July 3, 2010
Journal, I have one fucking word for you.
Yesterday Roger told me I had to find a new 'physical activity class'. Apparently he found out I kept making the track and running coach cry. So I let the guy's shorts on fire a few dozen times, big deal. What a wimp.
When I asked Roger why I couldn't just quit gym, he said 'you must exercise the mind and the body'.
Hippie bullshit. Fuck you, John Mayer, my body is already a wonderland.
July 8, 2010
Yesterday I tried out the weight-lifting class. Let me tell you , watching nerds try to lift weights is the most fucking hilarious thing I've ever seen. I made of C so hard that I thought a vein in his forehead was gonna bust.
Wish it had. That would have been fucking sweet.
Instead I dropped the weight I was holding. On my toe.
And it was my favorite toe too. Fuck this class.
July 15, 2010
Roger suggested I try out yoga. I laughed so hard I nearly pissed myself. Turned out he was serious.
But hey, I thought, girls in yoga pants. What could be bad about that?
Guys in yoga pants. This is not okay. I need to go bleach my eyeballs now.
July 19, 2010
YES. I've found it. It's like the mother ship calling me home. Matt told me I should join boxing class. I ignored the part where he said that then I'd actually be able to hit him back.
So yeah, boxing.
AN ENTIRE SPORT BASED OFF OF HITTING PEOPLE. This is the most beautiful sentence that has ever been committed to paper. Tomorrow I'm gonna go punch the shit out of some people. And it will be entirely legal.
This is my best day of my life.
July 20, 2010
This is the worst day of my life. Matt told the boxing coach I was going to join. That fucker canceled class and FLED THE COUNTRY.
Who does that?
I mean, I just want to hit things. Is that so wrong?
July 26, 2010
It's nearly the end of the month, and I still haven't joined a sport. But hey, Roger can't be mad. I tried a shit-ton of them, just like he wanted. When he asked why I didn't join any of them, I gave him this list.
Swimming: Fuck you if you think I'm going to mess up my hair. You know how long it takes to look this good?
Tennis: I see no point in hitting things if it's not with my fist.
Basketball: Sweat. No.
He just sort of made that sound in his throat again. The one that he likes to make whenever he has to call me into his office. Kind of like a dying whale-puppy. Creepy.
Oh well. Maybe he's getting sick. That would be awesome. I could send him a get-well card. Full of bees.
July gets an 8 out of 10 in my book.
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