For stahtahs ... 42 minutes for the 5k, not too good, but improvement.
Now, for the real story.
It's rare that I cook. Over the weekend, I bought a steak at the Lix and knew, after a tough Monday of listening to people complain, a steak dinner would be Waking Ned Devine.
Get home, go runnin, look how awful my fantasy football teams are, get slightly excited that Jeff Garcia may not play next week, and wonder if the Seahawks will ever win another football game on the road for Mike Holmgren after that last performance. It was awful. They need to come home. I hope 8-8 is good enough to win the NFC West.
After all of this, I start making my steak. I start frying, and wisely decide to open my kitchen window so my apartment doesn't get all smokey. I open the window, and between the screen and the glass pane ... WASP NEST!!! ENHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNHNH!
Fortunately, I'm waaaaaaaaaaay too tired from running to really panic and notice that they go right for the kitchen light. I turn off all the other lights in my house, and leave the kitchen's on. Here's the problem though, the steak-is-a-still-cookina. Immediately, I go in there, grab the pan and walk out into my living room, but where in society's apartment can I put a piping hot pan with a half-cooked steak on it?
After figuring out this jambalaya, it's time for revenge. The wasps may have won round one, destroying my relaxing steak dinner, but what happens, when wasps push a man, a man who's already been pushed too hard by society, too far. Those wasps ... they die. DUH! DUH! DUH!
Without turning off the top of my oven (smart smart), I bolt for Walgreens or Eckerds or CVS or whatever pharmacy-plus store meets me when I drive off of Davis Island. Yes, I'm panicking the whole time because I knew almost immediately that I forgot to turn off the oven and my apartment could burn down, but there's no turning back, because you can't let the wasps take over. This is my apartment. Zach Taylor's' Apartment!!! I find wasp killer that clearly says "Kills Instantly!" and I am on my way.
A grab the spray, and a shoe, and look in my kitchen. Wasps abound. When I first discovered the nest it looked like there were about 20, realistically probably just short of 10. That's still too many because well, 1 is too many. There's a couple on the light, a couple chillin' on the wall, and who knows how many in the nest. Pshht Pshht! Wasps, one by one, dead. I counted 6, so I'm fearful that there are still a couple more wandering my apartment somewhere. It's a tough life. To live in fear of terrorism, famine, a poor economy, the possibility of Republicans winning another election due to America's gullibility, and the greatest fear of all, being stung by a wasp, because after all, I'd actually feel the effects of that.