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Monday night, Stef and I decided that we would go to a kickboxing class.  My friend John had been going for a few weeks, so we went along with him.  It was pretty fun, though a little light on actually kicking and  alittle heavy on jumping rope.  Here are the things to note about my experience with kickboxing:

  • You don't have to be "fit" to enjoy it.
  • The instructor doesn't have to be "fit" to teach it.
  • The stand-up kicking dummies look just like Steve Wills' dad.
  • I should wear pants, not shorts next time (lots of free shots of my junk, for those looking)
  • The Monday night instructor has a lean body, but a huge ass.

After the hour was up, I was pretty sweaty, which is nice since we decided to go directly to BW3s.  I was by far the scrubbiest, sweatiest person in the joint.  I got some "boneless buffalo wings" which turned out to be "heavily breaded, chopped-up chicken tenders."  I was unimpressed... I'll stick with regular wings next time.  What flavor did I get?  Medium, of course.

The place was pretty crowded due to Monday night football-ism.  They were having a promotion wheras anyone could get as many free bingo boards as they wanted and participate for prizes.  Someone put one in front of me, so I played.  Several numbers were called, and I was hitting about one in three of them.  I had 4 in a row, plus one outlier when I said to Stef "Hey, all I need is 67". 

"O - 67," the announcer read.  Well, whataya know - old scrubby, sweaty Bean hit the jackpot.  I got to walk up to the announcer and be declared the official winner in front of everyone, in full scrubby, sweaty glory.   I won a free shirt and got my name eneterd (and contact information harvested) in some drawing for a cruise or a trip or a cookie or something.

I wore the shirt to work Tuesday.

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