To celebrate my one year anniversary as an Ironman, I weighed myself at the gym last week.
Turns out that my once-favorite Ironman motto of “You will do this” has become “If it ain’t elastic, I ain’t wearing it.”
My farts have been really bad as of late. Like, smell wise. And potency.
The kind where, 10 minutes after you fart, it still hangs thick in the air like the shame over a bedroom the morning after a one night stand.
Or so I’ve heard.
From my friends.
They’re real sluts.
I have reached the pinnacle of voyeurism. No, it wasn’t the obsessive scouring of photos every time I get a friend request on FB, or even the routine checking of blogs.
I mean, yes - I still do those.
But I refer now to the fact that I have been on Twitter for a week now, have yet to post even once, but check it about one an hour.
Twitter is like the cliff-notes version of blogging. One liners, right to the point.
“Just got back from run and it sucked.”
“Made cookies and ate them all.”
And it was all fun and games until this morning – when I didn’t get to the remote control fast enough, and ended up having my senses assaulted by the *ahem* ladies of The View.
Turns out good old Barbara W is all about the Twitter now.
So I figure, if 150-year-old ladies are getting on this bandwagon, maybe its already time to get off.
I mean, first Ashton, then Oprah, and now this?
Is there ANYTHING cool a celebrity doesn’t ruin?!?!?!
My job has officially turned me into a wino. No shit. For the last 10 years, I have been virtually alcohol free, save a few minor incidents of which we no longer speak.
And all photos have been burned.
Anylush, I have now taken to having a glass of wine every night. I figure, hey, if I have to work until midnight, just to round out my 18 hour days, why not do it with some of this magic elixir everyone is talking about?
I have somehow reasoned that a glass of wine is somehow sooo much better and less of a "on-her-way-to-being-a-drunk-in-the-gutter"-type-vice then pouring myself a stiff martini.
Just how is this different?
I don’t know.
But four glasses in, I don’t care either.