It’s super hot, so I’ve been really very happy about that. I mean, I’m simply glistening with
sweat, frustration, the blood of my enemies happiness. I’ve certainly not been snapping at everyone who comes within a fifteen-foot range of me, lashing out like some sort of pre-menopausal velociraptor. (do velociraptors even go through menopause? If so, should it happen when one is in their late-twenties/early thirties? Probably not, right? I should probably be concerned. Meh. I’ll just drink more water, I’m sure that will take care of it.)
Seriously, though. I have one hell of a workout on deck for today, but with the heat, do you know what I DON’T want to do? Get even more sweaty. In fact, that seems like the worst possible idea ever. Do you remember when Mel Gibson decided to re-make Hamlet? Working out today seems like a worse idea than that. Remember when you were in college and you told yourself that nothing could possibly go wrong if you did that keg stand after you had dental surgery, and then you woke up on a pool table dressed up as a Franciscan nun wearing fishnet tights and a sheer habit? Yeah. Worse than that, and that was pretty bad, my friends.
Alas, I’ve never been known for my better judgement (read:some of my educational choices…I have a mile of letters after my last name, and I’m an actor…) Therefore, I shall be heading into my gym tonight, not ready, barely willing, yet totally able to work out. If it gets really hot, I may have a fantastic hallucination to tell you about tomorrow!
Until then? COOKIES.
Hello, did you scamps think I’d forget Sunday Sweet? Hell no. Alas, these are “healthier”, but only a teeeeeeny bit. They’re like the topless girl at a totally-nude beach. They’re third base. They’re jack and diet coke.
Gluten-Free, Dairy-Free, Damn Delicious
Peanut Butter Bananaberry Cookies