I’m Not Sitting on my Ass… I’m EXERCISING!!!

What’s that horribly offensive joke about girlfriends and mopeds? Oh yeah, that’s the one…

In much the same way I’m thus far absolutely thrilled with my new PT Fitness Pilates Ball Chair — I just don’t want anyone to see me on it!

It all started when I read this post on Lifehacker. The thought of improving my posture while at the same time saving $995 over one of those snooty Hermann Miller chairs intrigued me, and a quick test sit on one of the Pilates balls in my gym confirmed such a thing was not only doable, but surprisingly comfortable as well.

Now instead of the 5-dollar bargain basement ball I did end up splurging a bit for the backrest and casters on this custom job. I should also note that I only bought the chair today, so if in a week’s time you see me doubled over in pain you’ll know why.

Likewise if years from now you see this monstrosity parked next to the bean bag chair in my spare room…

Pur(H)ell

After a day of performing triage on hundreds of hopefuls for the upcoming Second City Reality Show, I have but one regret… That I didn’t bring any hand sanitizer with me.

Kids, here’s a free audition tip:

Do not under any circumstances shake hands with the person you’re auditioning for, even if you thought you did really well or recognize them as one of The Devil’s Adjumacates!

After the first five or six handshakes I really started to feel like I was getting the cooties, and my fears were justified with some of the folks then proceeding to put old condoms on their fingers, their hands down their pants and so forth.

I can personally guarantee that quelling the urge to offer your hand will get you way further as an actor than I ever got, because I used to be guilty of the very same thing — the handshakes, not the condoms or hands down my pants…

Playing with Poop

A big shout-out to my sister-in-law for this… Being the classic fretful wife that she is, when I told her I was going to see my doctor for a check-up she made me promise I’d also ask him about getting a colonoscopy — which men, according to her, are supposed to get when they’re 40.

Turns out I’m not due to get a balloon inflated up inside my ass until my 50th birthday (that’ll be a party!), but only because I mentioned it to my doctor he added occult blood to some labwork I’m supposed to get done. And no, that doesn’t mean I have to draw a pentagram on the floor, pray to Satan and prick my finger — I wish!

Instead I’ve had to take myself off red meat, fresh fruit and vegetables over the weekend, and for the next three days I get to fish around the toilet bowl and scoop up samples of my poop.

My kit includes three specimen jars, a large tongue depressor, this hazardous materials bag and another brown paper one for the trip to the hospital to drop it all off when I’m done.

I fetched my first sample this morning and am very proud to say that I didn’t get any on my hands — I’m a big kid now