i lose at life

So, yesterday I was recovering from a devastatingly fun Saturday night. Seriously, any time I even think the words 'low-key night' I end up staying out till 6 AM and revert to a state of childlike helplessness the following day.


Anyway, anytime I have a headache or need a good relaxing wind down, I listen to a Celine Dion song, usually 'Think Twice' or 'Immortality.' (That, my friends, was the gayest sentence in the history of the Internet). But, so what? Who cares?! It's unfortunately true.

I was so defeated yesterday, I decided to watch the DVD documentary Celine: Through The Eyes Of The World. (Possibly even an gayer sentence...) I wrapped myself up in a blanket and prepared to be entertained by the most amazing singer of ever.

Turns out, this thing is not effing around. Along with footage of the tour performances that range from South Africa, to Tokyo, to Phoneix, there is a lot of footage of Celine interacting with her fans and her family. I had no idea how much she did for her fans.

Whether she was doing a meet and greet, waiting outside her hotel to sign autographs, and singing to dying children, she was amazing.

I literally cried like 8 times. I can say that at least 4 of 5 of those were due to the hangover, but no matter my state of mind or nausea there would have been some giant, pathetic tears. I mean she visits a concentration camp. I lost my shiz and had to pause it because the screen was blurry with tears.

Also, I think my Asian DNA is a huge contributor to my tears. When they showed her tour through Asia, these fans were legit. They would cry so hard, their little eyes looked like they might not ever open again!

I ate an entire frozen pizza, hated myself, and then watched Star Wars: Episode IV. And that's Sunday.

peer pressure + voluntary torture

Against my better judgement and every natural instinct my body has ever had, I let a friend of mine talk me into trying a spin class. You see, I'm going to be on a beach with thousands upon thousands of gay men in less than a week. In addition to their bad spray tans, skimpy swimsuits, and vodka-filled blood streams, these queer-bombs have human kind's most powerful weapon: judgement.

So, vanity and peer pressure lured me to my near demise...

I was actually excited about the idea of it. I mean, bikes are awesome! Right?! I figured it would be like this:

Turns out, it is A LOT more like this:

Like meth or prostitution, my curiosity was nurtured and I was lured into a false sense of security by the mystique of comfort. First, a kindly older gentleman was the instructor. He helped me adjust my bike seat for optimum torture settings and began playing Adele's empowering power ballad 'Rolling In the Deep.' For a second, I thought I was on cloud nine, or at the very least, a decent gay bar with stationary bikes strewn about.

Ten minutes in, Kelly Clarkson's 'My Life Would Suck Without You' came on, and I almost climaxed. It was the best fake race and climb of ever. The music empowered me while I adjusted the tension knob that might as well of had a skull and crossbones on it. I was all, 'Look at me having it all, world!'

Then, the imaginary hill we were biking up suddenly turned into a terrifying, jagged cliff. A Rihanna song came on, and my left leg started cramping to crap. Holy, sweet baby Jayden Spears! It hurt so bad that I seriously debated 127 Hours-ing myself right then and there.

I got off my death machine and stretched it out. Just as I was debating leaving, the mic wielding, a**-hole bike tour guide instructor called me out. Then all of the sets of the eyes in the room focused on me and their judgement forced me back on my bike... This is the peer pressure D.A.R.E. never warns you about!

I somewhat survived the rest of the hour, and the sadist was nice enough to cool us down with another Kelly Clarkson hit.

The moral of the story is thrice:

1) If you have any reservation to go to a spin class (or any other terrifying physical activity), don't do it! Stay at home and watch The Voice.

2) If and when my metabolism slows down, rest assured, I will be fat and pursue a career as one of those catty drag queens. Stage name: TBD. I'm thinking a play on everyone's favorite Cheers train wreck, Thirsty Alley, perhaps.

3) If the Zombie Apocalypse really does happen this weekend and my only means of escape is a bike, I will eat all your brains.

PS - I'm fairly certain Auschwitz had spin classes. You don't hear about that s**t in history class!