Bizarro Catbirds
I was supposed to run in the pool tonight, but I'm getting a little tired of that. Seriously, this injury (if that's what it is) is the worst thing that could happen to my training. I wasn't all that motivated to run once I got past the 18 mile mark. In fact, as soon as I did my first 18 mile training run, I slacked off for about a week. Then i started up again until my next 18 miler, and that was it.
So now that i actually have a reason (other than beer and oreos) to sit on my ass, I am really not so motivated for this thing. It is boring, not to mention embarrassing, to run in place in the pool, and all I keep thinking is that there is no way I will ever finish 26 miles, since the 26 miles I will be running will be on pavement and not in the water. I had better get good news on Friday, or I will kick some ass, hurt foot or not. I have to start real training again.
That said, I went to the suburban bar tonight with 2shirts, ate chex mix for dinner, and drank Chimay and some other yeasty beverages. I was talking to 2shirts about an article that I read in the foot doc's office. You know, it's like the anus was once the last hold out--the only place left that we weren't forced to pluck, scrutinize, and compare to others. Seriously, not to echo the comment on the website, but is there any place left on our bodies that is just ours? I digress.
Point being, I was telling this to 2shirts, who had already heard about the process and who claims that it is because as we age, our asshole turns from a zesty pink to a haggard brown (how do people know this crap [no pun intended]?). Right in the middle of the story, I look at the direction that 2shirts is motioning and see an eavesdropping bartender who then pretends to pick staples out of the wall instead of admitting his desire for anal bleaching.
Then I meet up with 4 construction people who pat me on the back for being able to "dish it out" as well as they. Somehow, anal bleaching comes up again (2shirts), and we discuss it some more. Unbelievable.
Then out of nowhere, I suddenly become a freakin' psychic. Seriously, I guessed every one of their ages spot on. I missed one guy's by 5 days (his birthday is on the 7th). Otherwise, dead on. They even all checked their wallets. I guessed the sports they played in college, too, but that wasn't so hard. The golf guy was a little taken aback, but I can always spot a golfer. They have a particular neck. Don't ask me what it is about the neck. They just have it. very weird. then we watched The Contender, and I went home.
So that's it. Suburban nightlife includes talk of anal bleaching and psychic sideshows. I came home and ate spaghetti o's and watched Laverne and Shirley clips on you tube, thanks to a blog I read.
God I miss the city. I have become so lame!
So now that i actually have a reason (other than beer and oreos) to sit on my ass, I am really not so motivated for this thing. It is boring, not to mention embarrassing, to run in place in the pool, and all I keep thinking is that there is no way I will ever finish 26 miles, since the 26 miles I will be running will be on pavement and not in the water. I had better get good news on Friday, or I will kick some ass, hurt foot or not. I have to start real training again.
That said, I went to the suburban bar tonight with 2shirts, ate chex mix for dinner, and drank Chimay and some other yeasty beverages. I was talking to 2shirts about an article that I read in the foot doc's office. You know, it's like the anus was once the last hold out--the only place left that we weren't forced to pluck, scrutinize, and compare to others. Seriously, not to echo the comment on the website, but is there any place left on our bodies that is just ours? I digress.
Point being, I was telling this to 2shirts, who had already heard about the process and who claims that it is because as we age, our asshole turns from a zesty pink to a haggard brown (how do people know this crap [no pun intended]?). Right in the middle of the story, I look at the direction that 2shirts is motioning and see an eavesdropping bartender who then pretends to pick staples out of the wall instead of admitting his desire for anal bleaching.
Then I meet up with 4 construction people who pat me on the back for being able to "dish it out" as well as they. Somehow, anal bleaching comes up again (2shirts), and we discuss it some more. Unbelievable.
Then out of nowhere, I suddenly become a freakin' psychic. Seriously, I guessed every one of their ages spot on. I missed one guy's by 5 days (his birthday is on the 7th). Otherwise, dead on. They even all checked their wallets. I guessed the sports they played in college, too, but that wasn't so hard. The golf guy was a little taken aback, but I can always spot a golfer. They have a particular neck. Don't ask me what it is about the neck. They just have it. very weird. then we watched The Contender, and I went home.
So that's it. Suburban nightlife includes talk of anal bleaching and psychic sideshows. I came home and ate spaghetti o's and watched Laverne and Shirley clips on you tube, thanks to a blog I read.
God I miss the city. I have become so lame!
Labels: Catbirds, Don Eduardo
posted by Cranky at 1:03 AM
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