That post-workout feeling.

Let it be known: when I get a tremoundous workout in, and my bones and mind ache from the inflicted pain, I want to eat like a fat, 40-year-old woman with four kids after catching her husband in bed with another woman.

I want to eat bon-bons with Peggy Bundy.

I want to eat like John Candy in The The Great Outdoors.

Just terrible stuff too. Ice cream by the gallon, with potato chips. Bring me to BJ's right now and I'll eat a vat of butter. A vat.

And I want to sleep. Like Shaivo -- pre-death, post-good-looking.

I want to sleep like a bear in November, like a chloroformed waitress in a nightclub.

Like W after this second term is over, and wish the past eight years never happened.

I want to sleep like Christian Bale in The Machinest.

This is how I feel today, and yet, I won't get to eat or sleep like I fully want to.

So depressing.

Thing I did while bored today:
Cut my toe nails.

Question of the Day:
Do sausage, egg and cheese sandwiches from Dunkin Donuts give me the 'ria? Or just everyone else?

Random things I want to learn today:
1. If somebody asks you how your day is going and you reply, "Just livin' the dream," and then consequently looks at you and your sloppiness, and has that if-that's-his-dream-martin-luther-king-just-rolled-in-his-grave-look, THEN you have the right to be aggressive.
2. I hope I never get put in charge of buying groceries for my future-family. I changed my mind four times today trying to buy a loaf of bread.
3. In sequels, the general rule is this: Drama - you need to watch the prequel; Action - no need. There's no necessary information letting you know how awesome explosions are.
4. Axl Rose still can have my kids.
5. I've never gotten a text from a coach, but it's going to be odd to read something "flirty" then read, "Adrienne Caido had 101 aces, 199 kills and 200 digs."