I thoroughly enjoyed celebrating the independence of America yesterday. Mostly because I had the day off of work. And any day I don't have to walk into that building deserves a goddamn celebration.
I began the day by sleeping in. Which, in and of itself, is all I needed. I had every intention of throwing on the running garb and working in my 7-mile tempo run before the mercury rose above Too Hot, but instead lolly-gagged around the bedroom until approximately The Hottest Time of the Day - noon - and went for a run then. Awesome idea.
And I just said lolly-gagged. Get over it.
My run went surprisingly well, considering several things: I hate running alone. It was about 14.9-million degrees outside. And whenever I have the option to Stay Inside On The Couch or Go For A Run, I hardly ever - ever - choose the latter. But alas.
When I returned, dripping sweat from unmentionable places (also see: I Am Sexy), I forced The Fiance out of bed and made him take me to the beach. I know, the beach. On the 4th of July. In the beautiful sunshine. God, woman, why do you make me do these torturous things? WHY?
We had a good time for approximately eight minutes, until we were too damn hot to function and continue to eat our Cheetos in some semblance of comfortability. So we dipped our feet in the water, which rots of fish aroma, and trekked over to the disc golf park.
Perhaps you've never played disc golf, but that business is fun. And I don't suck at it, much like I do at real golf. And also any other sport that requires both coordination and moving objects (also see: Why I Run). So we played 18 holes of disc golf, got sunburnt and headed back to the apartment to roast corn on the cob and play Battleship on the patio. I won. Thank you.
Somewhere between the sun, disc golf, pork chops, corn on the cob and wine, we got too lazy to head out for fireworks in the next town over (see also: We Have To Go To The Next Town Over To See Fireworks On The 4th of July Because The Middle Sucks). Yet another 4th of July passed without seeing any fireworks, and that is akin to not opening presents on Christmas morning. And so help me God, if a Christmas morning ever comes where we don't get to open presents, I'm going to turn in my two-week notice at life. And I will quit.
Hope you guys had fabulous days of independence.