I announced my entry into the Seven Mile Bridge Run, but I haven't told all you crazy kids how the training is going. It's going really, really well. I'm highly impressed with myself, and I don't mind announcing that.

I've really stuck with it, with only minor bouts of slackage. It's sheer fear of collapsing on the bridge and being trampled by the 1500 other runners (then systematically run over by the wheelchair racers) during the race that's making me stick to it, but hey, whatever works. I'm continuing with interval sprint training this week, and then I switch to distance pace training for a couple of days next week. One week from this Saturday is this race.

I've also been lifting weights sporadically, and continuing with the Tae Kwon Do. Between all the activity, and a slight change of diet, I have an announcement to make. This announcement might upset a few of you, so brace yourselves.

I have a new ass.

I was in the shower about a week and a half ago, washing... well, my ass. And it felt different. Smaller, tighter, and a little higher, I think. You know the ass-meets-leg flap that is so tight on in-shape boys, and still considerably flabbier on girls, no matter how much girls work out? Well, mine is considerably less flabby. I also think I'm saving on soap, because there's considerably less ass to wash.

My new ass has also been enjoying a roomier fit in my pants, with lots of room to ass around.

Now, I know many of you were kind of attached to the old ass. And to be honest, I miss it a little, too. It was very nice. But this new ass - if you just give it a chance, I think you'll find that you like it an awful lot, too. Not to mention, if you happen to be sitting on a bench or something next to me, you'll have more room. If we're booty dancing, there's less chance of my ass knocking you halfway across the room. (Now, that's never happened, but you never know.)

My ass will be on a plane this Friday, headed north. Neal is flying me to Ohio so I can celebrate his birthday with him. He's a little more than six (that totally said "sex" the first time I wrote it - on the brain, much?) years older than me, so we are in very different places when it comes to celebrating our birthdays. I'm all, "Let's dress up and get champagne and run around and tell people it's my birthday so I'll get attention and presents and let's eat cake and I'm so HAPPY!"

Neal's all, "What birthday? Shut up."

I hope I never get like that. If I'm turning a billion, I hope I still want it to be a special day for me.

Now, I'm not going to embarrass Neal by coming out and telling you how old he'll be this weekend, but it rhymes with "blirty-floo."

Man, I just can't wait. I can't wait to see him again, I can't wait to tell him Happy Birthday, and I can't wait to jump his geriatric bones.

Maybe I'll wrap up my new ass as my present. That should take his mind off his age, no?