Today's pedometer reading: 4815 Steps
Not much walking was done today by the guy wearing the trousers that hold the pedometer. I need to keep my numbers up. With these 4 digit results I won't be able to rationalize my really irrational sweet tooth binge behavior of late. I tell myself I as plow through ice cream or cookies or vending machine candy bars that I am "walking it off." Not at 4815 steps, I ain't.
Dream swirl like on Bewitched: I am sitting in the finest cubicle success can achieve in a laundered shirt, boxers and a tie that says "Got Milk?" with titles of obscure indie films push-pinned all over one wall of my cube. I hold three darts as I lean back on my chair to give myself some distance. "Ah, now that I have made it in scheduling in the Big Apple, I got some poor intern walking around Manhattan in MY PANTS making my pedometer really rack up the numbers. This is the LIFE!! HahhHaahhahhahhhhh!" - mad maniacal Hollywood laugh as cookie crumbs fall from my mouth while I throw a dart which hits a piece of paper that says "Ai no corrida" on it
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