Wednesday, October 19, 2011

I want to eat your brains, but only if they're organic and grass-fed.

Ugh.  I just ate a tuna salad bed at 9:30 p.m.  I'm disgusting.  It wasn't even a good tuna salad sandwich!  It was made with the lite, fall-apart, "smart" white crap that you can't use with peanut butter because it will shred as soon as the knife hits it.  Plus, I used reduced fat mayo and way too little pickle relish.  But did that stop me from finishing it?  Of course not.  I choked down the whole thing, even with too big of bites that it gave me that heartburn feeling where it feels like the entire sandwich is lodged in your chest somewhere and it would have to be surgically removed later.

But aside from my horrific recipe, I still ate a freaking tuna sandwich IN BED at 9:30 at night!  What's wrong with me?  I kicked my own ass to the gym last night and tortured myself for an hour long cross-training session with an instructor who insisted on listening (and singing along) to Nickelback.  Seriously?  Nickelback?!  That's the worst band in the history of music--all of music, even in the animal kingdoms.  I'd rather listen to howler monkeys or a cat in heat.  Or a choir of howler monkeys and horny cats in an ensemble.  I wanted to cry, from the pain in my legs and my ears.

That's all.  I just had to share how nasty I've become since my husband went to Asia.

Today's subject line quote is from How I Met Your Mother (2005 TV Series)
Episode: Sorry, Bro (2009)

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