Back to Sunday. It seems it is always Sunday. And lately I am hungover every Sunday, wishing I could start the weekend from scratch. What is different though, is that this Sunday is going to be a balmy 16 degrees Celsius (probably about 64 degrees Fahrenheit). I was recently taught a simple conversion equation (thanks FEF). I am so excited to get outside. This morning I woke up to find I have just been bumped from first place in my hockey pool and that I have FIVE injuries. That sucks. I loved that I was pissing off every guy in the pool. It was killing them that I had the lead. I’m still in second, though. Second still wins a prize, so I’ll take it.
Last night was “girls night” There were seven of us. Sheer volume always brings on “shooters on the house” and other forms of complimentary drinks. Girls totally fall for that shit.
In other news I can do 5 "man" push-ups. Just wanted to share. It was only 4 weeks ago that I couldn’t even do one. You may or may not find that piece of information interesting or impressive, but it (very) loosely leads me to my next point of discussion. Remember Ben, the guy I dated for a while before I went away in December (AKA Arty)? We spent a great deal of quality time together at my apartment over our time together and I got comfortable enough that, when I was wearing something, I wore my favourite pajama bottoms. They are t-shirt material leopard print. What is it that guys hate about animal prints? I think it’s kind of funny. It’s my sense of humour in pants, really. It’s not like I am wearing silk leopard stirrup pants with stilettos. It’s not serious. They're t-shirt material! Cute, no? Well, Ben hated them. They also had a small (read moderate) sized hole in the ass, which seemed to actually make him slightly angry, but in the face of that, and maybe a little because of that, I insisted I would not throw them out and in fact, maybe wore them more often then I might have had he not mentioned them. My point in all of this is I am doing some spring cleaning and wearing these pajama bottoms. The hole now basically encompasses my entire ass and I no longer have to keep them as a symbol of my strength, but now I feel attached to them in much the same way as my parent’s old couch. What's wrong with me (aside from the delirium tremens)?