I don't need anyone to tell me what a failure I was at that2.
But I promised a few other things, one being that I would attempt to post something every day in April. Well, I averaged in excess of a post a day (this here post is the 50th in a 30-day month), but I missed posting on two days thanks to a short weekend get-away and an uploading snafu3.
I have to think that, despite this failure to post every day, the seven of you who read this blog have probably had just about enough of me for awhile. So you should have no problem with my taking a bit of a break from posting, which is what I intend to do.
Note the verb: intend. That gives me the wiggle room I need to be allowed to post in case I feel the need to do so for some stupid reason. You know, if I get all het up and riled over something.
But I intend not to.
I'll still be reading and commenting as nastily and scathingly as ever on your blogs. Just not posting.
Or so I intend.
I won't say it's because I deserve the break. But the six of you sure do4.
I'll be back around my birthday, which is in roughly two weeks5.
Use this gift of free time I have given you wisely: Catch up on your reading of other blogs, e.g. You should be able to read roughly 5 other blog posts in the time it takes you to read one of mine, because, yeah, I'm pretty long-winded. Fuck you. I'm old and I've earned the right to ramble incoherently at you. Here: have a hard candy. It'll take your mind off that Old Person Smell that permeates my blog. Now be a dear and remind me what I was talking about.
O yeah. Things you can do with the copious spare time you will soon have.
Alternatively, why not use this free time to get reacquainted with your family?
HAHAHAHA!! Just kidding about that last part! Your annoying fucking family is why you turned to running (and then blogging about it) in the first place, isn't it? Your family just doesn't get you, do they? Not like these anonymous weirdos on the Interwebs — your "friends" — do, right? So fuck your family, spend more time with them —
Actually, do whatever you want. But before you go? Be a dear and hand me my teeth?
Hahahahaha! It's funny because I'm old!
This morning's run: 6.36 miles in 57:42 for a 9:05 pace. Acceptable because this morning I ran up the Foothill of Teh Schmatterhorn for the first time in months.
The April Numbers:
Running: 80.15 miles (This low number is because I didn't run for a full week due to the calf injury. Otherwise, I might have made it to 100 miles this month)
Walking: 42.51 miles
(Giving it HARD to Morrissey While Recumbently) Biking: 79.1 miles
Total Miles: 201.76 — Woo-Hoo! I TOTALLY don't blow!
I listened to this one over and over this morning during my 6.36-mile run:
1 Which probably won't catch on because let's be honest, here ... it didn't even catch on with me.
2 Feel free to tell me what a failure I was at that in the comments.
3 Yeah, "uploading snafu" sound soooo much better than "fucktarded brain fart on my part", don't you think? Because the latter is what really happened. Stop me if I've told you this story before3a. Because here's what happened: It was the morning of the Saturday that we were leaving for the Poconos to visit with Teh 'Bro and Teh S-i-L; I was rushing to finish the post I was writing so that I could upload it before we left so I'd have Saturday's promised post done, because I'm nothing if not diligent and yes, I know, that pretty much means I'm nothing. I had two tabs open in Firefox: one in blogger, where I was working on my post; the other open to Google Reader, to see if any of you slackers, who post maybe two, three times a week3b, had posted anything new. You hadn't because ... see footnote 3b, below. So I logged out of Google Reader, stupidly forgetting that it would also log me out of Blogger3c because Google now owns and controls access to every virtual thing in the world and now makes even Micro$oft look like a Corporate Pussy when it comes to not sharing and monopolizing stuff and making crappy products and stop thinking what it would be like to Do It wit a a Corporate Pussy because I'm not finished with my story yet. (Still, doing it with a Corporate Pussy? I bet that would be Teh Awesome!) But so then there I was, blithely typing away in Blogger, not letting it register that the whole while, Blogger was trying to tell me "attempt at saving failed". If I even noticed that message, which is unlikely, probably all I thought was "Geez, now even Blogger is telling me that another Big Wall Street Financial Institution has gone under! NICE JOB, OBAMA3d!1!" (Because I like to think the economy was just zippy till January 20, 2009, because I'm a fucktard.) But what I didn't quite grok was that, when I clicked the "edit post" tab in Blogger to navigate away from the page I thought I had just saved, I lost the like 6 paragraphs I'd typed since logging out! And these weren't like Dr. Nic-type bullet point "paragraphs", either. These were Glaven paragraphs, with like twenty sentences each, chock full of verbs and adjectives and stuff, and the word "like" repeated like 50 times in each sentence! All, like, lost!
Upshot: No post that Saturday. Then: stayed up till 1:30 that night/morning drinking beer with Teh 'Bro, so no post Sunday, either, because ... um ... it somehow didn't seem a priority.
3a O, wise up, Jethro! I already know I've told you this story before! Did you really think telling me that I had would stop me? When has it ever?
3b Pfffttt! Posting Pussies!
3c So in a sense, this was all your fault. Man up and admit it! Pussies! The question isn't, Why do I post so much? It's Why don't YOU post more? Pussies!1!
3d So in another sense, this was all Obama's fault. O, I was willing to look the other way when you CRAMMED SOCIALISM DOWN MY THROAT, Barry, but this ... THIS is too much!1! SHOW ME YOUR PAPERS, ALIEN!1!
Hahaha! It's fun going all Arizona on Teh Kenyan in Chief's ass!1!
4 There's only one danger here. See, the reason I post at least once a day, seemingly compulsively, is it keeps me busy. The danger, when I don't post, is that I might go back and start critically reading earlier posts of mine and then, then, comes the inevitable forehead-smacking moment when I realize how badly written they are; and at first I start to think, Well, that's okay, they can be salvaged; I can fix them ... And so it begins. Because I know where that road leads because there's the sign post right up ahead: This Way To Mass Deletion Acres, Where Old Posts Go to Meet Their Personal Death Panels. And then it's like, Jebus! Wouldn't it be easier, and more humane, just to delete the whole blog? But it doesn't have to be that way! Nobody reads the archives anyway; I know that — those old posts have already corrupted all the minds they're ever gonna corrupt; "fixing" them now is like putting a condom on after ... wait, that's gross. When I see that simile in the archives, I'll definitely fix it. But you get my point, which is this:
Put your condoms on before you fuck. Yes, condoms — plural. Better make it two or three because why take chances? I myself have shot a few across the room when I ...
Wait, that's even grosser. I'll fix it at some indeterminate time in the future when I'm trolling through my archives. It's a good thing I didn't finish that thought, though, because if I had told you how far across the room I shot the condom I'd then have to tell you how far the girl went, too, which was a little farther because, yeah, I'm like a firehose.
And that would be the grossest thing of all.
5 To be precise, B*tch, my birthday is May 15. Yeah, I'll be 50. So if any of you out there are thinking of getting me something, my condom size is XX-Large (this info should enable you to estimate my shoe and glove size, too); I'm Irish (this info should tell you all you need to know to estimate my @$$ size, which is XX-small); and my turn-ons include: Women who like small-@$$ed men wearing nothing but XX-large condoms; and raccoon-eyed morning whoo-wers in circa-1980s black nylon stockings ... who like small-@$$ed men wearing nothing but XX-large condoms.