I had a chocolate dipped vanilla ice-cream cone from Zesto last night after shivering at Little League practice with my kids for a couple hours. Mmmm-Mmmm. Cheap soft serve ice cream had never tasted so good. I stood in line with all the walks of life that frequent the south side Fort Wayne ice-cream mecca. Noticed the mostly dirty side walk, dark splotched and sticky little ponds, from the days ice-cream spilling activity. There is something innocent, true and genuine about the south side Zesto. It's kinda dirty, super old, tightly placed at a relatively busy corner. The ethnic diversity is strong. I don't think I would even flinch if shots rang out; just get the kids to the car. My kids love the place. Liam announced to me that we could get a better price on our goods if they had any 'Mess-Ups'. Sorry kid, - no mess ups last night. Had to go full price, even had to scrounge for loose change to settle the bill. That Zesto will forever be a good memory for my children. And me. Sure wish they took debit though.
I had sugar guilt later and did a series of Manbuilders. Manbuilders you ask, suspiciously? Why would a man such as myself need to pursue building? Nothing intellectual of course. Manbuilders are kind of like burpies with dumbbells. Squat down, kick back into push-up position, row with one 25lb weight, do a push-up, row with the other arm, do a push up, jump to squat position, then stand, dip with the weight, then press over-head. Oy vay. A very fitting name. Sick and sweating after a while I sat with the boys and slowly did sit ups watching TV. Some new series about a kid that sees patterns in numbers, something along those lines. The son has autism maybe, not sure, and Kiefer Sutherland, the dad, runs around telling people that he thinks his autistic son wants him to meet them for some universally parallel dimension bull shit. It's really quite interesting. I just kept doing sit-ups.
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