(no subject)

Guardians (Not of The Galaxy) Trailer

So uhhhhhhhhhh...

...listen, I've only got two cans of Coke Zero in my office right now. Which means they must be carefully sipped. But once I take a break, walk three blocks to the store for another 12-pack and crack one open? PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT. Spit-sprayin' it everywhere.

Old stupid body is Stupid and Old

Once upon a time, I could leave my Saturday rent a cop job, eat 2, 3 pieces of greasy, salty ass FRIED CHICKEN then run seven miles. These days, I can't even glance at a buffalo wing without my blood pressure skyrocketing. Weak ass Bitch Guts. I'm tired of this shit.

Imagine a world where a black man cain't have no (bleep)(bleep)ing HOT SAUCE. The FUCK. Oh OH and THEN we're watching an episode of MasterChef where they're mocking canned fish and I storm out the room damn near cryin cuz I can't eat that any more. 'Specially with that additionally salty mayonnaise and relish and DAMMIT high blood pressure's practically a hate crime. Hold on--that's not even what I came to bitch about.

Once upon a 2013, I ran two half marathons in a single year. Two sub two hour half marathons, in fact. In respectively cheap ass Nikes, at that. My first and last ones like it. Cuz my body was never the same. Vegas in '14 wasn't my fastest time, but wasn't my worst. That woulda been last year. By far. Of course, I was also running 13 miles in a floor length gown and inflatable false tits that got heavier and heavier in an hour-plus rain. But still.

Last week, my stupid body wouldn't let me run full tilt on my long run. I was roughly 1:08 for seven miles. I'd been doing it at 1:02:30 a few weeks before that. Oh, wait. The week before that was slower. Had to climb off the treadmill for a Beastly Loud Soul-Scraping Shit at mile 5 or 6 or so. The hell's your problem, guts? I used to bounce fresh-chewed fried meat in you every WEEK! Now you're bitching bout what I ate the night before....?

I'm just a little edgy cuz I need to start actual training very soon if I'm gonna do the Monster Dash this year. For which it's hard to get motivated, as I seem to be getting slower with time.

Yes, I know. These are the whitest of White People Problems. But here is where I can bitch about them without being judged. No? OKAY FINE. Where I can whine without physically seeing your collective eyes roll.

Perhaps I should go to bed for a Perfect Night's Sleep before Whiny Old Body McFuckNuts realizes it can complain about THAT too.

Poor Brenda. I'm gonna be one of those Crabby Old People that throws things. I just know it.