Proof that my winter break has been productive.

[Note: This is an email to the WashU Ultimate Frisbee team. I was supposed to email each time I did some sort of workout and uh, didn’t get around to it. Dates may have been altered for simplicity, and facts may have been altered for amusement.]

Dubs just called me on my private emergency line and threatened to never buy me drugs again if I didn’t write an email. He also mentioned something about minor characters in Toy Story and alcohol. I maintain that all the characters of Toy Story are equally important to the perpetuation of the plot except for the possible exception of Bo Peep, because bitches ain’t shit, but Dubs would hear none of it.

So, the week of December 23 to the 29th I surrounded myself with my blurry-eyed sycophant “friends” from Ohio University who interest themselves only in mediocre investigative journalism and marijuana. I make a narrow escape the night of Wednesday December 26th when one of the cretins becomes enamored with a rotary dial telephone and dials 911 under the assumption that if he hangs up fast enough the call doesn’t go through. WRONG. On the day of Thursday December 27th I take part in a pilgrimage to the giant statue of Jesus on I-75, near West Chester. I have a feeling I might be a little more Catholic than before, but I’m not sure. I take home a souvenir, half of a metal cross that was dismembered by an unbelievably accurate stroke of lightning. In the hours between Thursday December 27th and Friday December 28th we made an unfortunate encounter with a member of the Dennison ultimate team and his posse at the Deluxe 12 theatre after an even more unfortunate viewing of AvPR. We engage in a heated game of blackout blacktop Ultimate that ends when a mall security guard with a big truck and small dick parks on our field.

The week of December 30 to January 5 I spent with my family in Mazatlan, MX. It was a week of awkward dinner conversations and aggressive tennis. Each day at 11:30 AM I would cross Avenue Sabalo Cerritos in the grim hope that a passing taxi would clip me and stop long enough for me to extort a few hundred pesos from the driver to support my growing addiction to homemade tequila and cheap pain medication. I wake up to find the Ivy League rookie of the year sleeping next to me on the morning of Tuesday January 1st. I decide to seize the opportunity and enlist his help in kayaking the three miles to Isla de Pájaros and back. (To set the record straight, the three miles is a linear approximation taking into account the second trip that resulted after leaving my GPSr on the island). On the day of Thursday January 3rd I made the long, long run to the Cerritos peninsula in order to study some interesting geological features near the beach and observe the varied wildlife in the area. I considered hiring a taxi on the return trip, but the driver would not budge on his rate of 50 pesos despite my insistence that the retozonas didn’t even charge half that. In the minutes leading up to the sunset, occurring predictably at 5:35 daily, I threw push passes into the wind until I became so distracting that someone would grudgingly come to throw with me. I would then throw backhand lasers unnecessarily hard to regain the masculinity that waned every time I threw a downwind flick directly into the sand.

That’s pretty much it.
No, I have not gone to the gym, that’s for jeep bras and homosexuals.
Yes, I’ve done pushups and situps, but only when nobody is looking.
Yes, I did write this to distract me from Ohio State’s pathetic bowl effort.