Thursday, February 25

Slacking Ashley, Party of One

I didn't run tonight. I just didn't feel like it. Yes, it's a piss poor excuse to not get out and log miles. But I totally have great excuses lined up. Ready?

First up, I have a headache. Yes, it's only slight, but a headache is a headache. And if wives can use headaches as an excuse to not have sex with their husbands, I can so use it to get out of running.

Secondly, I have 2 "blemishes" residing as next-pore neighbors (clever, right?) on my face. Oh, joy. Exactly what I want. To revert back to adolescence and be forced to date retards who drive minivans with side paneling. And no, I didn't actually do that. They had real vehicles. Like trucks. That we went muddin' in. Yes, muddin'. Driving around, wasting gas, spraying mud, and hopefully not hitting trees. Obviously I've seen the light and now drive as minimally as possible.

Thirdly, my foot could use another rest day. Since the picture-age of the potential hallux valgus, I'm no longer quizzical in whether I'm getting a bunion or not. I AM. And I know it. It's now a larger bump. It'll make my whimper at work when I'm up and moving for most of the day (so I totally look forward to accounting projects and more desk work). I'm just not moved yet to purchase one of those ri-DIC-ulous "toe-straightener-outter" foot braces. This is NOT Romy & Michelle's High School Reunion.

Fourthly, I'll totally hit up the gym tomorrow. Will I though? Well, it's a 50/50 shot. Mr. Wookie will definitely be out of town, and I'm not the biggest fan of going out to Snappers alone. There's just something about being seen as single, in a bar, with no one to talk to, that makes males think I'm something to entertain/talk to/annoy/try and talk home. No, no, no, and no. But back on topic, the gym does close at 9pm and I'm off at 5:30pm. Totally time to go treadmill/elliptical/Lance Armstrong-action it up.

Fifthly, my new magazine is totally calling my name. Yes, a lame excuse. I agree. But still, it's In Style with Anne Hathaway. And I need to go shopping for work clothes, so what's a better way to plan my attack on the mall for this weekend than research. There, you have it, it's reading for my education. Not vapid, shallow entertainment.

And how could I forget No. 6. I have an in-grown armpit hair. Yes. There. It's wonderful! But in all seriousness, it's pretty lame/retarded/not wanted/but thankfully not painful. It's about the size of a pea or a hazelnut. And I've tried squeezing the crap outta it, but to no avail. I definitely need my Mommy Monkey here. She picks everything. I swear, you have a scab somewhere...she'll vulture in and attack it until it's gone. Who cares if you're bleeding out 4 pints of blood afterwards. She got her target. Mission accomplished.

And yes, I've asked Mr. Wookie to pick my armpit. But I didn't tell him it was my armpit. Either way, he said 'no.' He's not into causing me pain. As cute as it is, I wouldn't call squeezing the daylights outta one hair follicle as pain. I'd say it's relief.

1 comment:

  1. They sounds like decent excuses to me. I didn't run this whole week. I was sick, people were in and out of my house all week. (not in the prostitute way... because that would have definitely been a work out and I wouldn't be writing this comment) And I was sick. I am going running in a few minutes though.

    Pray for me.