P90X - Day 1 = Epic Failure

I can barely type this.  I'm a bitch.  I started P90X yesterday and it destroyed me.  How the hell do the fat people from the infomercials even try this.  Day 1 was shoulders and back followed by a 16 minute abs sessions where I had to do over 400 exercise repetitions.  I literally looked like a fish flopping on the floor because I couldn't do half of the exercises.  Now I can barely lift my arms above my waist.  I always knew it was going to be hard but not this hard.  Who knows.  Tonight is plyometrics, which I think is jumping and stuff.  I can jump!  Not very high anymore, but I should be able to jump better than doing diamond push ups and 17 different kinds of pull ups.  Oh yeah, I've also convinced my roommate Fuzzy to try and do P90X with me.  He fared much better at yesterday's exercises but he has been going to the gym forever.  I'll keep you posted.  Get it.

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Little Lion Man" by Mumford & Sons

Eating Before Bed is a Terrible Idea

OK so let's hop right into it.  So there's a DJ at my bar who is a big time drug dealer.  I'm talking this guy can get you anything from uppers to downers to pills that make you go up and down like one of those impulse-buy bouncy balls you get as you're leaving the toy store.  There are often two types of drug dealers in Hollywood.  First there's your shady drug dealer who only the really desperate dopers or naive tourists go to.  Then there's your drug dealer who deals drugs because there is no frat scene for guys in their 30s and they need some way to make friends.  This DJ falls in the latter category.  This guy is always trying to throw me free drugs because I gave his girlfriend a free rum and coke earlier in the night.  Normally, he tries to slip me some drugs and get me to go to some after hours rave with him.  With me working two jobs and actively trying to avoid slipping into the Hollywood abyss, I normally deny his offer of psychedelic treats.  This past Thursday was a bit different, however.  

It was another long night of assholes and idiots at the bar.  The end of the night finally comes and I'm strung out.  The DJ, whom I have never seen tired in my life, comes up to me as I'm closing up and offers me this hash chocolate bar.  Normally, I would have said no, but I said what the fuck and popped the whole thing in my mouth.  The DJ turns to me and advises me that I should only eat a quarter of it, and even that would have me tripping out.  SHIT!  I tell him that I ate the whole thing and I see his eyes widen in distress and intrigue (not the best sign when a drug addicted drug dealer seems worried).  He asks if I had eaten dinner.  I of course hadn't.  He tells me I should try and get home as quickly as possible before the edible kicks in.

So I race home, trying to expedite the 45 minute commute as much as possible.  OF course the highway is shut down for construction, so I have to take the backstreets all the way home.  I finally get home and feel nothing.  By now, I figure the DJ has just given me some bogus shit.  Exhausted, I collapse on my bed, set the alarm for the morning, and pass out. 

Next thing I know the alarm rings, and I sit up to get ready for my serious day job.  Now I am not exaggerating when I say that I am now FUCKED UP.  I can barely see, I can't walk a straight line, and my body is tweaking out. I stumble to the bathroom and take a look in the mirror to find my reflection looking like it has been on a four day bender.  I looked so stoned, even other stoners would say I look messed up.  Now I'm having a panic attack because I am freaking out about work.  I can't go to work like this.  I'll get fired.  I try calling in sick but it's too early and nobody is in the office yet.  You know those dreams you have where you are somehow physically impaired.  That's how this felt.  I also couldn't keep my mouth closed.  I know, shit was crazy.  I take a shower and get in my car, my mouth still wide open and my elbow spazzing out every few seconds.  Surrounding drivers must have been like, "What the hell is wrong with this kid?"  Somehow I make it to work, and every time I walk by a coworker I put my hand over my face like I'm rubbing something out of my eyes.  The paranoia kicks in, making for a long day of believing that everyone knows I'm high and I'm going to get fired.  After sneaking away for about eight naps, I finally sober up around three in the afternoon.  I hope this served as a cautionary tale for people never to eat before they go to bed.