When I get a job, I will go back to posting only once a day. Until then, I expect you, Loyal Reader, to scroll through all NINE of my daily posts without hesitation. Thank you for allowing me this brief period of extreme verbal vomit.

Now, I will go forward with this evening's post. Michael and I have decided for the sake of posterity and my posterior, we must begin exercising. The other day, I discovered a tennis court in our apartment complex, which is very small (that is, the apartment complex). I watched in amazement as some lithe girl and her muscular boy-toy volleyed bright yellow balls back and forth at one another. Both were smiling and laughing and not really sweating. Both looked like an ad for toothpaste or something. I mentioned this to Michael and he said, "Oh, I've got some tennis rackets." So, we made it over to the tennis courts after dinner.


Does this image give you any idea of what I must look like on the tennis court? First of all, I've never played this silly game before, so my hand-eye coordination is lacking. I miss balls by about three feet. Secondly, my wrist is just plain sore. Thirdly, this strange substance broke out on my neck. I think it's called sweat. Fourthly, there is a lot of RUNNING involved in this game.

Michael, having played before, went easy on me. He GENERALLY kept the ball going under 100 miles per hour and KINDA SORTA kept the ball aimed at me. However, there were many a 'volley' interspersed with cussing, grunting, and overall boohooing. We gave in after an hour. Our legs (all four) are quite chafed and in need of baby powder. Of course, after a solid fifteen minutes of this ridiculous, pointless activity, I craved a cigarette. Unfortunately, I did not bring them with me to the court. Finally, we made it home. My fingers are so swollen with blood and exertion, I can barely type.

I headed over to Monkey's page, one of my favorite's, and saw that Monkey's Human and Calzone's Man own one fabulous yellow European car. Because having a yellow car is a sign of great intelligence and good taste, I thought I would show off Michael's car. He's the one with intelligence and good taste. I'm quite stupid compared to him, and resemble Rosanne Barr in most things. Don't get so excited. So, here is the car rally. Michael's car versus My Car. We both drive sticks. Both are two liter engines. One is a helluva lot faster than the other. I'll let you figure out which one.











FOCUS SVT VROOOOM!!!! Scion Xa cute.
These are our little meep-meeps! We enjoy them.