Pain pain paaaain ... pain of fooools

I was under the impression that once I passed my Physical Fitness Test (thus proving that I was not probably going to spontaneously collapse into a gelatinous heap, I suppose), I would no longer be bound to that tool of Satan, the Mandatory Physical Fitness Session of Gayness.

Well, I was wronger than truckload of dead babies about that one (hi, freakish Googlers! Move along, now!), because due to Night Boss and his Dazzling Display of Logical Reasoning (good name for a second-rate jazz band, dontcha think?), I should, "Hmmm ... just go anyway."

I've still managed to avoid it pretty well, thanks to my ever-deepening well o' excuses (i.e., "My alarm clock didn't go off," "I went there, and nobody showed up, so I left," "I had cramps" --showstopper!), but today I guess my imagination died, because I ended up "just going anyway." Dammit.

There were three (3) of us.

Three.

Tres.

Tre.

Trois.

Ee-thray.

THREE FUCKING PEOPLE.

And I was one of them. Thanks, Night Boss! I'm sure glad you're more of an idiot than the bosses of all but THREE PEOPLE.

So, yeah, we ran around the base of The Hill. That's short for The Only Hill In Iraq, And It Has Thirty Jillion Fucking Signal Towers On It Which Will Make Us All Sterile.

It's only a mile around, but since my legs still haven't fully recovered from the Plunge of Idiocy (I know! I told you guys it was bad ... my thighs are still fucking maroon from the bruising), I was in a decent amount of pain.

I was able to tell when we quickened the pace, because instead of feeling "ow ... ow ... ow ..." it became more like, "ow, ow, ow, ow, let's, slow, down, ow." And that was fun.

What I'm trying to say is, if you guys can think of any good excuses for me to skip this bullshit on Wednesday, then Friday, then Monday, and so on ... please, don't be shy.

:::::

Husband is keeping himself busy at home:

I got your car to stop making that really awful noise it had been making. Ijust had to tighten a few things. Im not sure if you got to here it when youwere here but it was pretty bad. I think it was doin it before you left ondeployment. Anyway thank Hey-Suse that I aint gotta hear that nomore.

That sound (it was like a whhiiirrrclunnkwhiirrsccrrrclunkwhhirrrsputtersputterDIE) had been pissing me the fuck off ever since the last road trip Husband and I took back in January, till I came over here and immediately forgot about it.

But it's nice to know that poor little Bruce (yes, my car's name is Bruce. He's a drag queen. What?) is once again happy and in reasonably good health, for his 135,000 miles.

And in THREE AND A HALF MONTHS I get to drive him again! Thank Hey-Suse!