Unless Angelina Jolie decides to give birth to the Lords of the New World Order on Friday, I’ll see you guys on Saturday. I’ll be celebrating my country’s independence on Friday. And by “celebrating my country’s independence” I of course mean “drinking.”
As I was heading out to the ER, my wonderful friend Laura called and told me to go to a podiatrist instead. I called a nearby one, explained my situation, and they said they could get me in today. Which they did. It was a very fancy office with very fancy X-ray equipment and I have a very fancy broken foot. And now I am wearing this very fancy monstrosity.
As my mother pointed out to me while I was whimpering to her on my drive home from the doctor (“Mom, this is not fashion-forward!”), this is my very first real injury. Hooray! I popped my bone-injury cherry! Up next: anal sex!
This means I can no longer do my boot camp or my volleyball or all the new exercise stuff that I was finally getting into. My mom’s like, “God always has a plan with these things,” and I was like, “Yes, Mom, God has made it very clear that he does not want me to exercise.” I am destined to marry a man who likes his women a little soft in the tummy. So long, Greg Plitt fantasy.
Anyway, if you’re still reading this, you really shouldn’t be. Get out and enjoy your long weekend. That’s what I’m going to hobble off and do!
I’m not sure yet if Megan is totally single or if she’s just called off the wedding plans, but no doubt it occurred to her at some point that she’s a super-hot up-and-coming starlet and he’s Brian Austin Green. Yeah.