Under the Influence

I had a bison burger for dinner after an insatiable craving for more than a week, thinking it would somehow be better than, I don’t know, a regular burger, and while in theory, it is, but when I went to check out the nutritional information, I ACTUALLY DIED. Again and always with the dying, but really bison ain’t nothing but a big, fat lie, and thank you, Flex Points for making my stupid Ruby Tuesday’s buffalo dreams come true, even if they weren’t worth it.

I went to the doctor today, and I’m supposed to stretch and do yoga (YOGA OH HOLY CHRIST) for my plantar fasciitis, which continually renders me unable to walk after a run, hobbling around like a sad, waddling Weeble Wobble. Given that I’d like to run again, I’ve agreed to the stretching. Hence, I tried a yoga video tonight – one I’d done a hundred times before, in a different time, when I was somewhat in shape and, I don’t know, stretchy. Oh my God, I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing? I’m not a yoga person. I’ve never been a yoga person, and worse, I act a little like a third grader in yoga, because when they start with the oohming and the namastes, I want to break into a Beavis and Butthead giggle and screech, “NAMASTE THIS, BITCHES!” and wave my middle finger around in a yogafied blind rage.

Namaste.

Last night as I was falling asleep, I was overcome with the urge to have a deep discussion with Adam about energy, and where it all goes, man. I believe my exact words were, “When we burn energy….where does it go, dude? Where does it go?” followed by, “And why are we here. I mean, why are we really here? ENERGY.”

Approximately 4.2 seconds after that, I passed out.

Finally, I got home early today and was greeted by perky little Sunny, all smiles and waggy tails and I was so excited to see her that I didn’t hear Adam yell downstairs, “DO NOT LET HER KISS YOU,” until she’d kissed me something in the range of 100 times. I’m not one of those people who’s freaked out by letting pets lick my face, and while I realize that many people find it horrifying, I figure what, most kitchen sponges and toilet seats are grosser than dogs’ mouths, right? Except today, not so much, because approximately 20 minutes prior to the welcome home kisses, Sunny had been snacking on poop. Lots and lots of poop, as Adam described and demonstrated in foul, excruciating detail, before he realized I didn’t hear him, and it was just merciless.

P.S. Chris Sligh? He’s a dick. He’s an arrogant, arrogant dickhead.

*James Morrison

30 comments March 28th, 2007