Fuck You, Wednesday.

Can we just cancel today?

I wasn't feeling well when I woke up this morning - stomach issues - decided to tough it out and hit the gym anyway, as it usually makes me feel better. (Endorphins are wonderful things.)

Get to the gym - it's closed. The opening guy never showed up. I waited around for a half an hour with other people who were just as mad as I was, and then drove back home through the snow.

I was super fucking pissed because I'm missing out on a scheduled run, which is also part of a Nike+ challenge. (Not that I need any motivation to run, but my competitive nature always makes me want to see where I end up in the worldwide stats.) All the way home my stomach was churning and rolling and getting more unruly.

After I made it home and vomited, I felt a bit better (too much information?) - and thought that I'd try to slog through work today as best I could.

I couldn't.

I finished up all my essential duties and then told my bosses I was going to call it a day. One of them is a major germ-a-phobe, so it really wasn't an issue that I was going. The drive home was a relief just for the fact that I could see there's a light at the end of the tunnel. (It's a metaphorical tunnel - there aren't any real tunnels on my way home.)

So now I'm on the couch, about to take a nap, and hoping the rest and fluids will do the trick.

Because today's run is moved to tomorrow - and Friday is my 12-miler.

And nothing is going to keep me from those.

So  fuck you, Wednesday - you're out of here.






Later.

Traded.

So the NHL Trade Deadline came and went yesterday.

There where teams that improved themselves, teams that made some questionable decisions, and others that just stood their ground.

There was another trade made yesterday as well.

I just found out that after only four months in my new location, I'm being "Traded" (transferred) to the location that I had just left. Apparently, things have fallen apart since my departure and my wisdom, experience, and shining personality are needed desperately.

Or maybe they are just telling me that.

So what does that mean?

• It means that starting on March 25th, I no longer get to go home for lunch or have a 4 minute commute to work.

• It means that I'm driving 20 minutes each way, and being stuck at that location all day. (Trust me, it's in the sticks - there is nowhere to go.)

• It means that on my lunch I can hit the trails between the river/beach again.

• It means that I can actually listen to and enjoy music on my commute. (I can listen to 4 whole songs!)

• It means more responsibility which hopefully leads to more pay.

I'm looking at it with a positive spin, and trying to avoid any negativity about it. Although it was kind of shocking because I had absolutely no knowledge or idea this was going to happen.

The plus? They are waiting until the 25th so that my Half is over before I go. (Believe me, this was a concern.) I'm glad that I won't have to deal with that schedule change until after my race is over.

Like any trade, there is upsides and downsides - teams that are winners and teams that are losers.

All I can say is that my former location certainly came out ahead in this trade.

I'm the fuckin' Wayne Gretzky of the Dairy world, yo.






Later.

In the Long Run: Injury

Another fascinating tale in the continuing saga of documenting mine and Triple T's weekly Long Runs.

Injuries are a bitch.

Because I lost* all my races last year due to injury (Hip Flexor and then Plantar Fasciitis), I decided to go about my training this year by doing something I've never done before: Actually listening to my body.

I'll admit, a lot of my previous success was due to the fact that I used to ignore any pain or discomfort and plow through the miles as best I could. After all, when you've just ran 13.1 miles your body is supposed to hurt a bit, right? The sad fact is that this isn't the naivete of a youthful teenager, this was me at 35 acting young, dumb, and full of...well - you know.

The fact that I used to treat stretching like it was some sort of fad that "only hippies did" and believed the term "cool down" didn't apply to me, meant that I shouldn't have been surprised when my first injury hit. I must have had some bad karma going on at that time, because right after the Hip felt better, the Foot went to shit.

Only someone who has had Plantar Fasciitis can appreciate the pain and discomfort involved. When Triple T mentioned that she had it in her left foot, I swear I had sympathy pains in my right. I equate it to childbirth or getting kicked in the nuts - it's easy to shrug off if you've never experienced the pain, but once you have you never want it again. (Although the Wife did want another after the first child, while I have never chosen to be kicked in the nuts a second time. I think that means I win.)

I completed my run before Triple T did hers - and to be honest, it went great. The only issue I had was that with Triple T's injury looming large in my mind, every time my right foot gave any sort of twinge I immediately went into panic mode and started planning my post run stretch and sweating whether or not I'd be running my Half.

It wasn't as bad a distraction as you may have thought - I found out that when you are paying so much attention to your feet, time just flies by, and before I knew it, I was done.

Afterwards I stretched like I was planning on attempting advanced yoga or going to an orgy - I'm sure I sweated more on that mat than I did during the run.

It was a lot like this. Minus the hat, and with pants on.

Fear is a great motivator for thoroughness.

My foot and hip feel fine now - no issues at all. I'm hoping Triple T's run was the same - You can check her out here.

Stay safe, people - listen to your body.

Except when it says to order extra banana peppers on your sub, Just ignore it - the flavor's great, but you'll pay for it in the long run, if you get my drift..







Later.

*By "lost" I mean pussied out and did not enter. Injury prevented me from training properly, and if I was going to go and fail, I wasn't going to play. (This would be the running equivalent of taking my ball and going home.) Classy, eh?

Bowlfull.

My cup - er, bowl runneth over. Ewwww,

The youngest started throwing up halfway through dinner at the restaurant tonight.

Those of you who have kids know how awesome that can be. For those of you that don't have kids, fuck you - your cat coughing up a hairball does not relate in any way.

He kept doing it periodically on the drive home, and was almost back to normal until we got him home and situated on the couch. He was so tired from swimming and other things we did today that he was upchucking while half asleep.

Yeah, I know - it's about as nasty as it sounds.

Since the Wife has to work early in the morning, I've taken it upon myself to be out here with him -  watching him while he sleeps, making sure he hits the bowl when he does bring something up, and of course, clean up duty.

It's 2am now, I've been up since 6 (damn me and my early rising) and I can tell you - I'm fucking tired.

But he looks so peaceful sleeping right now that it's all worth it.

Even when he grinds his teeth right before he hurls.






Later.

Saturday Science Class.

So -  I'm at home with the Boys today, and we are killing time before we go to the Pool and then my Parent's place for Dad's Birthday. (They know about the latter because we just made Birthday cards, but are unaware of the former 'cause that's my surprise for the day.)

I stumbled across this thread on Reddit (I find Reddit as interesting as others find Pinterest - I guess it's just the nerd in me.) and thought that trying an experiment or two with the boys would be great to pass the time.

We did this trick:

 And it worked out pretty cool.

We didn't get as elaborate effects as the video shows, but I think that's due to my inexperience with the experiment, the low fat content of the milk we use, and the fact that neither the Boys or I are currently using LSD.

I'm not going to tell the Wife I wasted food for entertainment, because I don't think she'll take "Science!" as an answer, and if if I started babbling on about how wasting essential dairy products showed the Boys all about surface tension and how soap works at breaking down fats, she'd slip into a coma and we'd never get her back.

So let's just keep it between us, Ok?

I was really tempted to try this really cool experiment involving cornstarch, water, food coloring, and a stereo speaker:

But my terror at inadvertently creating a sentient being and possibly messing up the house any more than I already have today made me re-think the whole thing. (That and I don't think I could rip our subwoofer apart and have it back together before she got home.)

Maybe next week.





Later.

Twisted Innuendo.

Just got these in at work today:

 

All I can say is that with all that twisting, licking, and dunking, Mr. Christie's secret ingredient must be Viagra.

Anyone want a cookie?

Later.

Customer Dissatisfaction.

Dear Valued Customer,

Thank You.

No really, thank you.

Thanks for making my experience serving you the highlight of my week. I know you may be amazed to hear that you surpassed events like my sweet 7 mile run or the cool picture that my youngest made for me in kindergarten, but you did.

The fact that you were on your phone and talking away as I opened a cash register to help you should have clued me into your greatness.  It must have been extremely important business because you were on there for almost the entire transaction.

You know, the transaction where I:

• unpacked the basket you had just thrown on the carousel, since removing your items would have been an interruption to the world-shaping conversation you were having.

•  made sure to remove and properly ring in the coupon that you obviously wanted, because you waggled your pork-sausage-like finger in its general direction.

•  politely waited for a break in the conversation to tell you the total, at which you glared at me like I charged you double.

•  informed you that yes, it did include the coupon you had indicated.

•  watched as you put down your phone, dug through your purse, and held out a crumpled wad of bills.

• didn't say anything as you pulled that hand back, sneezed into it and then handed me the germ-covered currency.

• didn't leap over the counter and stab you when you proceeded to sneeze again, directly into my face, because you were on your phone again. I get how contaminating me is preferable to the glass front on your phone.

So once again, thank you.

I have now realized that no matter what else I encounter in my life, be it a raging horde of emancipated fecal-covered midgets or someone breaking wind while I'm behind them in a race, nothing will phase me again.

Because today I met you.

God bless.*

Your Customer Service Specialist,
Me.








Later.
*By God bless, I mean fuck you, you stupid bitch. 

The Peril of Pillows and Sheets.

I did the worst thing ever this morning.

Got up, ran, did my weight workout, even had a tan. I then went home, made coffee, got the kids up, fed 'em, dressed 'em, and whisked them away to school.

Wait - it gets worse.

The Wife was still asleep, so I proceed to crawl back into bed, snuggled up behind her, and promptly fall asleep. Again. For at least an hour - maybe an hour and a half.

I'm paying for it now.

This morning I was feeling wonderful and energetic - now I'm at work feeling like a lethargic sack of crap. I'm not dumb enough to blame it on the Wife, so instead I'm assigning all blame to the sheets and pillows.

It's their fault.

If they would have been scratchy and itchy, we wouldn't have this problem. I wouldn't have even contemplated getting back onto bed. But nooooooo - they have to be soft and warm and crisp and inviting and it's their fault that I'm so fucking tired right now. I'm sure somehow a rock of crack fell into the dryer - that's the only way to explain the addictive qualities of my bedsheets.

I should have brought something with me to work - a sham, a swatch - so I could nap on my last coffee break. Just a fix to get me through the rest of the shift. I don't need it - I could quit cold turkey anytime I want - I just think a little hit to perk me up will make the day go so much smoother.

There should be a 12-step program for getting out of bed.

And I'd like to skip at least 11 steps.

Fucking pillows - they'll get you every time.




Later.

Booked & Paid For.

There's no turning back now.

Moments ago I entered my credit card number online and bought a midget paid for my Races.

One thing the Wife and I have always done with the kids is stress the point that once something's paid for, you're seeing it through until the end. Want to join soccer/hockey/swimming/karate? No problem - we'll find the cash to make it happen.

But know this - once we've paid for the registration/equipment/whatever, you are going to attend and participate no matter what. The moment you decided that you want to be a part of the team or event, you have an obligation to them (and to yourself) to be there and to try your best every time. (We gave them the exception of "I just lost a limb", but so far no takers.)

If it's good enough for the kids, it's good enough for me.

Don't let the logo fool you - it's a big island.

So now I'm 26 days away from the Comox Valley Half Marathon and 40 from the Merville 15K. They're paid for - the bibs are probably being printed as I type this.

There's no way that I can get out of this without sacrificing a leg or some other equally important appendage. Not that I'd want to - right now I feel great, and except for the fact that I had a dream about hills last night, I'm confident that I'm going to do well.

I guess now I just have to keep training and wait.

Oh yeah - and I have to pay the credit card bill next month, too.

That will probably be more painful than the races.





Later.

In the Long Run: Internal Monolouge

I wish I was this tanned.

Yet another installment in mine and Triple T's ongoing discussion/observation/rant about our weekly long runs.

Want to know a secret?

I talk to myself when I run.

Don't judge me - it's not the batshit-insane-crazy-eyes-talking-out-loud-homeless-guy rant. Well, not really, anyway.

Let's be honest - we've all got a lot of shit running through our heads - thoughts on life, thoughts on work, thoughts on what you ate for breakfast, and was that the cat I let inside this morning, or was it a rabid squirrel?

When I run, I don't listen to any music. No iPod, no headphones, nothin. Just me, the road, my feet, and what's going on around me - and when that sucks, I tune out the outside and talk to myself. (The reason for no music is a completely different post - trust me, you'll hear it eventually.)

My run this week was 10 miles. The wind and rain was doing it's usual British Columbia best, so I went indoors and hit my favorite treadmill.

Here's some of what I was thinking..

• God I hope Big Gay Rick* isn't here again today - last week he kept talking and talking - maybe I should poke him in the eye with a pencil - am I allowed to have a pencil on the treadmill? Do I have a pencil in my gym bag? Why would I have a pencil in there?
•  Can I do 10 miles? I haven't ran 10 or more miles in months - it seems longer than that - wouldn't it be easier to just go eat a donut and say I ran?
• Good - the coast is clear - my treadmill's free. Let's get this over with so that I can go to work and then eat greasy, decadent, bad-for-me food with the Wife tonight.
•  Hey - this feels pretty good so far - feet are alright, no chafing, and it looks like that girl might get on the stairclimber in front of me..
• I wonder what Triple T's run is going to be like? She was talking about using some sort of  Ninja Running balacalava thing. Is that safe? What if some gangster takes shots at some Ninja running through his neighborhood?
• Shit! Big Gay Rick! And he took the stairclimber! Ugggh - this is going to feel longer than I thought. Look away....don't make eye contact...
• I'm kinda pissed about the Rundies. I really wanted them in a boxer-brief, but they don't make them like that. And they look like they are Women's only.

  

  Please tell me that's not a guy's ass.

• I should have my own made - I'd ditch the "rest" one, and replace it with "couch" - and the "track" one should be reversible to "treadmill" - that would be bitchin'.
• Do people still say bitchin'? I should turn to the guy beside me and say "Hey, that's bitchin', right?" - no, forget that - he looks like a douche. I think bitchin' would make me sound old.
• How long has it been so far? Look at the time, don't look at the distance - 40 minutes? Already? damn - feeling good. Too good - this can't be right.
• Work is going to suck after this. What kind of idiot runs 10 miles and then goes to work? Maybe I can just "phone it in" do you think they'd notice if the Dairy section ran itself for a day?
• I bet there's runners out there who get to sleep after a run - lucky bastards. 
• Those Rundies - I'd wear the "fartlek" one everyday - the kids would get a kick out of it.
• Should I have a tan after this? Do the Jersey Shore thing? When did I tan last? Should I blog about tanning? Haven't I already blogged about tanning?
• God this feels better without eating a Gu - although that Peanut Butter one seems temping.. Gu on toast - I bet that would be the shit.
• Why is that guy looking at me funny? Hasn't he ever seen a guy sweating on a treadmill for over an hour before? Does he think I'm going to have a heart attack? Am I going to have a heart attack? I'd hate to do that on a treadmill - fall on the belt, hit the wall - why do I think about shit like this?
• You know - I really think the Men's Rundies would work...I'd wear the "treadmill" ones over my shorts - that would be like free advertizing. Shit - I should get paid for this stuff.
• Is the Wife going to be up when I get home? I hope she has coffee ready - should I just "happen" to call her on my way home? Would she stab me instead?
• What's that on the Tv? Who watches the 700 Club while running? Jesus walked on water, right? He didn't sprint.
• If I changed the "Easy 6" on the Rundies to "Easy 7.5" would it be like I was bragging? Would they realize it might not be about running?
• You know what? I'm going to sprint this last half mile - just to show these people that I'm not a corpse running at 7 miles an hour.
• Thank God - I'm done.

See that?

Isn't it good I'm just talking to myself? 

See what was on Triple T's mind here.
If she didn't get shot because she was mistaken for an urban Ninja.








Later.
* His name isn't actually Rick, and I'm not 100% sure he's gay or not. He's just reaaalllly friendly and doesn't shut up.

Dear Boss:

Please stop asking my opinion for everything you are doing, planning on doing, or think we need done.

While I appreciate the fact that you value my opinion enough to ask for it, there are times when, as my supervisor/employer, I'd just like for you to tell me what you want done so I can do it.

Frequently asking my opinion, devising a plan, rethinking what you want, and changing it all over again (and then asking what I think) just seems to be a colossal waste of both of our time.

I'm tired and don't really feel like thinking today, so one of us has to make the effort - and since you get paid infinitely more than I do, I'm nominating you.

Just until tomorrow - then I'm taking over. (Because you're on days off.)

What do you think about that?





Later.

Schedulimification.

Something like this - minus the vest.

I've just found out that my Schedule is going to be fucked for the next couple of weeks -I'm not stressing about it, but there is going to be some juggling involved.

Between work, kids sports, kids school stuff, My Mom needing a drive to Victoria again, other stuff for my parents, and the dreadful experience of an all-expenses paid trip to Vancouver to see the Canucks (lower bowl, 10th row, club seats) - I'm going to be hard pressed to fit everything in.

(Yeah, that last one isn't really that dreadful - I'll be honest. The dreadful part is the hangover the next day..being a Dairy Guy can be rough sometimes.)

Throw in the fact that I'm one month away from the Comox Valley Half Marathon, and right at the peak of miles-per-week in my training program, and you can see the amount of free time slip into miniscule amounts.

I'm sure there will be some flexibility to it all, but not much.

Oh well, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger - and when your stronger, you can drink more.

Besides, I recently read an synopsis about a guy who ends up going crazy on a boat with monkeys. (You'd be surprised what crazy stuff you find on the Internet.) No matter how it all turns out, I'm still better off than him.






Later.

Everyday I'm Shufflin'

I think I owe the Wife an apology.

She's been addicted to Angry Birds since the day she first got a smartphone. She's beaten every one, perfected every level, and eagerly awaits each new installment - I'm sure she knows the release dates better than she does our children's birthdays.

(Honey - If you're reading this, it's just a euphemism - I'm not serious. But December 21 & 26, OK?)

But I think I have to eat some crow on this one.

The other day The Boy introduced me to Plants vs Zombies. And now I can't put it down.

Me, a guy who:

• Doesn't like most video games unless there is a sport involved or things are getting blown up,
• Makes fun of his Wife for the "Stupid Pig Game",
• and Doesn't have a green thumb to save his life,

Can't stop tending a virtual garden where my plants grow with harvested sunshine and fight off the unstoppable army of the teeming undead. I'm excited when my efforts unlock a new fungus that freezes all the Zombies in their tracks.

This is going to be tough.

Tell me how it sounds, okay?

*Ahem*

Honey -

From the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry - I won't laugh every time you express frustraion with Avain/Swine relations. I won't poke fun at you when you curse openly in public because you tapped the screen at the wrong time. And I won't complain anymore when the light from your phone keeps me up because you want to "Finish this level before you go to sleep".

I apologize - I understand now.
I know where you are coming from.

Now - could you please get me another cup of coffee? I would, but I'm busy dealing with a herd of screen-door carrying corpses.

Thanks.


That'll work, eh?






Later.

Gym Dandy.

I'm trying to make a decision, and I'm stuck.

Don't worry - it's not Speedo vs Shorts at the beach - I wouldn't submit you to that.

It has to do with my Gym.

(For those of you who live in a Big City or have any sort of commute, stop reading now. I'm going to be talking/bitching about distances that seem trivial/hilarious to you, and you are going to want to slap me.)


My Gym is a 10-15 minute drive away from where I live. (10 from where I live, 15 from work) It's kind of old, kind of ghetto, but I like most of the people (The ones I don't want to stab) and the cost is right. Let's not forget, I've named all the Treadmills.

There's a new Gym that has opened in my neighborhood - it's a 3-minute walk from where I work, and maybe 10 from my house. It's a nice new shiny Gym, full of new weights, never-been-used equipment (except the cardio stuff - although that's nice too.), and I could have 7-day a week, 24hr access for $5/month more than I'm paying now.

I'm stuck.

I went and tried it out. (I didn't tell my current gym - is that cheating?)

Things I Like:

• Location, Location, Location.
• 24 hour access (Current gym doesn't open until 8 on weekends - doesn't work for me)
• Lots of equipment.
• Ocean View while on any cardio equipment - (because TV is boring and the ocean is awesome when it's stormy.)

Things I Don't Like:

• The Changerooms - or lack thereof. They have a washroom, and a one-stall shower/changeroom. What if it's busy when I have to shower on my lunch workout? I'm fucked.
• Not a ton of open floorspace. I'm not planning on doing cartwheels or anything, but you do need ample room to stretch/etc.
• No tanning booth. I'm not Jersey Shore, but I like slowly conditioning my bone-white skin for summer running.
• Only 2 Treadmills. For Fall/Winter running this is a huge thing for me.

So I'm kind of on the fence about it.

The other thing about my Gym is the relationship I have with some of the staff there - it's nice to be known by name, treated well, given discounts/freebies, and I'm not sure how long it would take to develop that at the new Gym. (With my sparkling personality, not long, I'm sure - but still..)

I'm not in any hurry to make a change - but the fact that the new Gym is so close just taunts me.. It's unfair.

Help me, Readers - you're my only hope.

Blogger in a Galaxy far, far away.

Later.

Perception vs. Reality.

Happy Valentines Day.

These are the things that Corporations think will make my Wife happy today:

1. Flowers
2. Chocolates
3. Diamonds
4. Candy Hearts
5. Cards
6. Hot, Passionate, Wildly Acrobatic Sex.

These are the things I know will make my Wife happy today:

1. I let her sleep in.
2. Coffee was waiting when she got out of the shower.
3. I made the kids lunches, and hustled them off to school.
4. As we speak, laundry is being done, dishes are done, and the vacuum cleaner has traveled all the way to the far reaches of the house.
5. I made Thai Coconut Chicken last night. (Tuesday is Subway night - 'cause Valentines Day or not, the Kids still have their sports.)
6. I speed read through this. And I'm working on my handstands.

Really, after 15+ years of marriage, what more could you ask for?
(Okay - I know she'd like the diamonds, but she'd frown on me selling one of the kids to get them.)




Later.

In the Long Run: Treadmills are Stupid.

This is the second installment between Triple T and myself documenting our Long Runs.

How I imagine I look at the gym.

The victim this week? Treadmills.

Treadmills are like Tim Tebow: Some love them, some hate them, and others are completely indifferent and wish everyone else would shut the fuck up.

While not in love with them, I'm familiar enough with the ones at my local gym that I have given them all names. (If you haven't guessed already, I probably need some help.)

With the weather being shitty, and it being well-documented that I'm a child-like whiner when it comes to being cold, my long run this week was done indoors while the wind and rain pummeled outside. Believe me, when I read about the weather Triple T runs in, I feel like I should turn in my man-card, throw my shoes into the river, and take up competitive donut eating full time.

But I digress.

We had a beautiful sunny day earlier this week, and I was able to corral the Boys onto their bikes while I hit the track. Much to my surprise, I blasted through 12 laps (3 miles) in just over 21 minutes. Feeling buoyed by this accomplishment, I wasn't disappointed by having to do my 7-mile run indoors when, in normal British Columbia fashion, outside went from sunny to fucking horrid in record time. Heck, I even figured I'd do a couple of extra miles just because it would be fun.

God, I'm a retard sometimes.

When I hit the gym, I was crushed to see that my usual treadmill (referred to in a previous post as "My Baby") was occupied - and by a walker, no less. I resigned myself to jumping on The Mistress (get your head out of the gutter - not as exciting as you'd think). As I was tying my shoes, He-Who-Walks-At-Gym decided he'd had enough of his blistering 3.2Mph pace and gave up the treadmill I wanted.

(Okay, treadmill haters, I can hear you saying "When's the last time you had to wait for someone to get off the road, huh?" - point taken.)

I jumped on and started getting into the Zone.

Of all the Long Runs I've ever done on a treadmill (the longest was 16 miles), the Zone is essential to prevent losing your mind to inescapable boredom - looking at the ass of the guy on the stairclimber in front of me isn't as fun as you may think.

The Zone wouldn't come.

For some reason, the minute I got just over a mile in, I became The Most Popular Guy In The Gym. For the next half hour, people I know kept coming in, stopping by, saying hi, and asking questions. When you're running outside, if someone wants to talk to you they either have to forcibly stop you or try and keep up. At the gym, every single lazy asshole who wants to say their two cents strolls by, leans on the machine and starts to espouse their worldview.

The good part was that it did take my mind off the clock and keep me distracted enough - not Zone levels, but close - they probably inadvertently helped my pace, as it was like I was running faster to try and get away from them.

Once I was left alone, the rest of the run proceeded smoothly. When you hit that moment on the treadmill when the right music is playing (Kings of Leon), you're running the right pace (7.2mph), and the finest set of back-dimples in the gym gets on the stairclimber in front of you, time just seems to fly by.

The endorphins were just from the run - that's what I'm going to keep telling myself.

Next week's Long Run is scheduled to be a 10-miler - my first double-digit run of this training program. I'm hoping that I won't have to do it on the treadmill, but if those conditions can come together again (minus the chatterboxes), it won't be too bad.

Check out how Triple T did with her battle against the machine here.





Later.

5am

5am sucks.

The youngest Boy has a Hockey game at 6:30 this morning, so being the outstanding Father/Husband/Human being that I am, I volunteered to be the first one up and get coffee/breakfast/whatever ready and get everyone else up after.

Did I mention I don't get to go to the game, and that I could have slept in almost right up until I have to go to work? (Why yes, I would like a pat on the back, thankyouverymuch.) There must be some sort of special honorarium I can receive for all this, right?

5am sucks.

It doesn't suck when it involves rolling out of bed, putting on running gear and hitting the road or gym - by the time you are fully awake, you have the adrenaline/endorphins to counteract the fact that it's really fucking early.

Just the right amount of caffeine.

Right now I'm fighting the desire to go back to sleep with coffee and sheer determination. Thank God I don't have a cat - if a warm fuzzy furball was cozied up in my lap right now, I'd probably slip into a coma right at the keyboard. Great blog post that would be, eh? Witty banter followed up by hflsfpsfspjj;lkkjkkkkkkkk. (Those of you who say it would be an improvement can kiss my ass.)



5am sucks.






Later.

10,000

Hopeful Google AdSense revenue.

10,000 visitors.

That sure does seem like a big number for a tiny little blog whose owner mainly bitches about life, talks about running, and whines that "Topless Tuesday" hasn't become a national holiday.

In honour of the 10,000th visitor to this small corner of the digital arena (that's where we fight to the death for pageviews), I'd like to present a short list of places that I'm sure have had MORE than 10,000 visitors:

- Madonna's Vagina.
- The McDonald's right outside the exit to the Fat Camp.
- The Google Image Search results for "Naked Midgets Juggling Cats".
- The bathroom at Niagara Falls.
- Gene Simmons's penis. (I don't want to speculate on the duration of each visit..)
- That hole in the wall outside the Grotto at The Playboy Mansion.
- The Port-a-Potties at the Boston Marathon.

See?

In the grand scheme of things, 10,000 isn't really a lot.

But there is one difference - I glad each and every one of you stopped by - that can't be said for Gene Simmons's visitors.

Here's to the next 10,000.






Later.

I Feel:

Punishable by Death.

1. That the look of amazement most people give you when you say you've just run for an hour straight is worth whatever discomfort the run may give you.
2. That if I had to choose between giving up my morning solitude of coffee, news, and Internet or a testicle, I'd be limping pretty badly to one side.
3. That as much as I agree that the founder of Lululemon should be honored for his contributions, I don't think "Distinguished Entrepreneur" cuts it - I'm thinking "Saint".
4. That if you use the last of the toilet paper roll and can't be bothered to change it, you should be drawn, quartered, cut into small pieces and mailed to all the other assholes who just "can't be bothered".
5. That despite the previous entry, the loss of 20 pounds hasn't affected my level of jolliness yet. I'm not at Santa-levels, but I'm not a fucking grouch either.
6. That after all the years of "exploring" with only a paper map and a backpack, pretty soon Dora's going to end up on a milk carton. I, for one, blame the parents who let their kid hang out with a monkey.
7. That the only thing 3-D will add to Star Wars is to make the Luke/Leia kiss even more awkward. That, and Han's crotch bulge will be prominent in every shot because he's got balls bigger than two Ewoks.

   

   Two Ewoks: Perfect for snacks!

   
   

8. That the way people anticipate and get worked up about the next release of an iPad or iPhone takes me back to how teenage-me used to get excited about the prospect of "Second Base".
9. That, after forgetting to sign in at the gym this morning, having the girl behind the counter say since I'm "so forgetful" she'll check to make sure I'm wearing underwear next time is both creepy and a compliment.
   
10. That my level of frustration when dealing with the general public is well documented, and the fact that I haven't ever actually stabbed someone should earn me some sort of award.

Later.

Audiology.

Headphones.

My kingdom for some headphones.

(It's not much of a kingdom, mind you, but it smells nice and is really low maintenance.)

Why the headphones? Because the fucker sitting across from me at the lunchroom table won't shut the fuck up. Blahblahblahblahblah - seriously, there's so much inane drivel pouring out of this guy's mouth that it's making me want to take one of the little plastic spoons in the drawer and rupture both eardrums just to have some relief.

Now the schmuck is going on about the Royal Family and their role in our Government - he's completely fucking wrong but I don't want to correct him because it means getting involved with the flow of verbal excrement that oozes from his mouth-hole. However, the cashier he's trying to explain this to is absolutely enraptured.

If I could just find some headphones, I could put some music on and pretend they are both singing along to the Foo Fighters instead of polluting the air with audio retardation. I'm feeling dumber just being in the same room.

Do you think jamming an electrical cord into my phone and then sticking the two prongs into my ears would work?

It's worth a try.

If no one hears from me in the next day or so, just look in the lunch room for the charred corpse with a smile of relief on his face.

Later.