Hold the Intervention

But keep it close by, just in case - for the theme of summer 2011 has been that of an epic battle of wills between Princess Athleticor VS. Queen Fatty of Utter-Piece-of-Shitdom.

  VS 

The queen is winning, but I'm hoping Thunder Thighs up there on the left still has some fight left in her.

I'm exceptionally lazy in every imaginable aspect of my meager existence - and this includes this dreadful blogging exercise - so I'm not going to recount my mundane life over the past month for fear of driving all three of my readers to suicide. Reader's digest version: I will not have not quit drinking (by any means), but I've reunied with the gym and today, oh today, I bladed a delectable 10 kilometers! (That's just over six miles for my one American reader).

By no means is any of this worthy of even the slightest bit of praise. But at the very moment I am writing this, I could be tearing into a frozen pizza. Instead, I'm sitting here talking to my computer, waiting for a Greek salad to arrive.

And trying not to think about how miserable and starving-god-damn-hungry I am.

Fuck my life.