Cigarettes and chocolate milk (and coffee)

You want to know the living example of a bad idea? Besides teasing monkeys and trusting the Bush family...me having 8-10 cups of coffee this morning. That was a supremely ill-advised idea. I woke up at 6:45 for no good reason. Those of you that know me well will be shocked to know, no matter what time I go to sleep, no matter my daily schedule, I am incapable of sleeping past 8 a.m. So, I woke up and thought, "Ooh, I can watch the Emmys I DVR'd last night," because I love any awards show that has to do with movies or television. I could literally care less about any music awards. So, I decided, I'll set the coffee pot for 8 cups, which is really more like 3 normal cups...and as I watched Jimmy Fallon sing some questionable musical numbers, I drank the whole pot, and then I made more....and then I refilled my cup at work...

Picture it, Sicily...no, really, picture it, this morning around 11:30, I'm halfway through Cup 11, and I start to feel odd. Like, everything went kind of yellow, I got hot, and I swear I heard someone saying my name. So, I put the coffee down, and for the next 3-4 hours thought, "hmmm..throwing up sounds pretty sweet right now," but I didn't. I waited for it to pass and learned a valuable lesson about my caffeine consumption and my willpower. Apparently, my motto is "If it feels good at the time, just do it; don't worry about later." This is a very good motto to have at age 4; at age 33, perhaps not.

Bikers, meaning cyclists, listen to me and listen closely: You and your little stretchy pants bother me. No one that currently doesn't reside in an '80s Bananarama video should wear spandex in public. Frankly, I don't think you should wear it in private, but what you wear, furry suit, gimp mask, etc...in your private time is your business. Explain the stretchy pants thing to me, please. I rode a bike incessantly from age 4ish to age 15, when I lost all motor coordination, and I never wore stretchy pants, and I could pop mad wheelies.

So, stop it, wear normal athletic gear that does not highlight your male equivalent of a camel toe and make me think of Richard Simmons. And here's a thought, if you're riding to the park to hug a tree and dance naked with the fairies, drive your damn bike there and then frolic cyclically. Do not, I repeat, not, ride on the actual thoroughfare during rush hour traffic on your way to the granola/free the hemp plant/Prius meeting. I'm one more encounter away from getting 30 points by nudging you off to the sidewalk with my mighty Aveo. And then you'll have to tell your patchouli for Men club buddies that a car made of plastic ran you off the road...and then no Tofurkey for you.

I'm taking Adapex now. It's supposed to boost your metabolism and kick-start the whole losing weight process. I started taking it Friday, and so far all it does is make me want to drink 9 gallons of coffee and talk to the point that Smitty actually went to bed to get away from whatever I was saying at 30 miles an hour. I dunno if it takes a while to start its pharmaceutical purpose, but am starting to think that this only reinforces the fact that whatever medicine is supposed to do, it does the opposite for me...or makes my ears and face swell.

I am very excited about the impending 3-day weekend. We are supposed to have visitors, and it promises to be a lot of fun. Mainly, I'm excited that I, nor Smitty, have to work, and this will probably be the last relaxed-esque weekend we have, as he starts back to grad school this week. Wives of graduate students are the unsung heroes of our generation. Meanwhile, I want him to hurry up and finish so I can finish my English master's. And I'm proud of him and stuff.