Today our trainer told us that our workout was inspired by the premier of “So You Think You Can Dance?” This is a show I personally have not watched, because I think all talent shows are a government conspiracy to lower our IQ’s. But if you watch and enjoy them, I say to you, we can still be friends. Now then, Boot Camp “Dance Club” is essentially doing things that someone with incredible coordination could do effortlessly and gracefully. I of course have the coordination of a pile of logs. Sure, I can run in a straight line. I can jump up and down. But when it comes to movements that are the either equal to or above the difficulty of rub your belly and pat your head at the same time, then I am out. We did things today that really have no name, but shall inherently be known now as “Remember that weird shit she made us do?” Now for the embarrassing parts.
About half way through “The Weird Shit She Made Us Do” it became painfully clear that I had some minor food poisoning. Don’t know how, don’t know why, I just knew this was an urgent situation and continuation of exercises that caused abdominal contraction would eventually lead me down the wrong track. Now, I excused myself quietly, which by the way was the only graceful thing I did today and headed to the restroom. I then proceeded to embark on my own re-enactment of the bathroom scene starring Jeff Daniels in “Dumb and Dumber”. This included of course, because its me, the clogging of the toilet. Now, before I go ahead any further, I realize that I may have taken this honesty thing too far on this blog, but I’ve gone this far I might as well finish. I ease out of the restroom and march past the children playing with the baby sitter and then I lean out the door and loudly whisper to the owner of the home we work out at, “PSSST, DO YOU HAVE A PLUNGER?” Thankfully, she informs me that they do. I then deal with the issue, and I return to the workout. It goes to show you, there is no end to the shame of a man trying to lose his spare tire.
It does not end here.
I went to work. Now, usually I do not have to wear a belt for my pants as I’m barely squeezing into the damn things anyway. However, truth be told, they’ve been a little looser lately. As I dressed this morning, I weighed the thought of finding a belt but quickly dashed it in favor of only being 10 minutes late to work. This would come back to haunt me. So, as I am walking into my office, I notice that my pants are riding very low. Like mid ass low. As I enter my office, I drop my keys. I bend over to pick them up and my pants slip lower. Not an inch lower, not two inches lower, try down to my knees lower. That’s right, I am re-enacting a scene from Three’s Company right there in front of my office. I quickly try to fix the problem before someone walks down the hall and sees me. As I’m tugging my pants up of course two female co-workers round the bend just in time to see me yank my pants up to my nipples in panic.
So, the silver lining is I have lost enough weight for my pants to fall down. Which means, I probably dropped a size in pants. Bad news… well pretty much everything before this last sentence was the bad news.
Spare Tire Project 
That was a day of “weird shit” and apparently you got the shitty end of the deal. This post had many of my favorite things: So You Think You Can Dance, Dumb & Dumber, Threes Company, and good laugh-out-loud slapstick. Thanks for cracking me up, even at the expense of your crack.