They came to the archives and all that was written on them was “alto.”
Tip for you from me: Before you toss the boxes full of fragile materials down any which way, you may want to do a google translate on the word “alto.”
I just spent the past 2.5 hours cleaning.
I mean, really cleaning.
Mopping the shit out of every mop-able surface.
Sit down to relax and enjoy my coffee.
Cat. Pukes. Fucking. Everywhere.
No, no, these are tears of joy that I get to do it alllll over again.
I’m so glad Mike’s coworkers/boss got to see my side effect-induced chest rash tonight.
I tried to drink enough that they would notice my obnoxiousness more. It may have worked.
I’m laying on the couch and the kitten turns around 10 times,
settles down to cuddle,
Playin’ the cello.
way to fuck up my friday night.
brb, shivering under blankets despite 90 degree weather.
“Why the hell are you worried about your weight? Right, so number of pounds-wise, it’s a little high for your height. So? You look perfect. You’re adorable.
Also, you can’t walk around the block without wheezing. When you have the energy to walk around the block in the first place, which can’t be often.
Of course you’re going to gain weight while you can’t exercise. But, you’re going to be able to exercise so much more soon. And if you lose weight? Great. Good job. If you don’t? That’s okay too. Other than your bronchial tubes deciding they want to be the overlord of your being, you’re totally healthy.
God, you 30 year olds are just so sensitive about everything. Go have a glass of wine. Or, well, wait till noon. Doctor’s orders.”
I have a full physical in an hour and a half.
I’m dreading it, cause I know she’s going to bring up my weight. And it will make me feel crappy.
At first I thought I’d tell her that it’s going in the right direction, blah blah blah.
That answer still made me stressed.
So now I think I’m just going to say:
Yeah, but I’m still pretty freakin’ cute.
I just took my first dose of yet ANOTHER asthma drug.
This should go swimmingly. Not that I can swim. I’d get too out of breath.
not post fucking pictures to fucking tumblr.
There’s a reason one of us is at the store buying the other chocolate.
I get to blame things on hormones.
You do not.
Valuable lesson learned.
See you in DC, Jon Stewart.
Mike is also going on his honeymoon with his imaginary boyfriend. He hopes you’re bringing the nipple clamps, Stephen.
Most romantic honeymoon ever.