In which I am attracted to my own armpits.

As you may or may not absolutely did not read, I have fallen prey to a little marketing scam called clinical deodorant. Basically, the shit's pit crack. It's getting all warm in the OKC and that means sleeveless shirts, outdoor activities, and night sweats. I guess the last one isn't really related to the weather as much as my effed up subconscious* so that means added layers of pit protection has become necessary. Also, sometimes I go to the gym. I ran out of the stuff this weekend and thought, well, I'll save myself $7 (beer!) and roll on the old regular standby. WRONG! Thanks Secret, for literally making me chemically dependent upon your super overpriced product. I ponied up the dough for a new stick tonight after work, but they were out of my normal scent! I picked up the sport version, with fresh marathon scent. Fresh marathon makes me think of vomit, bleeding nipples, and gatorade shit, but ok. I'll try it. I rolled it on as soon as I got home because I'm an addict and BAM! I smelled like a dude. And I like that smell. I keep liking that smell. I lifted my arm to stir the mushrooms for dinner tonight and bang! Who's that? Oh, it's me. Hey me...

*For real, the other night, I had a dream about developing an Astral Weeks era Van Morrison lyric generator. There was one column of colors, one of fruits and one of bodies of water. Tell me you don't think "springs of viridian plums" couldn't fit.