Because I'm Determined To Be A 4%'er

i'm going to train for a 5K.
i know that sounds like an odd thing to say.  like why wouldn't you say, "i'm going to run a 5K so i have to train for it."  but i'm not going to over-commit myself and then perhaps not actually run a 5K.  so i'm going to stick with the training part so not actually doing the 5K isn't such a crushing blow.
but here's to hoping that i follow through with this.  because it would be a real fuck-you to shitler.  except i fear that i'll keep this up for like two weeks but then i'll quit and then shitler might read this during the third week and he'll be like "see, 3%."
here are my shoes:

come to think of it - i'm not sure if they're actually good for running.  but i like the bright colors.  so here's hoping my shins survive the fact that i buy things based on color schemes.
and also, my first two training days have consisted of 25 minutes alternating between walking and running and for both of those runs i've listened to nothing but the following on a constant loop:


i'm just a soul survivor.  leave me alone.
if you have 5K training suggestions - by all means, give them to me.
but in the mean time i have two things to say:
1. i've reach the first part in gillian flynn's newest book that makes you go "what.thefuck?"
2. i watched an especially fucking awesome episode of game of thrones last night.  the one where the blonde chick eats a horse heart and she does it all crazy, cannibal style and there's blood running down her chin and chest and you think she's going to upchuck it all but she doesn't therefore proving she's insanely amazing.
i think that's what's missing with a lot of other shows on television right now.  not enough horse heart chow down sessions.

Instead of Blood - Snot Runs Through My Veins

i slumbered from 8pm last night to about 6:20am this morning.  i don't think i woke up once.  or maybe i did slightly when lincoln came to bed and tried to get me to stop sleeping like a starfish.

this morning there was a struggle to open my eyes due to the fact that they were crusted fucking shut.  then all i could think about was how maybe, when i was starfish sleeping with my mouth hanging open, that all the snot/boogers that were in my nose area slowly made their way down/up to my eyes and the crusted nonsense was really my eyes leaking the boogers from my nose.  i think it's very possible.  and also gross.

also - i learned 51 new christian friendly ways to refer to my vagina.
thank you foy.  
so in the spirit of vaginas i thought i would share that my blood sewer (#36) is at it again.  so i had to bring these:



i also had a bunch of shit to bring to work with me today so i crammed a bunch of it into the tampon box and pretended it was another purse.

[caption id="attachment_1516" align="aligncenter" width="224" caption="yes, that's cheese."][/caption]

here's the link for christian terms for vagina.  my personal favorites are 9, 12, 20, 36, 43, or 45 or bullet wound, harpy nest, frothy creek, blood sewer, rank weasel, or front business.

also - this makes me smile.
but seriously - stop the abuse.

Throbbing. And Not In The Good Way.

update: remember when i cut myself on the sink?

well, great news.  i dug glass out of the sink the other day - so i don't feel quite so stupid.

but this morning is another story.  

there's nothing better than being woken up due to the fact that you have somehow thrashed in your sleep and cracked the back of your skull on the corner of your bedside table.  

even better?  
it hurts so bad that you start sleepily crying and then your significant other blindly extends his hand and pats you on the head (where it happens to fucking hurt) and slurs ok, "y'ok?"  and then rolls back over.  thank you shitler, thank you.

then, you're so delirious from sleep and pain that you convince yourself that you probably have a concussion and you've seen way too many movies and decide that there's no way you should go back to sleep because if you do - you'll probably die.  but you do fall back asleep, for like fifteen minutes.  and when you wake up, you somehow have a cold.  and a massive headache due to the blunt force trauma to your head.  so your morning consists of this:



and then you discover, upon attempting to brush your teeth, that your dog has done this:

[caption id="attachment_1490" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="it's like a fucking shiv."][/caption]

and the drive to work is painful, because you're convinced that the sun is trying to kill you and you have to wear two sets of sunglasses to just to make the trek somewhat tolerable.  but then you're at work.  and everyone is loud.  and your head throbs.  and then you realize it's good friday.  the day people acknowledge that jesus was crucified and died on the cross.  and you kind of wish that you were dead.  but you're not.  you're just quietly suffering.  until you find these pictures:







but then you realize it's only noon.  and you have ten to twelve hours worth of work left.

happy good friday assholes.

Textual Feeling: I Wish Vodka Was My Sponsor

here's my problem.  i'm generally a very lazy person (just ask shitler).  my laziness includes cleaning, laundry, being productive and also caring about arguments or other people's opinions.  

this post started out being about some knobs on facebook that pissed me off last night.  but then my hangover and laziness (see, i told you) got the better of me

here's the link in case you actually want to read it the article that they posted and then insulted my state with.

but more importantly - my day can be summed up in three pictures:

[caption id="attachment_1460" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="god i love pickles."][/caption]

-----

me:  i don't want to work ever again.  i just want to blog all day.

b: i could read your blog all day then.  what a team.

me: we'd both be living the dream.

b: yep, while being judged by shitler.

me: we'd have vodka.  so we'd be good.

b: what a stellar business plan you've come up with.

me: there won't be many expenses.  just vodka and food.

b: exactly.  very little overhead.  we could survive on vodka and pizza rolls.

so in all seriousness, if you're vodka, call me.

also, i forgot about my finger and ran my fingers through my hair.  which resulted in getting strands of hair caught in the flap of skin that's hanging loose from my finger.

and now i have blood in my hair.

I Cut Myself on the Sink

i know.  it makes no sense.  

well, in retrospect - it makes perfect sense.  i'd been drinking.  and then cleaning.  

i'm really, really good at one of those things.

[caption id="attachment_1441" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="ack. also - i suggest you click on the picture. the close-up is way better."][/caption]

the artsy version:

[caption id="attachment_1442" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="i like the one with the hearts."][/caption]

boring, un-decorated band aids are for losers.
so this one is for later when it's time to change the dressings on my wound and when i'm in a better mood.  

[caption id="attachment_1445" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="that smile will soon be bloody."][/caption]

 this is now:

[caption id="attachment_1446" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="because i'm angry."][/caption]

what have i learned from this?

1. sinks are sharp

2. i shouldn't clean