Forecast for today: Rassles vs. The World

Round 1: Rassles vs. Fahrenheit

Spent twenty-five minutes waiting for the bus today. Not gonna lie, it's slightly chilly outside. Wandered around on top of the Blue Line sidewalk vents for awhile, watching the heat shimmy out of them, warming up. Pocketed hands, doing a little foot jig, loose knees to avoid the cold pants syndrome (cold pants vs. flesh: cold pants always wins), face the sun: smile. Don't shiver. Be calm and the cold counts for shit. I love this. It's like my will against Fahrenheit, and I dominated.

Celsius' got nothing. Celsius is a little whiny flyweight, all, "Oh, water is freezing and it's zero degrees, waaaaah," and then Fahrenheit is all, "Stop being such a nerd, it's like thirty-two." Ah, but little does she know, Fahrenheit fights middleweight, and I'm kind of heavy.

Can't compete with Kelvin, though. Kelvin is like, the ultimate fighting heavyweight champion of the thermodynamic universe. Not gonna fuck with Absolute Zero. "Oh, you haven't heard of isotropic expansion? It's kind of a big deal."

So I psyched myself up to stay warm and beat the fuck out of Fahrenheit, no contest, I win.

Final score: Rassles: 10, Fahrenheit: -2


Round 2: Rassles vs. The Badger

I squeeze onto the third bus to pass my way and thank the driver, then two stops later he pulls over again to get some more fighters (who are losing, by the way). This woman with penciled eyebrows and a badger-fur coat (she probably fired her driver) starts snapping at the bus driver and everyone on the bus.

"You have got to be kidding me! This is ridiculous. Hello? Hello, driver? This is ridiculous, we have been waiting for half an hour and two busses have refused to pick us up. You can't operate like this. Can you guys move down? You're not the only people with places to go…"

Driver jumps in, "I'm sorry, Ma'am, I have no control over—"

"This is unacceptable, I have no room. MOVE DOWN, PEOPLE!" This continues for about twenty seconds and then the bus starts, with Badger Woman still arguing.

I can't help myself, "You know lady, don't blame the driver. He probably wishes he never picked you up."

Why doesn't she fucking sell her goddamn coat and take a taxi? I didn't have the balls to say it. Should have.

I did not shut her up, she kept on muttering. Except now it was about me and my nerve and rudeness. I got a few snickers and smiles, though, and everyone was just rolling their eyes at her and trying to ignore her.

Final Score: Rassles: 1, The Badger: 0.


Round 3: Rassles vs. Pregnancy

We have a fairly new employee at the front desk of our building. She's been there for about a month and a half, and I haven't learned her name yet, partly because she has kind of a thick accent and I don't understand about forty percent of what she's saying.

I went out to pick up lunch today, and on my way back in I had to wait for the elevator. So, small talk with front desk girl.

"So how ya doin?"

"I am good, you?"

"Not bad. Lunch time."

"Ah, I see. How is ze baby?"

I am puzzled. "Wha?"

"Ze baby, right? Is it good?"

"Um, yeah."

"That's good. Do you know what it is?"

"Mmm?"

"It is boy or girl?"

"Oh, um, I don't know."

Thank god, fucking elevator. What the hell was that conversation about? I mean, does...is she insinuating that I'm pregnant? I mean, seriously, who the hell does she think she is? Fucking assuming bitch. Lame.

I'm sitting at my desk fuming for the rest of the workday.

What the fuck, man? Seriously? Asshole move. Dick. Whatever. I'm getting no work done. I have The Dread. Can't leave the building later because I'll have to see her again and she fucking thinks I'm fucking pregnant. I mean, I know I've been putting on weight and everything due to bad food and no exercise...is she just being mean? Do I seriously look completely pregnant? Where's my reflection? Yes. I do look pregnant. Lame. Shit. When am I due? Oh, sometime next week. That bitch is right. Fuck. I have to start sucking in more. Scratch that, eat healthy. Exercise tonight. Move down a weight class. Yeah. We'll show her.

So when work is over I head back down to the lobby, and she's sitting there reading a magazine. I'm pissed. I march right up to her.

"You know, I'm not pregnant. I'm just fat. I know that I'm gaining weight and it sucks because last year I actually lost weight and now it's just coming back and I just needed you to know that."

She looks completely awestruck. I'm smirking in my head, because I won again.

"I am so sorry," she starts like, stuttering. "I did not mean you...your boss, Josh, his wife is pregnant, yes?"

Oh Fuck. "…yeah."

"I mean she is knowing if it is boy or girl? Is going good?"

"Oh. Yeah. It's fine. I uhhh…I gotta go. Um, have a good one." And I run out the revolving door.

Stupidstupidstupidstupidstupid.

Final Score: Rassles: -273.16, Pregnancy: 1.

...

Forecast for tomorrow: Rassles vs. LOST.

Fuck yeah, LOST.

...