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June 19, 2007

1202: Sorry to disappoint.

The cuts on my knuckles aren't from any underground fighting organization in which I've secretly been participating on weekends.

They're from my job. Advertising is such a nasty business.

Just kidding.

I scraped my hand moving stuff around my parents' house last weekend. They've had a lot of work done, a lot of rooms re-painted, and consequently, they'd moved furniture and such.

Sorry to disappoint you. I would be in a fight club, wouldn't I? Living in this city seems to agitate the little crazy particles in my brain, and maybe joining a fight club would help release some of that tension.

Joining the gym didn't. Now I just want to grab the ankles of anyone who stays past the allotted 30 minutes on the treadmill. When his heavy mass comes slamming down onto the still-moving rubber (after his piggy face has been whacked against the control panel), I'll leap into the air and onto the treadmill, just barely missing his body as it's rocketed off the machine and onto that nasty gym floor. So, maybe a fight club is really what I need -- because the next time someone fails to wipe their bacteria-infested sweat off the machine... they're gonna get SERVED. (Did I mention that NYC has only increased my germ concerns? It has.)

Posted by ashley at June 19, 2007 11:31 AM

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