January farts

…And just like that, there’s an active crime scene blocking off Atlantic Avenue, where I walk to get to the train.

In order to maintain the buoyant feeling of the first few days of January, I’m doing my best to appreciate the little things:

  • The triumph of the single-occupancy bathroom (AKA the pooping bathroom) at work being blissfully empty when I covertly check while strolling casually by.
  • Seeing a movie by my own damn self because who the fuck wants to share popcorn, really? Plus, no one I know wants as much fake butter on their popcorn as I do.
  • Realizing that I can get a fantastic core workout from doing the Pee Wee Herman dance. I should start my own exercise video, except it will just be this gif:
    Seriously, try it! I’m gonna make a million bucks.

It’s been a long week, as post-vacation tends to be. Pro tip: don’t stray from eating vegetables for a week and a half and then return with gusto to five servings a day. I’m learning that lesson the hard way. It is, however, enabling me to practice farting on command so that, in the future, when creepy dudes are leering at me, the sexual attraction and disgust centers of their brains will forge a new connection, never to be separated. From now on, whenever someone farts, a new erection will be born.


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