Pain, suffering, and DEEP LOVE

Monday, May. 08, 2006, 9:26 p.m.

You know that old saying, "Pain is beauty"? Yeah, well that can go ahead and kiss my poor bruised ASS MUSCLES, because I am in a LOT of pain, and I do NOT FEEL PRETTY.

As always, it's the Army's fault.

I did pass my P.T. test (a.k.a. "Physical Fitness Test of DOOOOOM," for those of you who are just now stumbling onto this page after Googling "hott sweaty army slutz" or whatever else you freaks come up with) this morning as a result of OH MY GOD THE PAIN, but seeing as how I just kind of barely passed -- and even still only narrowly escaped Death By Too Much Breathing Fast -- I'm not really all that proud of myself.

I mean, I did my run in about 19 minutes (NINETEEN. For me, this is more like running backwards, through mud, in flip-flops. Stoned.), and at the end, I actually hurled my body across the line and onto the ground. Seriously. Two people -- BIG people -- picked me up off the ground, and dragged me around like a crippled monkey until I could semi-comfortably breathe and walk at the same time.

But, I passed. Which means that although I still may have to participate in mandatory daily P.T., I won't actually be tested on it again for another six months.

In other news, I lost four pounds. Probably from my lungs.

So, guess who I went to see in concert this weekend?

Here's a hint:

YES! I went to see BOB! Again!

I have a deep love for Bob Dylan, people. I don't know where it came from; all I know is that it causes me to go to see him every single time he is playing anywhere near me, and sometimes far away. And it also causes me to buy Merchandise.

In fact, at the show last night, I was considering whether I really needed a t-shirt that cost thirty dollars and said (get ready for a shock, here) ... "BOB DYLAN." As I pondered, one of the Merchants O' Dylan approached me, and we had an actual conversation about the possible location of an invisible line between "loving Dylan" and "LOVING DYLAN." We both agreed we had fallen into that second category, and as I fought off the urge to holler, "I want to DO YOU, Bob!" during a moment of quiet between songs, I begrudgingly paid for my t-shirt.

Deep love, people. Deep. Love.

Before I go off in search of a giant vat of Icy Hot to bathe in, I have a couple Moments of Happiness to share with you.

The first one goes like this ...

I was sitting in the dayroom in the barracks (dayroom = large, ugly common room with pool table) watching a few of my buddies play poker, when two realizations struck me:

1) This room is very large and echo-y.
2) There is no music playing.

Taking immediate action, I burst out with, "The hiiiills are aliiiiiiiive!" in my best Fraulein Maria soprano.

Moment of Happiness

Three "dudes," all in their twenties, paused their poker game and SIMULTANEOUSLY boomed out, "WITH THE SOUND OF MUUUUUSIIIIIC" as a fourth in the background chimed in with "Aaah aah ah AAAAH!"

I swear to you, I almost burst with joy.

The second Moment of Happiness came to me today in the parking lot outside my office ...

Somewhere on Fort Stewpid (as I call my post), there is a person who paid cash money to look out at his driveway every morning and see this vehicle. And if that doesn't bring you a Moment of Happiness ... well, you're in with the wrong crew, my homey.

Speaking of my homeys -- if you want me to send you a Magical Mystery Mix CD for the Mix Chain Meme Thing, let me know. I know I said before that it was just the first person to comment who would get one, but hell, the more players of this particular game, the better. So holler back, yo!