There’s something cozy and reassuring about a woodwind sextet on a cool, overcast day

I just discovered that my SnoreLab (née Sleep APPnea) app makes soothing bedtime sounds!

Except both “Rain” and “Light rain” sound like a thousand woodpeckers of death trying to shatter my windows. And “Pink noise” sounds like white noise that shrieks and three-snaps at me. So I’m going to try falling asleep to the dulcet sounds of “Waterfall.” And I’ll hope that while I’m avoiding the horrors of slaughterhouse woodpeckers and three-snap okrrrrrr sounds, I don’t wet the bed.

I hate to brag, but I now have a snore score and you don’t

I’m kinda disappointed that nothing I did last night qualified as epic, but in my defense it was my first time. Plus it was a weeknight and I need to be responsible.

Also: You know how once you’re older than 30 you can’t wait to get to sleep every night? Well, add your first SnoreLab recording session to the equation and that excitement TRIPLES. Last night was the most awesome night I’ve had getting into bed in years. We pentagenarians still know how to party hardly (oops—HEARTY) once the lights go off.

I would have called this download Sleep APPnea

but nobody asked for MY freely offered marketing expertise. Rude.

Anyway.

In the absence of a patient but long-suffering boyfriend to keep awake with my woodchopper snoring, I’m forced to sleep—IN SIN!—with this not-creepy app running in the background to record and chart my snoring so my doctor can monitor the efficacy of my super-expensive anti-APPnea (SEE HOW CLEVER THAT IS?) custom dental appliance.

So I’ll be sleeping with a mouthful of jaw-realigning plastic while my phone secretly records every noise in my bedroom. WHICH ARE THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF ALL LEADING WHAT-ARE-YOU-LOOKING-FOR-IN-A-PARTNER CRITERIA ON EVERY DATING SITE ON THIS AND ALL OTHER LONELYHEARTS-COLONIZED PLANETS EVER.

Indignities. They never end.

I have discovered an app called Meme Maker. The republic is no longer safe.

Who nose how this happened?

I somehow accidentally took this picture while my running app on my phone was tracking our 5K. Now you know what my nose looks like while I'm running. You're welcome.

3.37 miles right out of the gate!

So I've run this route that I mapped only in my head more times than I can remember, and I somehow convinced my lyin', gullible self that it was just under four miles. Now that NikePlus has humiliatingly debunked that once-sacred historical lie, at least I finally know I wasn't TOO off.

(And don't tell this to anyone I've implied to that I've been training outside, but this technically was my first run where I actually propelled myself through time and space on actual pavement; all my training so far this summer has been on an elliptical machine. I don't know why. It's just what I've been doing.)

Anyway, I just ran 3.37 miles at a 12:08 pace. Without stopping, which I don't normally count as good or bad since I've trained for all my half and full marathons with the Jeff Galloway run/walk training method. But for a first actual run I choose to see it as a good thing, seeing as how I'm running a 10K in two weeks. ACK!

Text slutty girls!

Though its $3.50 iPhone app doesn't do jack shit, Blogger.com tells me all kinds of things about my blog: how many hits it gets by day or week, what specific posts are being read and by how many people, what sites are directing traffic to mine ... and what specific search terms people are using when they find me on Google. Like the scholarly, wholesome, respectable search terms listed here:

OHMYGODDIDYOUKNOWABOUTTHIS?

Not did you know the fact that I'm a big screaming show-tune queen who reflexively bursts into the entire score of "On the Twentieth Century" every time someone inadvertently says "fiery pride" or "why, you filthy slu ... and so and so and so." And you'd be surprised how alt-often people inadvertently say those things around me. Not that I'd need them to; I'm so gay that when I was in grade school, every time the kids spun me around for Pin the Tail on the Donkey I turned into Wonder Woman. But somehow I wandered off topic here. That's odd. The point to this not-really-the-point paragraph is that pretty much everything on the playlist in this screen grab is a Broadway cast album. Except for the Hoodfellas "Raise Your Glass" remix, which really doesn't do much to underscore my feral masculinity either. Anyway, the point that I managed to derail only one sentence ago is that I bought all these Broadway cast albums -- plus about 7,492 more Broadway cast albums that don't fit on my screen -- using Amazon Prime. And my niece -- who's been here most of the afternoon niecesplaining and ITing all the forlornly misunderstood and unsynched and woefully underutilized Apple devices in our home -- just casually mentioned that I should download the Amazon Prime app and see what it does after I told her I had Amazon Prime, and within seconds HOLYSHITALLMYSHOWTUNESWEREATMYFINGERTIPS.

But before I go any farther with this narrative of childlike wonder over the magical marvels of modern technology, please note that I've been repeatedly using the phrase "Broadway cast album" and not "soundtrack" in my relentless insistence that I somehow might be gay. A soundtrack, for those of you who don't know that coriander makes the gravy grander, is for movies. A Broadway cast album, should you genuinely need me to Jakesplain it to you, is for football. (Kidding! It's for Broadway! Or is it?) Please memorize this distinction so you can self-righteously complain to the manager at Best Buy that "Soundtracks" is an overgeneralized, misleading and potentially emotionally scarring label for aggregating art like "On the Twentieth Century" with horrors like "Kickboxer IV: Butts Get Kicked."

Anyway!

The electronic world is a glorious and still-unexplored frontier of show tunes that are shipped to your door AND streamed to your phone on a free app (though the phone costs upwards of ten billion dollars). And today has been a day of emotionally fulfilling apotheosis of kicklining revelations on this topic. And it makes me very, very happy. But explaining it all to you makes me very, very not listening to my suddenly streaming show tunes. So so long and farewell and all that gay stuff.

Curse my new iPhone screen! CURSE IT!

Now that I can see stuff again, I've spent most of my evening downloading and entering all my personal information into apps I won't ever notice again until I have to delete them to make room on my phone for pictures and music downloads. So it's been a productive night. How was yours?