My Fitbit logged my sleep! I know! I slept 8 hours and 21 minutes and woke up twice, once because I had a dream that I slid open the shower curtain and when I did, someone grabbed my neck and strangled me. Happy.
Fitbit did not say anything about that.
You know, it's exciting to have a device that records what I ate and how many calories I've burned and so on, but I'd really like a Fitbit to tell me things like what I need to stop obsessing about, and am I living up to my potential, and what's my rating on a scale of 1-10. Have I still got it?
Maybe I don't want Fitbit to tell me that.
In related 1-to-10 news, you know how you guys say I don't know anyone ugly?
Well, I can finally debunk that myth. Meet my hideous coworker, Austin.
I've worked with him for awhile, but really didn't talk to him that often till they moved us this last time and now we're in the same room. As soon as we had even a modicum of knowledge of each other, I was all, "I'm putting you in my blog." Poor Austin, who is relatively normal, was like, "Um. Okay."
What kills me about this particular picture is he took it while out with his wife and kids at Christmastime (yes, of course his wife is hot, too, what did you think?) and his friends all gave him shit on Facebook for being a Mr. Handsome and looking vaguely like a criminal, here. They did things like this to his picture.
I think I love his friends.
Anyway, that's Austin. So you can shut up now about me not knowing any ugly people. I took him in just to seem deeper.
And finally, in summary, have you seen this woman from Saturday Night Live? I just discovered her yesterday and I'm dying. Below, here's her impression of Justin Bieber.
I am dead. Am typing you from the ground.
Finally, and didn't I already say finally? Yesterday was the coldest ding-dang day,
(Yes, I DO use Weather Whiskers as my weather app. What about it?), but it was also Elvis's 80th birthday, and they were showing Viva Las Vegas at the old movie theater.
They gave us all leis, and you got to pick your own color. Also, hello, front-facing camera. Wow, you're good. Every detail, captured. Oh, did I mention I'm an Impressionist painting now?
Viva Ned's attitude.
The whole point of the movie appeared to be Ann-Mrgt and her lack of letters in her name dancing with as few clothes on as possible, and as frenetically as possible. Here, I can do am impresh for you. Just imagine I'm hot and young and have red hair and not enough letters in my name.
Iris. Unimpressed.
Speaking of Iris, after the movie, we came home and made a fire, which I'd like to say I sat in front of, but I was trying to get my 10,000 steps in to please my master Fitbit, so I paced in front of the fire instead.
But Iris did what you're supposed to do in front of a fire, mostly because Iris doesn't have a Fitbit. Yet. "You slept 22 hours and 52 minutes today!"
Okay, Jn, out.
