Writing it ALL down

So we had this crazy idea.. write a book, or maybe a screenplay, or heck, just sell our story and have somebody who's written a blockbuster screenplay write it for us. Would it be a drama, a thriller, or.. no a comedy, definitely a comedy. A romantic comedy at that.

Today at the gym, I'm on the bench press. I've got 135lbs of iron in my hands and I'm scowling and grunting at G to stay the heck away from it, I need to do this myself. It comes down, squashes my chest for a moment, and then, miraculously, goes back up. And down. And up. And a couple more times... then I rack it, all happy .... but G gets all in my face.

"You want me not to touch it?"
"Yeah. Not unless it's gonna squash me."
"Well it was squashing your boobs."
"Eh, there's not much there anyway, so no problem."
"Well, when there's a line in your chest... I worry."
And after we stop laughing we go onto the rest of our program.

Anyway, I started this post with the idea of some sort of fuller documentation of our story. So I picked up my notebook (well, one of many notebooks, I am sooooo unorganized -i have journals and bits of paper all over the place) and opened it up. Funnily enough, I landed on a page where I described an experience we had in September of 2010. September 19 to be exact. This was still at a time when there were four of us driving up from Vermont. [The funny part is that G and I were JUST talking about this incident on our way back from practice last week.] We'd started out as six, then whittled down to four, and later it came down to just G and me.

Anyway, there is a Tim Horton's on the corner of Rene-Levesque and something in Montreal. It was 6:15 am and day two of the Quebec Cup - one of our favorite competitions. We'd left our hotel a little early in search of some respectable coffee and breakfast nourishment. Tim Horton's was all we could find open.... anyway, I was driving us around in my SUV. I parked and we all marched in. I managed to get to the head of the line (when i need coffee i need coffee) and headed back to the warm car to wait for the others.

Within a few seconds a rather shady looking guy comes up along the dimly, orange-lit, sidewalk and stops directly in front of my car. He's a foot away from the hood, 3 feet away from me. Though I'm protected by metal and glass his eyes bore into me and make me itchy. He just keeps staring right through the windshield at me. Annoyed as all heck, I meet his gaze and challenge him with a flick of my hands.

"What?!!" I yell through the glass.
Bad move. Shit. Like SUPER BIG shit.

"What?" he yells back. "I have to fucking pay to look at you??"
Ah crap.. please hurry back kids.. i just wanna get the hell outta here now.

"FUCKING AMERICAN!! Do you want to FUCK me?"
Excellent. Of course I want no such thing. But there's no sign of the others yet. Now what? I'm hoping he doesn't have some sort of stick hidden in his jacket that he wants to imprint on my car. Or a hook to yank me out of it with.

He keeps yelling, I'm ready to just flee, but thankfully the others are finally back with their breakfasts and slide into their seats with very confused and concerned looks on their faces. Before all the doors are even closed, I squeal out of the parking space quicker than I think was legal and gun it. Sick man, for sure, but why MY face that particular morning? Ugh!

From the back seat, A, at 19 the youngest in our group and the sole male, pipes up:
"I totally had your back L... I was just waiting for a reason to go. Just so you know."
LOL. Thanks babe. I love when my back is got.

What's next in this journal of mine I wonder...