But My Butt
Well blog fans, I have to admit that I've not been very motivated to post lately. I guess I'm feeling a little sluggish. I haven't been able to do my vigorous workouts due to a bad wheel. About four years ago, I had a partial tear of the gluteus maximus that had me back on the crutch for a week or so. I've had a bit of a recurrence recently, although not as severe. I went to see one of San Mateo's finest orthopedic guys and got a cortisone shot, so I'll be back to normal in no time. All I’ve able to do for the last few weeks is a couple tribathalons.
In other gluteus maximus news, I was looking at a copy of Elle magazine in the grocery store this week when a featured article caught my eye; “How One Woman Saved Her Butt". I thought it would be an inspiring story of her overcoming an illness or something of that nature. Then I looked at the heading: "The Lipo Diaries". So it seems her butt was rescued by superfluous medical technology. Yet another lowlight in the quotidian stream of bilge from the American media.
The wife and I have been having some weird dreams lately. Apparently The Exec showed up in a tutu in one of hers a few nights ago. That definitely qualifies as a nightmare. Last week I was back in my hometown in one of my visions. I was supposed to meet up with 4M’s brother and his crew. I was walking down one of the main streets and the sidewalk became a footpath surrounded by weeds. Then I heard 4M’s brother yelling for me. He was pulling into a rutted parking lot with people milling all about. They couldn’t or wouldn’t pony up for the $2 cover charge. I was going to be a sport and buy a round of Sierra Nevada, until I realized where I was. A pitcher of Bud barkeep.
There was another with me and my brother getting into a fight with a couple of chuckleheads over our car. We had the hood up and one of the guys was grabbing something inside. It must have been a dream because my brother and I know nothing about cars. We have enough trouble finding the hood latch. In the last dream, I was back in SF playing dodge ball, except we were using cookies instead of balls. Dr. Freud?
I’ll be closing out this week by heading up to the big city with #1 to see Feist at the Masonic Auditorium. He bought a pair of tickets before checking his calendar. The village wives head out Thursday for a long weekend in NYC. #1 could have asked The Exec, #2, TCG, or The Belgian to join him for the concert. But he didn’t. He asked me. Why? One word. Charisma
In other gluteus maximus news, I was looking at a copy of Elle magazine in the grocery store this week when a featured article caught my eye; “How One Woman Saved Her Butt". I thought it would be an inspiring story of her overcoming an illness or something of that nature. Then I looked at the heading: "The Lipo Diaries". So it seems her butt was rescued by superfluous medical technology. Yet another lowlight in the quotidian stream of bilge from the American media.
The wife and I have been having some weird dreams lately. Apparently The Exec showed up in a tutu in one of hers a few nights ago. That definitely qualifies as a nightmare. Last week I was back in my hometown in one of my visions. I was supposed to meet up with 4M’s brother and his crew. I was walking down one of the main streets and the sidewalk became a footpath surrounded by weeds. Then I heard 4M’s brother yelling for me. He was pulling into a rutted parking lot with people milling all about. They couldn’t or wouldn’t pony up for the $2 cover charge. I was going to be a sport and buy a round of Sierra Nevada, until I realized where I was. A pitcher of Bud barkeep.
There was another with me and my brother getting into a fight with a couple of chuckleheads over our car. We had the hood up and one of the guys was grabbing something inside. It must have been a dream because my brother and I know nothing about cars. We have enough trouble finding the hood latch. In the last dream, I was back in SF playing dodge ball, except we were using cookies instead of balls. Dr. Freud?
I’ll be closing out this week by heading up to the big city with #1 to see Feist at the Masonic Auditorium. He bought a pair of tickets before checking his calendar. The village wives head out Thursday for a long weekend in NYC. #1 could have asked The Exec, #2, TCG, or The Belgian to join him for the concert. But he didn’t. He asked me. Why? One word. Charisma
posted by DJ @ 8:31 PM
2 Comments:
At 11/07/2007 3:06 PM,
Anonymous said…
Concert Fantasys
Yes I could have asked someone else, but I had my reasons.
I didn't ask The Exec because the last time I went to a concert with him he hated it. I believe you wrote about Stinga-Dinga and the Grumpy Exec.
TCG? Was at a concert with him (and The Exec's wife-all wives in the village are interchangable) 3 weeks ago (Annie Lenox). Great time, but I needed another date.
The Belgian? I'm not sure if he would like Feist as some of her songs are in French. Hey wait....The Belgian actually speaks French (unlike my wife). That could be useful.
DJ, I need my ticket back.
#1
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At 11/14/2007 6:48 PM,
Anonymous said…
Dr. Freud is in the process of ANALyzing your innermost weirdness and will get back to you soon. Meanwhile, consider the likelihood that you actually have no butt at all, only delusions of steatopygia. You could look it up. From the desk of the physician's ASSistant, P.T.
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