If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give, Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is.

(Yes, those ARE Spice Girls lyrics up there. I think it is about time
for a reunion album.)

My body does not appreciate the daily routine of fifty minute runs,
500 lunges, one zillion sit-ups, 100 push-ups, and other exploitation
by super fun-looking machines at the fitness center. It tells me that
it does not like it by making me an insomniac and also by refusing to
be hungry even when I spend an hour preparing dinner. Then there is
the inability to extend the arms past a certain point, which becomes
quite a challenge when dressing ones self.

Doesn't it know what I am doing for it? Doesn't it realize the amount
of internal mental coercion required to run in place for fifty entire
minutes? No no no. It does not appreciate the sacrifice of
frappawhatevers and chocolate and cookies and beer. Not one bit.

But this is all okay, because this is a game of mind over matter. In
eighteen or so days I must be able to steal at least four girls'
boyfriends, acquire twenty or more telephone numbers, and most
important of all, not pay for a single drink. It will be my birthday
and I will need to look stunning (hence the marathon-like training).
If you live in the M/SP area and would like to participate in the
festivities, they will be lasting all week from the 23rd to whenever I
die of alcohol poisoning and you are invited. You don't even have to
give me your boyfriend, be my boyfriend, share your phone number, or
buy me a drink. You can just hang out with my hilarious friends and
watch me kill my liver. Besides, I will probably pay for YOUR drinks
since I am known to be abnormally generous when I consume alcohol.
Like the one time I gave the cab driver fifty dollars for a ten dollar
ride and said keep the change.