so about that beach...

In the same breath that I praised the beach - I'll curse it.

I climbed on my old friend the treadmill today and was met with the hip hop tunes of the Backstreet Boys on my iPod. As if that wasn't painfully reminiscent enough - sharp pains began shooting down my shins. Hellooooooo shin splints! As if things couldn't get worse....

You see - deep inside I was disappointed with myself. I had watched an "I'm-getting-older-and-things-are-hurting-and-aching-and-sagging" special on Oprah and was beginning to think that 25 was the beginning of a loooooong road of Icy Hot, colonoscopies, and decreased libido. "Heck," I thought - "I haven't even been given the option to exercise my libido yet!" As if these thoughts weren't humiliating enough - I suddenly felt a slight wave of flatulence coming on.

Oh - don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. We all fart. Poot. Cut the cheese. Pass Gas. Toot. Whatever term your mother deemed permissible. It's a very natural thing.

So - I'm running and my iPod is blaring. I'm pondering such deep thoughts as: did I not say hi to someone in the hallway because I have crappy peripheral vision when I wear my glasses and I couldn't see him/her? I hope they don't think I'm stuck up! crrrrap - I don't think I called that guy back about that retarded luncheon tomorrow...

Suddenly - I feel the reverberations of aforementioned flatulence off of the cinder block walls. I want to look around and see if anyone heard - but that would immediately incriminate myself. The second problem is this: I have no idea if it was a noisy little bugger or not because my stupid iPod was blaring, "Show me the meaning of being looonely...Is this the feeling I need to walk with?"

and just like that... my world comes crashing down around me. I had kept it afloat for almost four hours. A record for the month of March.