The irony of this situation kills me.

In an attempt at self-improvement after months of lethargic bliss, I swore to myself last night that I would return to a regular exercise regimen.

I trudged to the health club this afternoon, and in the locker room, made a point to stretch every limb and muscle in my body, so as to avoid (or at least allay) the inevitable cramps and soreness of not having exercised in ages.

I climbed on the treadmill and did a steady 15 minutes of brisk, uphill power-walking before breaking into a run. I suppose I grew a bit overzealous, and eventually worked up a sprint, when my keys jiggled out of the treadmill's tray.

Stopping the machine, I stepped off the machine's conveyor floor to pick up my keys. As soon as I stood up, everything faded to black, and I felt my body convulsing violently on the floor in a motion reminiscent of a seizure.

I finally woke up with blurry vision, trying to remember where I was. I managed to stand up, and, staggering, moaning, and panting the whole way, dragged my cut-up, bruised body back to the locker room. Why no one noticed anything, I know not; I suppose seeing half-conscious, agonized individuals wandering the halls is a normal sight among health nuts at the gym.

Fast forward to three hours later, I'm in the ER. Not epileptic, pregnant, or ill, just totally healthy. I didn't have a seizure, my head just lacked oxygen and blood flow as a result of physical overexertion.

In short: I try to get healthy, but then my body tells me to fuck off, and I end up in the hospital. Something tells me it's way easier (and less painful) just to be squishy.

Goddammit I hate adult fanatic Harry Potter fans.

I went to Border's today to pick up a copy of Gore Vidal's "Clouds and Eclipses," which I'd been itching to read for the past few weeks. When I stepped into the (rather long) line to pay, I noticed that everyone--everyone else standing in it was ardently clutching the new Harry Potter book, and nothing else. A middle-aged lady behind me was immersed in conversation with another 20-something girl, discussing how much more "poetic" Rowling's writing grew by book.

What a sad, sad world in which we live. The one book people finally do read is a children's book, and every non-child who takes it seriously (I.E. who dresses up for premieres, who is on edge at every "harrowing" plot twist, who claims affiliation with a fictional school's dormitories) is either stupid, or only keeps up because everyone else does. But it's usually both.

I'll bet anyone five bucks that today and yesterday were first time in years that half of all Harry Potter fans nationwide have set foot in a bookstore.

I feel embarrassed just looking at this picture. Really.

Seen during 6 hour layover in the D.C. airport:

I wish I had the balls to take pictures, but I didn't.

1. My high school's quarterback whose name I couldn't remember for the life of me. This is the same guy who proudly told me at a party senior year that he "got the section's [football] trophy, and was now going to get some pussy." In the airport we shared a double-take, a confused stare, and an awkward moment.
2. Intense-looking soldier in complete desert camouflage drab and heavy-duty hiking backpack, slurping on a bright pink smoothie while leafing through a women's magazine at the magazine stand.
3. Man who seems to have consumed fatal amounts of carotene in a short span of time; his face has a bright orange hue, and he has neon yellow hair and beard.
4. The most adorable family in the history of life: everyone has their nose in a book, and mother and son hold hands on occasion while the older sister smiles at what she's reading.
5. Frizzy-haired woman clothed head to foot in cheetah-print spandex, sitting next to me and looking eagerly over my shoulder at every word I type.
6. The Crocodile Hunter, in the flesh, sprinting to catch his flight.
7. Middle-aged man with a ridiculously thick head of salt-and-pepper grey hair. We can only speculate as to how natural such a lush mane can be for a man that age.
8. Blinged-out guy who looks like he just walked off the set of a hyphy rap video shoot, eating French fries and reading "Eragon."
9. Morbidly obese woman eating a sub sandwich. She squeezes one end too hard, and mayonnaise oozes out of the middle, spilling over the rest of the sandwich. With the amount slathered on, there is no conceivable way she can taste anything but mayo. I bet myself that she's going to wipe off the excess sauce, but I'm wrong: she takes a huge, voracious bite, and it makes the slightest squishing sound. I feel like puking.
10. Fat stack of the new Harry Potter book at the mini-Border's. The manager of the store, a small, energetic Asian lady, kept trying to convince me to get a copy (40% off! Good deal! Only $22!), because almost no one had bought any yet. Suck on that, Rowling.

I hate the Harry Potter series

FYI: Voldemort kills Snape, Beltatrix kills Ron, Harry kills Voldemort.

There, I ruined it for you. Now none of you have a reason to give J.K. Rowling any more money.

Cue fireworks, patriotic music.

Me: (wielding a can of Kronenbourg) AUX ARMES, CITOYENS! ON VA PRENDRE LA BASTILLE!
Mom: You're a pain.

Happy Bastille day, kids!

Le sigh.

This morning, the UC decided to be a sexy sugar mama and deposit Mystery Money in my bank account. This is most exciting.

I'll probably have something fun to blow it on when I get back to the states. Until then, I'm going to keep playing Pokemon Breakdown Blast!, and try not to be too bored.

sup france

Back in the mère patrie. Updates later.Le French toilet.