More excuses on why I don't write more often, and other crap

My eyes are heavy this morning. My stomach is heavy too. I’ve been on a non-stop work schedule for the past week, going from my job to my other job at a non-stop pace.

I left Wrigley at 1 in the morning today, slept a bit, and now I’m back in the office, unable to find the requisite energy to start my day. The (quite delicious) sirloin I had in the press box, combined with my lunch burrito yesterday, has probably shortened my life by a week at least.

Essentially right at this moment, I’m just fat and lazy. But when you’re sitting in cramped press boxes writing on deadline for five of the last seven days, you tend to become bleary-eyed and overstuffed on ballpark dining fare.

Then again, I can’t complain. As Tupac says, “I like paying rent when the rent is due.” (Although, that’s not actually true in my case, as rent is typically due on the first of every month, and I’ve still yet to pay for the garden apartment, but you get the picture.)

I’m racking my brain to think of funny stories to share, but since I’ve become a kept man, the truly outlandish personal ones have fallen by the wayside, making space for notes like: I went to the girlfriend’s friends’ nice townhouse to watch the Bulls game. We cooked out and ate strawberry shortcake and then went home and slept.

Last Saturday, I thought would pick up my weekend, but after a quiet dinner with the lady, we went to Johnny’s to watch basketball and headed over to a girl’s apartment for a party.

Now Johnny always looks on the bright side. He still crows about how this girl’s “boobs popped out of his shirt” at a previous party. But for the second time in a row that I’ve attended a party of hers, her parents were there, thus shelving any bosomy hopes. Also she was spotted dust-busting around the appetizers with a small dog in her other hand.

Sunday I worked and tried to play tennis afterward. It’s been three years since I swung some stick and now my left hand has gone Bob Dole on me and my ankle’s gimpy.

Now for … Hot or Not!

Hot: Seeing Will Ferrell sing the 7th inning stretch
Not: Seeing Jim Belushi sing the 7th inning stretch
Really not: Being told you look like a young, thin John Belushi (Was he ever thin? My girlfriend asked.)

Hot: Coffee
Not: Spilling coffee all over your desk, your phone, etc.

Hot: Relievers offering you box of Thin Mints
Not: Relievers who lose the game and keep you waiting at their locker after the game as they lotion up with cocoa butter

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GRAB-ASS: A popular Chelsea gym is being sued for encouraging some homo slap and tickle in the locker room. Shocking.

The NY Post reports:

Meanwhile, a rep for Barton, responding to The Post's story on the suit, says there is less gay sex going on inside there than at other gyms around town.

Barton's publicist said yesterday that a cursory search on the popular Craigslist.com showed that Barton's gym is the last place one would frequent for gay sex.

The rep pointed out that there were 31 postings about man-on-man hook-ups at other clubs and zero for the Barton gym.

Barton himself seemed to make light of the lawsuit when the pocket Hercules e-mailed us this pun-packed statement yesterday:

"Every gym has its occasional misbehaving ding dong, and we certainly enforce a strict penal code. Seriously, though, we don't tolerate shenanigans that would impact other members' experience of our gyms, as customer service is paramount to us."

One fancy boy responds quite logically:

"Don't go to a known gay gym if you're a heterosexual homophobe!" gym member Stephen Dimmick huffed. "I know they're insanely strict on it. They've revoked people's memberships for [having sex in the gym]. I've seen people get kicked out . . . This is Chelsea. If you're not comfortable, don't come."

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COME BACK DAVE: As you probably know, Dave Chappelle’s Show is postponed again as he tries to live up to the hype.
Newsweek, always on the bandwagon of what’s trendy and popular (Uggs anyone?, comes out this week), visited the Chappelle’s Show set last fall and reported on the delays.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7773670/site/newsweek/

The one skit (The N----r Pixie) the writer saw sounded fucking hilarious, with Dave playing, “a cackling, devil-on-the-shoulder creation who serves as the self-hating conscience of famous black men, such as Tiger Woods and Chappelle himself.” He’s in blackface as he overlooks Wood on the course, yelling, "Show 'em how n----r you are! Stick your d--k in the hole!"

****

I don’t know if you like horse racing, I frankly could careless, but this guy gives an interesting take on the old Smarty Jones (remember him?) phenomenon.

http://www.kansascity.com/mld/kansascity/sports/11564921.htm