's not enough that my neck is shooting sharp pains from shoulder blade to skull, how about we make it look like I have some sort of deadly rash, too? Awesome!

So my body has turned against me, and I'm in pain. Funny that this time it's from working out, and not my other cough cough usual activities. WHICH WERE MUCH MORE FUN. I'm just sayin.

Only a (small) matter of time until this addiction is ditched in favor of competitive television-watching with roomie? Pretty much!

It should be noted that I took that picture for the sole purpose that in the event we died that night, everyone would know where we were. You know, in case the Loopt location updates, semi-frantic tweets, and random text messages to friends weren't enough.

You can never be too obnoxiously obsessed with your iPhone careful!

***

My lovely lady friend Stacy, who sponsored Sunday's adventure (and who you may remember from an earlier post) has finally(!) resumed posting up a storm over here. Go and visit, because between both of our sites (and thanks to a certain upcoming night in Venice) I'm pretty there will be a post (and dear god, probably photos) involving one or both of us in some state of dishabille, throwing undergarments at a hot guitarist, or -even worse- dancing.

Then again, we aim high, so perhaps...trifecta!

You know those friends who just take and take and TAKE and are always asking for favors?

I know, right? What. A. Bitch.

***

We got to show just as it was starting, and thank goodness it was a reunion show, so we weren't the oldest people there. The venue normally attracts a very young crowd (it's all ages). I hadn't been there in years, since high school, really. When my parents would drop me off.

The bands were surprisingly enjoyable, the show itself was a total sausage fest (I saw maybe 15 girls), and the eye candy was delicious, if occasionally a bit too close to 'illegal'. The only thing missing? Say it with me now: alcohol!

After the show we beat it a local bar that someone at the show had suggested...only to find out it had closed down and was now on it's way to becoming a piano bar. Good call, dumb ass! (Don't trust a straight edge crowd to be hip to the bar scene, I suppose.) So we were left to our own devices (danger! danger!) to stumble into Off Limits.

Well.

I go to some seedy bars, y'all. Hell, Fern's is one of my regular spots, and while I think it's just lovely, I've more than once had friends refuse to meet me there. But Off Limits? WINNER, hands down. I mean, I was a bit afraid to go to the bathroom alone, and I am tough as shit, people.

It wasn't one particular thing; while there were a few little 'off' things (you could smoke inside, yay for breaking the law; the 7 or so people inside had all likely been drinking since noon or 6am; the general eau de meth; Dixie cups serving as shot glasses; the certainty that at least one fellow had a gun in his car out front) it was more just a general feeling that shit could get very out of control, very quickly.

So, yes, I loved it.

Stacy and I attempted to observe from afar by burying ourselves in whiskey and Chippendale's photo hunt, but in between getting hit on and loudly/drunkenly whispered about, we were called to settle an argument between the bartender and a patron over how important it is for a date to have most of their teeth.

Yes.

After further conversation (spanning such topics as 'are steetwalkers sexy?' and 'how many times have YOU been in prison?') and a few more drinks, we called it a night and went our separate ways. Which for me meant heading back to Long Beach, hitting up 3 more bars, and staying up until the wee hours playing video games and not possessing the motor skills to pass a single damn level.

Or, the usual.

***

As far as St. Patrick's Day, I didn't majorly fuck up anything, so there's really not much to report. So sorry. (I'll try harder next time.) Though thanks to a punch bowl full of Jameson and a guy with an accent, I may technically be married according to Scottish tradition.

(But not American law. God bless the USA!)

Last year on St.Patrick's Day I had to work early, with the screaming! children! the following morning, so I only managed to do a disappointingly low TWO possibly ill-advised things (hang out with an ex, get a tattoo).

This year, however? I don't have to work until noon tomorrow. Which pretty much translates to HOW MANY BAD DECISIONS CAN I PACK INTO ONE NIGHT?! I'm thinking bitchin' snake tattoo, for starters.

The best part? I get to blame it all on green beer and Jameson. Not my staggering immaturity! Not my frightening and totally mystifying declining tolerance for alcohol! Not my terminally bad judgement in all things, ever!

No wonder everybody loves those batshit-crazy Irish.

Cheers!

Crap, I haven't been round here in awhile. Most sorry; I've been up to A WHOLE LOT of no good lately. No, like a lot a lot. More than that. Yes, right about there. So, to catch you up to speed I could type up a few lengthy, insightful, and hopefully humorous posts detailing the many ridiculous adventures that have transpired, or I could just recap things quick and dirty style, in bullet form.

Bullets it is:

• Had an impromptu date show up the other night at 11pm, when I was (oops!) already drunk. I was dancing on the bed to shitty club music when he arrived. That poor, poor guy. (Though we're totally going out again. I don't know how, either.)
• Loved, loved, LOVED Watchmen. I went in biased, having loved the book and wanting the movie to succeed (sorry, Mr. Moore), but still, loved it.
• Super excited for baseball season to hurry up and start...especially since Manny and the Dodgers stopped dickin' around.
• Am tentatively planning on going to Coachella, though the dates fall on a bad time for me. (The anniversary of sad stuff. Not boy related.) Trying to decide if I wanna risk crying in public. Cause I really, really hate that shit.
• Recently celebrated, in grand fashion, roomie's bday. Forgot to eat that day, drank a little more than I should have, kissed a couple people (I'm a total makeout whore) and...minutes later, hit one of them. A bunch. (My hand is still bruised). Good fucking thing this day only happens once a year. Happy Birthday, roomie!
• Oh, and for her bday, a girlfriend and I got her tickets to see Peaches. With us, of course. Because giving gifts should always be win/win, right?

Cheers!

Nathan, my fine Texan friend, came through and uploaded some photos he took at the Murder City Devils show at the Henry Fonda Theatre on February18th. Since then, I have not been waiting anxiously and pestering him about them NO I HAVE NOT.

Let me preface these with a note that he took them, all of them, while situated directly in the middle of a fucking riot of people, all dancing, pogoing, moshing, falling down, crowd surfing, and all around crazy-making. How he managed this feat, and with such great results, I have no clue. I guess it's that thing people call 'talent'? Huh. I wonder what that's all about.

(And if it sounds like I'm gushing, it's just cause he's handsome. Oh yeah, and good.)

See the complete set (as well as more of his work) here.

Aren't y'all glad I'm not freaking out fanboy style over MCD anymore? Wasn't that shit annoying? Didn't it get old quick? And remember how I said I'd get back to 'normal' posting this week?

Well, about that.

TOO FUCKING BAD FOR YOU.

I am so, so sorry....but you have no idea how excited I am for this. Unless you read all of the breathless MCD related posts. Then you may have a clue. (Did I mention that I was sorry? Because I am. So very.)

See all of you -or all two of you who are still reading this- Thursday night, in line at the IMAX theatre. Cheers!