An endocrinologist recently revealed to me that I have the metabolism of a door knob. I keep track of what I eat, and I've been averaging around 1,000 calories a day for the last 5 weeks. For a fellow of my girth, I should be losing weight, or so I thought. So now I have to increase my metabolism. If you have any amphetamines, contact me.
In lieu of that, however, I've purchased a Freestyle digital pedometer (as opposed to the 45 pound analog pedometer). It has many features...too many. I just want to monitor my heart rate, but this thing does temperature, steps taken, calories burned, thighs chaffed, etc. I've yet to program it, and last night this fuckin' thing beeped loudly every 20 minutes or so. Perhaps it was nagging me to get my fat ass out of bed. That could be one of the features.
At around 4am I gave up all hope of sleeping. As I was sitting at my computer, I was hit with an insistent beep. Instead of taking out a tiny screwdriver and taking the battery out, I ever so gently stuffed it into a rubber vagina given to me by a friend several months ago. It muffled it perfectly (muffled!), but unfortunately it took me almost a half hour to get it out, a task that I just now finished. So it spent almost 5 hours in there. When you spend 25 minutes trying to dislodge something from a purple rubber vagina you're bound to have a moment of existential angst. That's just common sense.
But it was all worth it. The pedometer doesn't beep anymore, it sits silently on my desk, it's spirit broken. Thus I have established that I am the alpha-thing in my bedroom. I take no guff. If any other electronic devices misbehave, they're going right into the hole.
Mercy but I'm odd.
No comments:
Post a Comment