Last night I dreamt that I owned a huge, gorgeous two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan. For a New Yorker, this was better than any sex dream.
Well, I am officially registered for the UPMC Health Plan way overpriced Pittsburgh Half Marathon. See you in May. *goes back to watching TV while mechanically transferring pretzel M&Ms from the bag to my mouth at a steady pace*
My training what? *turns to look at you again, confused* Training plan? You mean I have to TRAIN for a half marathon? This is bullshit. Why don’t they warn you when you try to sign up?
My package of cheese says “Easy open.” I need more obstacles between me and cheese, not less.
I have been in the Port Authority/Greyhound bus terminal less than 5 minutes and have already heard “Someone urinated all over the floor over there.” *stamps foot* I hate it here. (The bus terminal, not New York.)
I sent my mom an e-mail telling her about a childhood friend who got pregnant with the subject line “Guess who’s pregnant?” She writes back, ‘Darn, I thought maybe it was you, though I was hoping you wouldn’t tell me via e-mail.’
Oh man, Mom, I hate to break it to you, but I am so far from having a kid on so many levels.
*celibately eats a candy bar and party pizza for dinner that I bought with my last five dollars before I get paid*