seeking young adults

I was doing good with at least a one-blog-a-week-post.  I was doing good with a lot of things.  Like bathing and maintaining vital friendships and holding down a job.

That was until I discovered young adult novels.

Seriously, the quickest way to ruin any potential of a relationship is by telling someone you’d LOVE to hang out but your night would be better spent curled up with the Hunger Games.

Also an awesome way to impress anyone you work with:  Working on two-hours sleep because decided you wanted to read Catching Fire in one sitting.

Things that once seemed so important in my life now feel trivial in the face of completing the trilogy.  I am truly content to read in peace and the sheer fact people are perturbed by this knowledge irritates me significantly.  I’m reading!  Leave me be!

But by tomorrow I’ll be through Mockingjay and back in the comfort of human species (if they’ll have me) until I stumble over my next Young Adult addiction.

I should note this has left my running schedule empty.  You can’t read while running.  Thus you can correctly assume no running has occurred this week.

What has occurred is my newfound love for the Kindle.  After purchasing the Hunger Games trilogy for my mom for her Kindle, I patiently waited for her to finish all three books before stealing said Kindle.  I was repulsed by the thought of a reading experience minus the page turning.  But, as it turns out, I hate turning pages!

I never realized how life changing it would be to read an entire book with no other motion than a little tap of my thumb.  I can read in literally any position.  ANY.  Also an awesome want to ruin any potential of a relationship.

I can even on the T.  Which was once impossible at 9 a.m. on a Monday morning before.  Now I can have two men pressed up against my back and a  homeless lady at my front and still have enough thumb power to power through 3 chapters.  Amazing!

I actually thought about reading while on my bike.  Thankfully it was snowing and I was forced to postpone the experiment.  But I’m pretty sure it’s possible.  And I’m pretty excited to share the results.

That is all I have to say.  I blew someone off to finish Mockingjay so it’s probably in my best interest to actually finish Mockingjay.  If I’m going to be an asshole I might as well be an honest asshole.

can you get bed sores after one day?

Yes.  Yes, you can.

You can also thoroughly entertain yourself with YouTube for a complete 24-hours given the necessary skills to sort through a bunch of shit.

This experiment would have continued well past 24-hours had my laptop not come unplugged, thus forcing me to move from the confines of my bed.  Or had I not come to the realization I’m still employed.

All research performed by and under the direction of Michelle.  

Michelle is not not responsible or liable for your limited brain function or willingness to resume moving living after performing a similar 24-hour scenario.  

michelle goes for a “run”

My idea to post a blog after I ran obviously failed me given my inability to actually run.  My New Year’s Resolution:  Be a lazy sack of shit.

Accomplished.

Yesterday I had full intentions of running after work.  Until eight hours of work turned into eleven.  I also found 20 bucks on the ground walking back from the bank.  My options: Run or use the 20 bucks to buy frozen pizza, watch Portlandia reruns and pass out at 7:30.  You can guess that I went with the pizza.

Today I ran.  I’d slap a condom on my hand ask for a high-five but let’s first lay the background to today’s run before we get all crazy.

I woke up.  I thought about running and instead thought about doing some Facebook stalking.  No, I don’t have a Facebook but that won’t stop me from stalking you.  New Year’s Resolution:  Be a  creep.

Accomplished.

I realized the only food I had was a 3-day-past-edible banana.  I ate it.  Shaky from caffeine withdrawal, I reluctantly eyed my french press.  The thought of making and then cleaning said french press was too much at handle.  Options:  Starbucks, the other Starbucks, or the other 27 Starbucks.  But I needed food.  This banana was doing nothing but making me feel a little nauseous.  Options:  Whole Foods.  I stuffed 20 bucks in my bra, threw on my dusty running sneakers and pounded out two-miles to Whole Foods.

About .25 miles in I realized the absolute only reason I was running was for a pastry/coffee combo.  I had no intentions of running this morning when I woke up.  Zero.  But the thought of a vegan scone had me out sprinting 2-miles.  I realized this must be bottom and picked up the pace.  Take advantage where you can!

I purchased an oatmeal date scone, walked two feet to Starbucks and bought an iced venti americano.  Then walked two-miles home.  With an iced drink.  In January.  New Year’s Resolution:  Be a dumbass.

Accomplished.

Sadly, the majority of my thoughts on the way back to my apartment were I should run for food everyday.  Genius!  How have I thought though about this before?  Sadly, most days I need to ride my bike 2.2 miles to work.  Which sounds like nothing.  But riding your bike 2.2 miles at 4 a.m. in January is something.  Trust me.  And then riding your bike 2.2 miles back (uphill no less) after working 11 hours on 3 hours of sleep is defnately something more.  Something more that requires frozen vegan pizza that you pay with the money you found on the street.

This is definitely bottom.

it’s always shitty in cambridge

I have lived in Cambridge for all of six months. I love so many parts of Cambridge. I love the Charles at dusk. I love the bike lanes. I love the overabundance of fleece. And Asians. I love the fact that my 80-year old neighbor masterbates loudly three times a day. Ok, I might not love that last one.

But what I don’t love is everyone thinking Cambridge consists only of overeducated hipsters. Trust me, we have enough. ENOUGH.  But this city is dirty. It has an overabulence of heroine and homeless. Neither or which I enjoy. I prefer meth and prostitutes.  Sadly, neither of which I can seem to find…

In that spirit, I present a five series of text messages I have actually sent in the 6-months I have been in Cambridge. All true.  All an accurate portrayal of the literal shit I deal with on a daily basis.

Someone shit in the hallway.
Like enormous shit.
So big I couldn’t physically pick it up by myself.

Someone took a shit in the elevator.
There is a pile of human feces in the elevator.
I was just scooping diarrhea up with dry rags.
Eight dry rags worth of diarrhea!

Some dude just wiped his dick out and pissed on the carpet.
I was just on my knees soaking up urine with dry rags.

I just found a man with a needle in his arm passed out in the basement.
I kicked him in the face.
Don’t worry he felt it. He’s still alive.

A random dude just approached me while leaving the bank and asked if I wanted to party with his penis.
I told him to blow me.
Now he’s walking behind me and I’m pretty sure he’s reading this text.
If you can read this then blow me, asshole.

i think you’re a jerk

Let’s be honest, I’ve lost all motivation to be motivated for 2012 and it’s only January 3rd.

I’d rather sit around watching reruns of Portlandia while counting down the days until the new season (two!).  This is the part where some asshole reading my blog comments on my shitty taste in television programs.

If you don’t like what I like then you can blow me, asshole.

That may have been a little unnecessary.  Sadly I don’t care.  What everyone seems to care about are New Year’s resolutions.  If I had a dime for every time someone asked me what my resolution for this year was then I’d have enough money to resolve to stop giving handies in the Central Square T-stop.

My resolution:  Stop being friends with people obsessed with shitty New Year’s resolutions.

I totally get it.  You want to be a better person.  We all do.  But sometimes we’re not.  I refuse to give money to the homeless.  I will never change this.  And you refuse to stop calling me a slut.  I get it.  That doesn’t make you less of a person.  It just makes you a jerk sometimes.

Your resolution:  Admit to being a jerk sometimes!

Seriously.  I actually received a series of text messages from a former “friend” about how he wasn’t a jerk.  I use quotations because we were never actually real friends.  No, that doesn’t mean we hooked up.  It just means I knew this person once in a former life I can’t seem to remember and we re-connected in my current life.

My point:  He wanted to let me know he wasn’t a jerk.  Even though I don’t think I had called him a jerk or actually spoken with him in almost a month.  But I would have agreed with his statement had he not ended it by saying I was basically prowling the streets of Cambridge for “easy sex”.

This just in:  I have a vagina.  All sex is easy sex!

I’m not going to sit here and tell you I’m a virgin.  I’m well aware I make a lot of inappropriate jokes about handies.  But that’s just me being immature not me being a whore.

I’m basically the equivalent of a 10th grade boy.  I’ll admit it.  But you need to accept that calling a lady a slut, even over text, is you being a jerk.  And don’t think that wishing me a happy New Year is an appropriate follow up.

We have all been there.  That brief moment in time when we feel we need to defend ourselves so viciously in the face of this one person who has done us so wrong.  Usually me.

I totally get it.  I’ve internally broke into 1,000 pieces of fury over 1,000 times.  It stays internal for all of 7 seconds until all 1,000 pieces of fury come in full contact with an (sometimes) innocent face.

But through all of this I know I’m a raging bitch.  I know when I’m being an asshole.   Most of my comments are those of an asshole.  I offer no sympathy and no condolences.  Only sarcasm.  Because it’s how I deal with the harshness of life.  By laughing.  And being completely inappropriate.

It’s when my jokes stop.  When I stop talking about handies and I stop screaming in your face that I am at my worst.  When the damage one has done is irreversible.  Not because you were so horrible but because I just stopped caring about what you have to say.  Me yelling means I still care about something.  Whatever that something is.  Even if – in my fury – my words make no sense.  You can drive me crazy and I will be your best friend.  I love people who drive me crazy!

But, as with most crazy things, there is fine line. The other side of my line isn’t so much an institute but an endless pit of apathy.  Because like a true bitch (or all Germans) I do not possess an endless supply of human emotion.  And the resulting response is one of three words.  Yea., Sure, or Yup.  Any of the three mean I have fallen from your following.

Note the period at the end of “yea”.  That’s called finality.  ”Sure” is my apathy full fledged.  If that’s possible.  And “yup” is my briefest and laziest form of sarcasm.  One of three words as a response to you yelling in my face or raping me with texts means I’d rather be giving handies to the homeless than continue to associate with you.  Not because I think I’m better than you.  I’m pretty confident I’m far below the majority of the population.  Just because everything you have to say I find of zero interest.  Because nothing is interesting when everything someone has to say comes from a place of denial.

I realize this may come off as disturbing.  But you need to realize that I find a larger than normal majority of the population annoying.  But I deal with it in stride because I’m also extremely annoying.  We all get along because they think I’m crazy because I am crazy and I think they’re crazy because they just gave 43 cents to a homeless lady.

I will love the entire world if the world would just resolve to admit that sometimes they are jerks.  Sometimes we lose our temper and take out our frustration on people who don’t deserve it.  And sometimes they do deserve it.  But after we need to stop and say “I think you’re a jerk.  But clearly I’m a jerk too.”  If I’m the only one who is admitting to being a jerk then this isn’t going to work, people.

Someone man up and realize they’re being a dick.  And I will man up and give some change to the homeless.

Writer’s note:  Some people (Hi, Rich!) may take this to believe my apathy has ceased.  It has not.  My text response of “yea.” (see above) still stands as final.  I’m stating a point to the general population that I want the general population to change.  I’m just using you as an example that one can be a jerk even if one doesn’t think they are a jerk.  

P.S.  Good call on me being a slut though.  Really nailed that one!

P.P.S.  That’s what she said.

more ridiculous new year’s resolutions

More people have found my blog using search engine terms related to New Year’s resolutions than “vegan antihero”.    This is my own fault for posting a mocking video on New Year’s resolutions.  I invited you in my life and provided you with no guidance.  Now I feel like an ass.

I don’t make resolutions because I don’t like to set myself up for failure.  But clearly everyone else is so fascinated with making resolutions that they are frantically searching for advice on the topic.

Advice I can give.  As long as I don’t have to follow it.  That being said, I am now here to give the people what they want.  And by “people” I mean anyone who found my blog via a search engine not using the terms “vegan antihero”.  This is for you drifters, out searching for something you can’t seem to find.  I am graciously providing you with answers and/or feedback on your search engine terms that no other WordPress blog could give you.  Up until now of course…

“Ridiculous” “Ridicilus” “Redickulous” New Years Resolutions:  Learn how to spell.  Only after that should you start trying to accomplish anything else.

Can you lose custody of your child for going to a strip club:  I’m not sure.  What I do know is that you can lose custody of your child if you bring them to a strip club.

Urine running down your leg:  Do you want to see this or do you want to know how to prevent this?  If you want to see it, attend a road race.  Runners love to pee themselves.  If you want to prevent it then stop running road races.

Boy sitting far away in a prairie:  Nothing about that sounds right.  I suggest you leave Kansas immediately and stop sitting for boys.  Unless you meant you wanted to see a boy sitting in far away in a prairie.  In which case you’re missing the word “naked”.  Either way you sound like a creep and I’m pretty sure you have zero friends.

I’ve screwed my life up and quit too many jobs how can I find work and turn my life around: Two words:  Strip clubs.  Just don’t bring your kid.

How can I get my husband to realize I am really going to leave when I have said it so many times before and haven’t:  One word:  Leave.

Is it ok to go pantless to the grocery store:  Probably not.  But that shouldn’t stop you.

Ask stranger for street hand jobs:  Oh my god, you do this too?  Personally, I love when people ask me for hand jobs on the street.  It’s a great way to  meet people and it really shows me they’re willing to be open and honest about what they want in life.  Way to be bold!

Handies mean:  Hand job.  How do you not know this?

Homeless handies:  Ok, now we’re getting carried away.  I’m not saying the homeless shouldn’t be allowed to enjoy a good handie every once in a while but who is searching the Internet for information on this?  Is it a homeless individual who ventured into a public library to do the research on where to find handies?  Or an individual curious on how to approach the homeless to give them handies?  You realize they can’t pay you, right?  They are homeless.  Maybe try to get them an actual job first then we can focus on sexual pleasure.

Lets get naked at the pool:  I’m starting to worry why so many sexual, inappropriate terms are used to find my blog.  What kind of blog posts am I writing?  But yes, I would love to get naked at the pool with you.

My internship, naked, locker room:  I interned at the Treasury Department.  I guarantee I experienced nothing related to naked people in locker rooms.  More like “My internship, sleeping, cubicle”.   But your’s sounds more my speed.

Having a tail:  How awesome would that be???

Desperately trying to endure caffeine withdrawal headaches:   Don’t be a dumbass.  Just stop.  Take my advice and consume coffee immediately.  I promise you your efforts are useless and completely unnecessary.  I will personally fuel your addiction with a preloaded Starbucks card if you disagree.  That is how stupid I think you are being for even attempting to stop.

Living pantless:  Welcome To Life.  At it’s finest.

Defining character:  I have none.  I can’t help you here.

Some place:  This is quite a vague search you are performing.  I imagine you in a cubicle, probably with some type of financial report minimized on your screen, browsing the Internet for a way out.  Maybe be a little more specific.  Some place cold?  Some place sexy?  Some place far away from this place because in this place I’m kind of an idiot?

Why was my breathing labored on my run today:  Because you were running.

Anyone find heroine in Colorado Springs:  Email me and we’ll talk.

I don’t always drag race but when I do it’s in a school zone:  Because where’s the fun if you can’t kill some kids in the process?   I totally get it.  School zones are the place to do shit.  Like drag race and deal heroine.

Vegan hypocrits, All vegans are hypocrites, Vegans suck,  I hate vegans:  Maybe stop worrying so much about what other people choose not to eat and mind your own business.  Why do I get the feeling you’re also the same person searching for “Pantless woman flash video, pissed herself”?

how i got in a fight with pandora

The past few nights I have fallen asleep to the sweet tunes of Pandora. No, this is not an endorsement but a complaint post. Pandora, why do you make me feel like such an asshole?

Every night, I wake up approximately four hours into my slumber because Pandora decides enough is enough. No, it’s not enough! I’ll tell you when it’s enough! Pandora chastised me because it doesn’t like playing to an “empty room”. Um, hello. I’m still here! At no point did I exit the room. Yea, I was sleeping but I was still technically here.

And you don’t have to be all cheap about it. “We pay for every song we play.” It’s like inviting someone to your apartment and forcing them to finish their beer by telling them you paid for it. “You realize I bought that beer with my own money?”

Like they bought all those songs specifically for me and how dare I not stay awake to hear them all! The nerve of me to doze off during their carefully crafted playlist! How dare I!

I angrily informed Pandora I was indeed still listening. And then promptly passed out again. Four nights in a row.

But each night I woke up angry and feeling kind of like a jerk. How is that a free music app can make me feel like a jerk when humans can elicit no feelings from me but annoyance?

To top off this entire dilemma, Pandora has started to rebel. Suddenly my songs were coming from nowhere. I should note I was on my “Iron & Wine” playlist and Pandora was like oh yea, how about some Miley Cyrus to spice things up? That seems relevant, you greedy bitch.

And now here I am. Too pissed off to resume my Pandora use. I know. I know I can turn off the automatic shut off. But that’s not the point. Why do they have to be so rude about it. Just ask me if I’m still listening. Be like, “Hey girl, you still jamming out over there?” And I will gladly answer yes or no.

I put up with your crappy ads every few songs so I can have some background music during my REM sleep. I don’t want to feel like an asshole in the process. I don’t want to be that person who invites someone over, gets them drunk out of guilt, and forces them to drive home intoxicated. And I certainly don’t want that person forcing me to listen to their crappy mix CDs.

Which is why I’m back to iTunes. Sure, I have to pay for my music but I’ll gladly fork over money for respect. Or their nonjudgemental silence. Which is essentially respect in my eyes.

happy assholes

As I sit here trying to convince myself to run (I did used to do that kind of stuff, right?) I’m trying to remember where I have been since my last post.

I remember thinking I had a serious problem while smuggling Starbucks into the movie theater.  No outside beverages?  Suck my face, AMC.

There was also the whole Christmas time with the fam scenario.  Where I realized I’m not so much part of a family but the secluded member who was added last minute to add some bulk.  Only to realize they were fine without me.  Why is she here again?  What purpose do you serve?  Absolutely none.  Thanks for noticing!

Speaking of Christmas, what presents did I get?  Anything and everything for a bicycle.  Because nothing says “we know nothing about you despite the fact that you live in Cambridge, which we hear is a bike friendly city” like new biking gloves!

In the process of this I feel like a lazy fat ass because all I can remember is one three-mile run around Breakheart.  A hilly, paved death circle.  I also remember wanting to vomit.  In my defense, I have been working excessively long hours and any and all time off I spend hunting down Redbox BluRay movies and drinking cheap wine.  So I may be lazy but at least I’ve upped my level of class.

Before you judge me as an alcoholic for drinking alone in my tiny apartment, I want to first judge you as an asshole.  Asshole.  I’m not going to talk about how stressed out I am because no one wants to hear that shit.  If I wasn’t stressed out that would be something to talk about.  In the form of a self-help book that would probably make millions.  Just note that I experienced a rough patch where I received a text message intended for a different smartphone.  Somewhere else.  In a world where people “sext”.  I’m 28.  I don’t smoke weed  or “sext”.  I wish I lived that kind of life but I don’t.  I’m too old and classy for that.  What I am young enough to experience is human emotions.  Like pain and rejection.  From receiving a “sext” intended for another smartphone from a person I kind of liked.  Excuse me while I go back to drinking wine by myself.  You asshole.

I’ve also been busy sleeping in my parent’s basement where free food is cooked and prepared in delicious vegan forms for me and my laundry is washed and folded without the use of any quarters or manual labor on my part.  I may not be welcome but that won’t stop me from staying.  I’ve managed to read two entire books.  Which should result in a feeling of accomplishment.  But instead I still feel like a lame, lazy ass.  Why?  Because I read instead of doing other shit.  Like organizing all my new bike gear, showering, or going for a run.

I did manage to drag myself out for one day of work and a trip to the mall.  Where I was forced to purchase bras.  No, not by the sales people* of Victoria’s Secret.  But my mom.  Who did my laundry and told me I would meet no one with my 7-year-old bras.  Sure, one has a wire poking out the side but it still works.  I’m not cheap.  I will spend money.  But I prefer it be on something enjoyable.  Like wine or coffee or at least a new lock to lock up all this new bike shit.  But no.  There I was standing in the middle of Victoria’s Secret with about 127 other ladies, manhandling all the bras.  Since when does every single bra have more paddling than space for actual boobs?  I found the only one without 55 ounces of padding and placed it against my boobs over my winter jacket.  It seemed like it would fit.  I grabbed three and ran for the checkout.

*I say “people” and not “ladies” because when I was in Virginia I saw men working for VS.  Yes, real men!  Sure, they were gay.  But they were still men.

And here I am.  Out of books to read and with zero excuses to pack my crap up and head back to Cambridge.  I’d go for a run but I fear I’ll find my laundry neatly folded and placed on the porch steps when I get back.   A clear sign from my parents that it’s time to head back to my own wine and RedBox movies and bike lanes.  Where people are supposed to smoke weed well into their thirties and I’m allowed to call people asshole to their face for absolutely no reason.  To dread the upcoming New Year’s holiday.  Because yes, I hate all holidays.  Even the ones that are supposed to be fun.  I’ll probably spend it smuggling wine into the movies.  What, no outside beverages?  Suck my face, AMC.

 

god danny you cynthia

I still exist in real life.  I’ve just been busy being an asshole.  I’d say sorry but that would take away from my asshole qualities and I’m really trying to polish them.  Instead I’ll just update you on my semi-human life.  Semi-human because I’ve recently been turned on by werewolves so I’m a tad bit confused.

Bus trip to NYC.  I don’t heart NY.  I don’t call it my concrete jungle and my believe my dreams will come true on the urine soaked streets.  Take no offense my fellow New York residents and lovers alike.  I simply like to do my public peeing in the woods.  To each their own.  I did score some delicious vegan food at Angelica Kitchen and Lulu’s.  But what’s the deal with Babycakes?  Ain’t got nothing on Sticky Fingers.  I guess they’re aimed on healthy cupcake eating?  But grouping healthy with cupcakes just seems kind of foolish to me. Downright foolish!

I’ve upgraded myself to an iPhone.  Awesome except for the fact that auto correct hates me.  Sure, you can turn it off.  But I like saying things like “God Danny” and “Cynthia”.  Why is every swear replaced with a name?  I’ve taken to calling all the ladies I dislike Cynthia.  They don’t get it.  But I do.

After making the above mentioned purchase, I thought it would be an appropriate time to dump and entire bowl of cereal on my computer. Which explains my absence.  See?  I wasnt avoiding you.  I was simply busy watching YouTube videos on my iPhone.  In the wake of such dramatic moments and after the pangs of self-hatred subsided, I realized I had no computer, no iPhone charger, and an iPhone with a battery life of 24%. Resume self-hatred and the purchase of a new computer. Why not?

This asshole turned 28.  Represent old ladies!

Finally saw the Twilight movie.  Terrible acting.  Excellent movie.  Yea, I said I just turned 28 and went to see Twilight.  Deal with it.  Sadly the movie converted me from Team Edward to Team Jacob. I’m freaking out because I’ve invested a lot of money  in my Team Edward wardrobe and the majority of my remaining soul to vampires.  I’m sorting through my life crisis with an action plan and taking steps to adjust where necessary.  I’ll be sure to keep you posted.

I became besties with Bobby who delivers the Herald in the Cambridge area.  No, I don’t read the Herald.  But Bobby has been delivering the papers since he was a kid and admires me for riding my bike at 4:30 in the morning with 23 degree temps. “Fascinating!” Thanks for appreciating me, Bobby.  None of these other jerks do.

I made out with Bobby.

I’m kidding.  I’m only into fictional characters at the moment.

After two seasons of research I have finally determined that – despite what Gold Rush claims – gold digging is no American dream.  It is a risky and careless choice of “employment” unless thoughtfully and carefully mapped out with drilling and soil samples.  If you’re house is in foreclosure then maybe you should do something more responsible than digging holes.  And just because you claim “I feel it this time” doesn’t mean the gold “feels you”.

I walked 9.5 miles through Boston after work one day to blow off some steam.  I would have run but that would have looked a little silly in my work clothes.  Stopping only to buy coffee at three Starbucks and to pee in Central.  Where I’m pretty sure I contracted hepatitis.

Off to get some antibiotics.

let’s talk business

I napped today.  I never nap.  But it was one of those days.  Those days when you realize you spent 6 months of your life working passionately on a project only to realize you need to do it all over again.  With different people who respond with the exact same resentment, frustration, and resistance.  And tears.  Why is everyone so damn emotional???

To clarify:  I was relocated for work to implement procedures I had forced down the throat of my previous employees.  To quote the person who thought I would totally enjoy suffering through hell a second time around:  ”You are singlehandedly the most hated and loved manager.  The most feared and respected.”

Aka I’m a bitch.  Awesome.

Being a bitch can be kind of stressful.  I have to build up my respect before I can tear them down.  And that takes time and patience.  None of which I have.  I spent the majority of the past two days biting my tongue.  Trying to get a feel for how these people do their thing.  Except “their thing” isn’t something that can be organic and debatable.  Companies institute policies, procedures, and deployment for a reason.  Their policy seems to be “Do what feels good!”  and their deployment  “Do whatever the fuck you want!”  There was actually a moment when I wanted to call someone a shitfuck.  Which is the opposite of professional and not an actual word.

Which explains why I’ve been napping/sporadically running/purchasing way too much bike gear I don’t really need given the coming Winter.

But to focus on the running – I went trail running Saturday!  I fell a good four times.  My tuck and roll is not nearly as graceful as it once was.  This doesn’t bode well for my interest in ultra trail marathons.

Sidenote:  If you recieve an email with a training plan for an ultra trail marathon, please don’t think I’m passionately in love with you and/or stalking you.  I simply want a companion on my journey.

I also almost got run over by about 17 mountain bikers.  Can you call them mountain bikers if they’re not really biking in the mountains?

All this city running has me dragging my feet.  It’s easy to roll out of bed and run fives-miles.  I can basically scoot along with my eyes half-open.  I tried doing that in the woods Saturday and almost face planted onto some rocks.  I don’t think it helped that I picked the a trail that was entirely inclines, declines, and switchbacks.  The longest I ran in a straight line was for the last quarter-mile.  But even that was uphill.  I knew this before I started my run but, never one to ease myself back into anything, I decided the tougher the better.

I also had that moment (about 30 feet in I should add) where I got that bloody taste in my mouth.  A clear sign my body was resisting my current activity.  But I needed it.  What I didn’t need was my painfully boring 3-mile Monday morning run that had me standing at crosswalks for a good 5-minutes time total.  Torturous.  I mentally was calling every driver in my way a shitfuck.  It seemed fitting at the time.

Which brings me back to today when I decided to nap instead of go for a run or do my laundry or accomplish anything remotely productive.  Making me singlehandedly the most lazy and motivated individual in Cambridge.

Aka I’m still a bitch.