Like really, truly hates me.
I don't get why. I feed it all the fried food and beer it wants. I mean, who wouldn't love a person that feeds them jalapeno poppers and Samuel Adams all day every day?*
Apparently, my body. It's all like, "oh, I need proper nutrition," and "oh, you need to take a shower more than twice a week," and "waaahh! Why did you stay up so late last night watching that episode of Doctor Who where Rose gets left in another dimension and you always freaking cry? Because now I'm tired and hate you!"*
So I got a cold for the second time in a matter of two months because my body doesn't like jalapeno poppers, beer, and old episodes of Doctor Who. It's like it doesn't even know me. Which is ridiculous because, hello, it's my freaking body. Get with it, dude.
Pat just informed me that we're going to die of a heart attack. I'm pretty sure that's a challenge to see who's going to die first. Oh no you don't, motherfucker. Time to up my game!
*I don't actually do all of these things all of the time. But I am pretty bad at being an adult. So, you know, there's that.