You won't be productive for the next 30 minutes. Go for coffee, come back and read this Buttugly-lengthed post, edition number I-lost-count. That might be a running theme.

I rarely post about the mundane events that occur in my daily life. Once upon a time, I decided to write down only the most outrageously extraordinary events here at Stupefying Stupidity.

Like today, when I ate a salad for lunch.

Voluntarily

Please hold your applause until the end; I still have a lot more post to get through.

Allow me to quickly take you through an outline (aka I cut out the crap for you) of a typical day in the life of the most highly aawesome ButtugMcOysty:

20 minutes of sitting in the car on the drive into work, battling my tendency to fall back asleep
4 hours of sitting in my cubicle jail doing work, battling morning cheeriness in other people
30 minutes of sitting outside in the sun and scorching heat for lunch, battling my sweat glands
4 hours of sitting in my cubicle jail battling itis*
30 minutes of sitting in the car on the drive home from work, battling bad drivers and TTC buses trying to merge
7 hours of sitting in front of the television/computer/drum-kit, battling the deafening silence in my house
7 hours of lying unconscious on my back, battling dragons, political correctness, and misuses of the phrase 'Catch-22'

What the heck. I have 40 minutes of my day un-accounted for. Someone's cooked my books. I had nothing to do with anything. You can't pin this on me. Screw it, if Ken Lay (the Enron guy) can die an innocent man, then maybe I will follow suit.

Just kidding. Come back, sit down, I haven't even started yet.

Yes, the hugely obvious common theme that runs through my typical week-day is the fact that I get fat because I do a tremendous amount of sitting. Sitting in and of itself is not harmful, just like clubbing. But when you couple the tremendous amount of sitting with the tremendous amount of eating I tend to do, bad things happen. Just like when you couple clubbing with drinking.

You get fools dancing to songs like Lil Jon's "Snap Yo Fingers" and 50 Cent's "Candy Shop".

Neither here, nor there, nor anywhere, but probably a future post.

I finally took it upon myself to do something about my expanding gut, and today for the first time ever in the history of organized sports, yours truly, ButtugMcOysty stepped foot into a Core Control class.

I thought I told you to hold your applause.

I proceeded to get owned for the next forty or so minutes (so THAT'S where the missing 40 went). By (from the looks of it) forty year old women no less.

I was just waiting for the moment the instructor would call me out for not doing the exercises properly. "Hey, hey you in the back, the Butt-Ugly one. That isn't a glider (actually makes sense if you know the position your body stays in for this particular exercise). That's a sit-on-your-lazy-@$$."

I have fourteen more months. I'll improve.

Walking up four flights of stairs after the class was a pain. You see (get ready for another edition of Buttugly Mathematics, where I learns you good):

4 flights of stairs, each flight consisting of 20 steps is 80 steps in regular math
4 flights of stairs, each flight consisting of 20 steps is "do you have a calculator" in the math we now teach our childrens
4 flights of stairs, each flight consisting of 20 steps, after you take a core control class for the first tie, is, and correct me if my math is off, 37 bazillion steps too many, and then an elevator ride up the last two floors

My math is mediocre. Once again, I have fourteen more months. I'll improve.

To finish up, let me just say that any robot competition where the object is anything other than completely decimating all other robots to the point of unrecognizability is not worth seeing. Period. I just painfully witnessed three rounds of clearing their allotted section of Lego blocks, but was obligated to refrain from heckling because the robots were designed and programmed by gr. 7-8 girls, who also happened to be excitedly cheering on their robots.

I will leave the crushing of little girls’ spirits to the educational system. The same system that taught me math.

Oh, an automated cleaning robot would be a great present for me, just in case you were wondering. Don't let the going-to-core-control-class thing fool you, I'm still as lazy as can be.

* I'm typing this up in Microsoft Word because it’s so much easier for me to catch my random grammatical/spellatrical/what-the-heck-this-isn't-even-a-word mistakes. Microsoft Word has decided to put a space between the word "itis" (see it just happened again, this would be much more exciting if you witnessed it, or gave it a try yourself) to make it "it is". I hate love Microsoft Word for trying to alter my message. I did not just strike out the word hate and edit in the word love. This thing is smart.