I’m at my three-month nephrology checkup to monitor any potential kidney damage from my psych and various other meds

My kidney doctor’s office ALWAYS has HGTV playing in the waiting room, so every time I talk about my pee (oops ... creatinine) I hate the countertops and I think the en-suite is too small.

Also: boat anchor shorts!

Also: super-expensive-super-awesome adidas x Raf Simons sneaks that were super-super-mega-super 75% on sale!

Also: adidas doesn’t capitalize its name, lest you think I’d EVER make a fashion typo!

My name’s Jake, and I’m (mildly) dilated to meet you

The scheduling fates lined me up with back-to-back (hot) doctor appointments this morning. I’ve gone from getting my hot-dermatologist stitches out to getting a hot-ophthalmologist vision baseline as a follow-up to my (fully dilated) migraine visit a month ago. And while Hot Ophthalmologist an awesome band name, both hot doctors have wedding rings and photos of their wives and kids in their offices. Which means we won’t be scheduling any cake tastings for the wedding reception just yet. Plus being dilated has made it profoundly challenging to type this. So please excuse any lipos.

Huh.

It turns out that when you suddenly no longer have EXACTLY 42 MINUTES AND NOT A SECOND MORE to squeeze in a plausible workout between work and rehearsals or shows, you’ll lollygag and futz around and get to the gym an hour later than you’d planned and you’ll stretch your (expanded, to be fair) workout to almost two hours. BUT! You’ll have a whole new pile of fresh meat—oops: fresh inspiration. sorry. typo.—preventing you from taking a passable stealthfie.

Also! Not not to brag, but I just jumped up to 80 lb dumbbells on the incline press and the 80 lb barbell on skull crushers (which, if you do them right, do not, in fact, crush your skull). I may be a Peter Procrastinator tonight, but I also feel like a big ol’ Mike Monster.

Doing back, shoulders and biceps makes me all shaky and affects my typinf

I’m still writing B.C. on my checks

I’m still writing B.C. on my checks. And I’m not even sure I’m Y2K compliant. New Years are rough for me.

M-ICY!

1. I’ve been kind of smug in my good luck regarding never having run in extreme weather all summer.
2. Well, THAT sure changed this morning.
3. Brrrrrrr.
4. My typing thumb is so cold right now that it’s hard to type with any accuracu.
5. Cheap joke.
6. Anyway.
7. trump is a catastrophic-dumpster-fire piece of shit.
8. Whoops! Where did THAT come from?
9. Anyway.
10. When I bought this Mickey shirt, it hugged my arms and shoulders in manly-man ways.
11. Now it hangs on me like a Mayan burial gown on an immolated corpse.
12. Not that I think the Mayans begowned their dead AFTER they burned them.
13. But I like the imagery and rhythm of line item #11.
14. So I stand by my reporting.
15. Anyway.
16. Deflated showoff muscles and drapey T-shirts are what happens when you stop lifting 3+ times a week and start running 3+ times a week.
17. Poor, poor me.
18. But I have another half marathon looming in five weeks—and I plan to finish this one—so run I must.
19. And shrink I will.
20. Just like this morning.
21. Three miles. 11:32 pace. TINY twinge of knee pain.
22. Not much body-shrinking sweat though.
23. Because it was freezing.
24. Brrrrrrrr.
25. Gratuitous typo jokd.
26. Random mention of running buddies Rob and Scott.
27. I have to pee now.
28. TMI.
29. So you’re getting only 30 line items today.
30. You’re welcome.

Remember how I said my knee was sore and it would probably become a problem and I would bitch about it on here when it did?

I AM NOW BITCHING.

We ran about a quarter of a mile this morning before I decided my knee hurt too much for me to push it and maybe make it worse. So thank goodness Scott ran three miles without us yesterday and Rob had car troubles and couldn’t join us this morning so I don’t feel like I wasted anyone’s time and effort.

Well, not thank goodness about Rob’s car troubles; car troubles suck. But thank goodness he wasn’t here; he’s a tedious bore and all he ever talks about is grapes and owls. I mean I’m glad I didn’t cause him an unnecessary drive to join us for what ended up being a two-and-three-quarters-mile walk. That first part was a typo.

Also: I forgot to wear my awesome-o running watch this morning, which undoubtedly contributed to my knee pain. Stupid watch.

Anyway, we took our didn’t-running selfie in front of this cracked, brittle old stick wreath, which is the perfect metaphor for the circle of our friendship. Plus it’s round, so if you squint really hard it kinda looks like a human head, which in turn kinda looks like a semi-plausible maybe-ish stand-in for Rob. Plus if you squint really hard you could also strain your optic nerve, and I’ve always thought Strain Your Optic Nerve would make a great band name. Or not.

Plus ignore that CD that’s tucked in the wreath. It’s filled with high-definition scanned photos for a book I’m editing. Apparently nobody was home when my scanning guy dropped it off. And apparently I forgot to check for it when I knew he was dropping it off. TWO DAYS AGO. I blame my knee.

Stupid knee.

My hair is SO! ON! POINT! right now

Oops—I mean SO! POINTY! right now. Sorry. Typo.

And you have three more opportunities to see its relentless verticalness in person. So get your Fuddy Meers tickets NOW!