Get Nick Cage on the phone, and tell him I am Elvis.
Not in a literal sense (thank God) but certainly where uppers and downers are concerned. My crazy ass work schedule has sent me spiraling into a pattern of dependence on melatonin to go to sleep and coffee or Red Bull to stay awake. Not quite Elvis' cocktail of choice to function in his last days but it's unorthodox none the less.
I am going to have to down an extra cup of coffee today as I am gearing up to go biking with my female anchor. She's quite the biker, so I decided to take a spin around town yesterday. 10 miles and two aching ass cheeks later, I am starting to realize I should start small. The distance wasn't the problem, it was the hills that got to me. And what's up with my damn seat? I have a pretty flat ass, and this is apparently a drawback as the hard, tiny seat cut into my posterior. I don't know that bikers have a wider version seat to turn to, so I am hoping my butt gets accustomed to the less than comfortable conditions.
After my bike ride yesterday, I decided to break down and stop at Wendy's for one of their free, junior Frostys. So not even worth the gas money or the time to stop there. The cups were about the size of a shot glass.
At least they were small enough to ensure there was no finger hiding inside.