Who Wants to Live Forever? (Me.)

Excuse the language, I’m sorry, I talk like this, but Jesus-fucking-christ. I saw this picture of my friend Vivian, courtesy of Samba New York and look at those arm muscles! I work out and I’ve got nothing. Seriously, not even the hint of an arm muscle. I do it to keep healthy (see post title) and not because of how it makes me look, because working out hasn’t translated into nicely defined muscles for me. Damnit.

In keeping with the post title, I took this Well-O-Meter test, I can never resist a test that is supposed to tell you how great you life is, or how long you’re going to live. At one point it asks, “How many years have you lived alone since you were 25,” and I thought, that’s it. I’m a goner. I’m way past the how long you’re allowed to live alone threshold. Pick your coffin. But apparently I’m doing okay overall. My score was 8.96. I feel better now. I’m going to see Mama Mia! to celebrate. Maybe. It’s pretty hot out and I’m a delicate flower.