Right after the Pledge commercial.

See, I'm trying to get some sleep before tomorrow morning (daunting task, to be sure), and the episode of SNL hosted by Jason Priestley (sans Black Bart Mustache, I might add... after all this was back in the 9-0 days) is on E!. And right after signing off on the computer, and the Pledge commercial airs ("S.C. Johnson... a family company!"), I hear "Goodbye Girl" by Squeeze. But it sounds a little different. Then I see a familiar face on my screen:

Sweating to the Mittsy.

And I'm hearing Squeeze, and I'm grabbing for the remote to rewind what I am witnessing... Good Lord love the DVR, it's Heather in a friggin' commercial for Under Armour!


"Watch out for the guns. They'll get ya!"

The whole commercial is Heather waking up in her "apartment" (although I can't imagine Heather would decorate in that particular manner... and we all know she and AJ have a house). Then Heather's running with her iPod (sing that to the tune of "Running with the Devil"). Then she's pounding out 3 sets, ten reps each. Grr!


And we all know she ain't waking up alone. Shiiiit).

I've played the damn thing ten times, I'm that floored. And so vicariously proud!
So yeah. First national commercial I've seen Heather in. Good for her! Catch it, or go to the Under Armour website for more on it.

Now, I'm really going to bed.

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Actually, bottom line, you tell the truth sometimes.

I have no idea where the hell my copy of Tails is, because the case is here, but the cd isn't. I'm getting pissed off. I'm talking to Leviathan, and we're discussing the album, and now I have a hankering for listening to a bespectacled folky singer, and I can't. Balls.

So tired.

I know I should be sleeping, but for some reason, I am drawn into this online conversation where Levi, with every shot of rum he ingests, is further butchering the English language. It's actually quite amusing. I'll get back to it, then.

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"If you had a cat food, it would be called 'Fancy Bitch'!"

"...Or perhaps, Tender Bitches." Ah, Donatella (as portrayed by Maya Rudolph), you absolutely slay me!

Long days, both yesterday and today. As I feared, the dillholes at PMS held school yesterday, but most of the kids I was supposed to see didn't bother coming in, so I wasted a huge chunk of my day. Then, I got back to the office, managed to pound out another intake, and ended up leaving an hour later than I had planned to because I got all caught up in a session. Mother scratchers.

Today was equally interesting. I went down to the middle school to run groups, and for the first time this semester, I got hit on. By a sixth-grade girl. Well, at least they're keeping it interesting. Of course, the kid was just testing me; after all, last week was her first group meeting, and she loudly proclaimed a) that she was a lesbian, and b) that she had "a lot" of anal sex.

Oh, really?

She then spent a great deal of the rest of the group session trying to convince me that she was just kidding, and that she wasn't really gay. Yeah, like I care, kid.

So today, she walks into group, and proclaims that she isn't sure if she's a lesbian today or not. Then she looks me up and down says, "Ooh, Miss Sheila!" and gets all flirty. An uncomfortable position for any professional dealing with a child to be in, for sure. But I didn't miss a beat when replying to her.

"Sorry, hon," I said smiling, as I had the kids sign in, "You're not my type. Stick with what you know." She laughed, then I started group.

It's all I can do to bite my tongue and not go into my whole "bisexual is just another word for greedy" tirade. Maybe I'll save that for right before Spring Break.

Speaking of, maybe I should take some time off during the kids' Spring Break. There's just been so much shit going on lately, that if I don't get a break, I might suffer a psychotic break. Yeah, like how I worked that one in?


Me, like, eight hours ago. That cow didn't stand a chance.

Alright, long day tomorrow. I'm out!

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It's Love Day!

No, not Valentine's Day... Love Day! Yes, it's Love's birthday! Break out the heart-shaped cake!

Of course, those bitches at ABC decided not to pick up her sitcom, so that sucks. But there are rumblings going around that CBS is picking up a pilot for a series that stars Love as a newlywed who can talk to the dead... Ah... Medium... ah... Sixth Sense with... ah, never mind.

Okay, so, here's wishing her better luck and success this year, eh?

And now, for the gratuitous pics, courtesy of the March issue of Maxim:


You know, I wish I could fit one friggin' thigh in that outfit. Work it, sister!


Happy Birthday to... Uh, Dan? Sideshow? Did I forget to lay down the tarp again?

And now, for a nugget of joy from Love herself. Then it's off to bed:

"It's funny, I went to visit a bunch of troops at the Walter Reed Medical Center in Washington when they got back from Iraq, and over half of them had my first Maxim cover issue with them at their bedside. They said they were allowed to bring a certain number of things to Iraq, and so many of them felt the need to let me know that they had spent quite a few evenings with me. Under normal circumstances, I would've been like, 'OK, that's gross,' but I was, oddly, very touched."

Right-o!

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Someone keeps moving my chair.

This weekend went by way too fast. Tomorrow is President's Day, and as usual, I don't have the day off on a national holiday. My only hope is that the jackals at PMS decide to not let the delinquents come in for school because of the holiday. Hey, it's happened before (and they forgot to tell me nobody would be there, no less, making me drive all the way down to St. Pete Beach to discover the empty parking lot).

I have had a series of adventures dealing with my jukebox this weekend. First off, let me give props to Sarah for bringing in her book o'cds for me on Friday morning. Thank God for that, because if she hadn't, the fact that I hadn't ripped the soundtrack for The Full Monty would've kept me awake at night (she knows I'm kidding!). I come away from the experience of ripping her various cds about 2 gigabytes richer.

Then, after having my jukebox, which I love dearly, for three weeks, I realized that the battery life on this particular unit was not up to the expected standards, so I decided to go back to Circuit City to exchange it for a new one. The folks there said that would be no problem, since I was still within my first thirty days; the only problem was that they didn't have any more of that particular model in stock. So, they gladly refunded my money, and I high-tailed it across the street to CompUSA, where they had the same model on a "Manager's Special" for $40 less than the price I originally paid for it.

The guy at CompUSA said that yes, they did have that model in stock, and went to go get me the last one. When I went up to the cashier, it rung up at a different price: one that was actually more than the original price I paid. The employee called a manager up, because he didn't understand why it was ringing up differently, and said that maybe "manager's special" meant that was the price for the display unit.

Then he argued (to himself, really, even though I agreed with him) that that wouldn't make any sense, because "Look at this display unit. Nobody would pay that much for something this damaged!" He went on to repeat this to his manager, who was a bit of a schlub. Schlub said that they were different items because one was a "newer" model of the same thing, and that's why there was the price difference. He was also kind of curt about it, and I wanted to punch him. I also got the sense that since his employees were being so cool to me, and admitted that trying to sell a damaged display unit was "stupid," they'd probably get ripped a new one after I left the store. I thanked the two employees who helped me, then high-tailed it out of there.

I then proceeded next door, to Staples. They had the juke for the same price I originally paid for it, and I was going to buy it right then and there. However, one of the employees pulled me aside and suggested that I wait until the next morning to come in to buy it. I took his advice and walked up to a small crowd gathered outside of Staples right before the doors opened. He was also there this morning when it opened, and I thanked him after getting a hold of the juke: it was $50 less than the price I originally paid for it!

I get it back home, and proceed to try to transfer the 20-plus gigs of songs I had on the old one. Apparently, somewhere around the 2000th song, the juke proclaimed a "firmware problem" and stopped transferring halfway through. So, I have some minor adjustments to make in the managing software before continuing with the next 2000-something songs and calling it a night.

Morals of the story:

• Back everything up.
• If someone's a schlub, don't take it out on his cute underlings, because they need the support, and every schlub gets his due.
• If something doesn't work out, that just means something else will.
• I have a whole lot of fucking music.
• If you see a 2004 Stanley Cup Commemorative Tampa Bay Lightning hockey puck on sale at Publix, by all means, get it! Then, use the other Lightning pucks you own as wrist rests for your laptop.

Okay, I've stopped making sense.

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Jeremy is my hero today.

Because he sent this to me to post here.

Smack him on the ass to thank him when you see him!

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How does SNL hosted by the lady from "Touched By An Angel" make any damned sense?

However, the line "I asked Darrell Hammond for an autograph, and he punched me!" is very amusing. Perhaps the best part of the show. Thank goodness I can delete this.

So, I found out that ESPN.com's Page 2 is having their annual "Hottest Female Athlete" contest again. The downer? They've changed the rules so that former winners cannot be eligible again. Therefore, Anna Kournikova, Jennie Finch, and Heather Mitts are ineligible. Fignuts!

Anyway, in order to appease Mittsy fans, I suppose, they posted an interview with Heather for Valentine's Day. In it, she talks about how she is still in deep smit with AJ, and mentions they'll be in the SI Swimsuit Issue. Here is a photo that might be included:


What, is this going on their engagement announcement? How cute!

Again, AJ reminds me of someone, but I just can't place whom...

That Roma Downey episode of SNL just ended. And it sucked. Delete, delete, delete! Back to the business at hand.

Speaking of athletes, The Bad News Bears is on right now. It was on cable a few months ago, and at the time, I hadn't seen it in years. When it aired, I'd just finished reading Tatum O'Neal's autobiography (in one sitting at B&N, no less, when I was supposed to be doing paperwork) and I couldn't believe half of the stuff she had written about regarding her messed up family.


Tatum O'Neal during a time where she didn't have to deal with her family's craziness... Just Walter Matthau's.

Yeah, I would've done tons of drugs if I had even imagined living through the stuff she said she did. Oh, and speaking of tons of drugs, as I flip the channels, I see...

"Flash! (dramatic drumming) Ah-aaah!"

Absolute genius! I could insert the little story about the queens listening to Queen, but I'll save that for later.

I'm trying to convince Danhole that we need to go to MegaCon because Harmony and Darla from Buffy and Angel will be signing autographs. But another big reason that I want to go is because Sam J. Jones and Melody Anderson, Flash and Dale from the 1980 movie, are going to be there, too!


Flash and Dale, circa twenty-five fucking years ago.

I'd be extremely happy if I could get to meet Flash and Dale... but I'd die of geeker joy if I also met Brian Blessed, that jolly bastard Prince Vultan!


"Flying blind on a rocket cycle???"

By far, my favorite exchange in the whole movie was during the scene where Flash tries to help Barin, even after defeating him, and Vultan is incredulous:
Vultan: "What is this?"
Zarkov: "Humanity."
Vultan: "Madness!"

Anyway, I hope to at least be able to meet Flash and Dale. Hopefully I won't piss myself with excitement.

Wait, here's a thought: Flash Gordon is a quarterback. Dale Arden is in journalism/media. AJ Feeley is a quarterback. Heather is in the media as a sports commentator... Is it entirely possible that AJ and Heather are the new Flash and Dale?

Let's do a side-by-side, shall we?


????

Oh my God, the possibilities! If this is true, does that mean it's up to AJ to save the Earth and Heather from Ming the Merciless? And this time around, is it Yao Ming? Who's going to be Professor Zarkov (pray it's not Freddie Mitchell!)? Ooh, and if we have to re-cast Vultan, can we just use Brian Blessed again? I mean, sure he's gotta be sixty-eight, but he can still do it! I mean, the guy was in Alexander for goodness sake, and that wasn't too long ago! If not, can we just get the guy who plays Gimli?


I mean, he could totally pull it off!

Jesus, I am thinking way too much. I think I've had too much caffeine today. I'd better end this missive now, while I still have some (albeit not much) dignity.

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"Who needs love like that?"

Oh, I love EuroPop. I sure do!

So, today is Valentine's Day, and I plan on spending the evening with my favorite pooch, as it should be. Dan may be spending the evening in Jacksonville, either sacrificing goats or screaming Grant's name in the rain outside of his window. Or not.

Either way, I found the picture for today on my South Park Desk Calendar strangely appropriate:


I guess Valentine's Day really is like that: awkward, cute, sweet, and one-dimensional. Wait. Let me think that one over for a bit.

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BREAKING NEWS: CANNONBALL!

No, really, there is some breaking news: Britney just won her first Grammy!

What's up, bitches? I just won a Grammy!

My faith in humankind and general craziness hath been restored. Now, it's time for iced tea.

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Rooftop scraping and other maladies.

This weekend was incredibly uneventful. So much so that the highlight of it was my effort to stay away from sodas and drink strictly juices and tea. Don't ask me how it started, it just did. Anyway, late this afternoon, I had a hankering for some cereal, and I was totally out of my Florida Gators Cereal, so I hopped in the car and went down to my local Kash N' Karry. There, it was extremely busy for a Sunday afternoon, and the parking lot was teeming with overpriced SUVs.

(Speaking of SUVs, just a minor segue: Remind me to avoid any and all airings of any episode of MTV's My Super Sweet 16, because all those snotty kids with all that access to their parents' grossly high disposable income just make me want to go postal. The fact that these parents drop about a quarter of a million in the blink of an eye for ungrateful, whiny little assholes, compared to the fact that they could drop that same money over a matter of years and fund the higher education of a number of eager, hard working, grateful "less than" kids and still have money left over just makes my eyes burn with fiery hot injustice. Okay, moving on...)

So, I get to the store, after fishing around for a parking space for ten minutes, and the inside of the store is as busy as the parking lot. I procured four boxes of cereal (I had a hankering for Peanut Butter Crunch, as it seems I haven't had any in about a year), and went back out to the parking lot, where since everybody else in their overpriced SUVs decided the traffic laws didn't apply to them, I sat in my parking spot for TEN MINUTES until I had an open shot to back out of my space. I'm not kidding. I was halfway out of my spot during my first attempt to leave when a stupid Escalade decided they were going to block the rest of my exit so that they could wait on another space opening, further down in the lot. Then come the people walking from their cars to the store, who see you're already halfway out of your space, then decide to stand directly behind your car because they want to stop to answer their cell phone and obviously can't walk and talk at the same time (see, because that would be dangerous!).

I had not one problem with an elderly person today, as the elderly were the only ones observing general traffic and courtesy rules, waiting on the sidewalks and looking both ways, and showing thanks when I let them cross or go ahead of me (and I let each and every one go, because damned if Billy BigBucks in his godforsaken Hummer with no true utilitarian purpose was going to get to his dinner at Burns any faster by running Gramps over!).

It seems I am quite angry today. Grr.

Anyway, I made it home, and had myself a big, heaping bowl of Peanut Butter Crunch. In my excitement, I didn't let the milk soak in for the standard softening time, and, as can be expected, it tore up the roof of my mouth. This, of course, could not be felt until after I finished the bowl and tried to drink my iced tea half an hour later. Man, I just can't win.

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I'm sure you have some sort of cosmic rationale.

Billy, sometimes you scare me when you're sober and intense. Yikes.

I have established this particular Panera as my favorite, I think. Electrical outlets everywhere, booths in the back, and now, new and improved with Splenda. And the chocolate croissants are actually fresh here! Can't beat it. It's just not terribly close to the house, but I guess a reasonable distance from work. Also, I may have a greater chance of running into people from work (clients and co-workers alike, unfortunately) so this probably won't become my usual roost. Damnation!

I'm sitting here, ripping some of Sarah's cds for inclusion on the juke. I actually stopped into the office earlier this morning to procure said cds. See, Sarah has this ridiculous book of over 200 cds that she keeps at all times in her car, so I figured I'd have a few hours of ripping madness ahead of me.

She more than willingly offered me her cds, then handed me this tiny, little case.

"What's this?" I asked.

"My cds," she said cheerfully.

"Where are the rest of them?" Mind you, I was expecting to have to bring out the hand cart to transport them to my car.

"Well, I still have them, but since I got that multi-disc changer at my place, most of them are there." Then she proceeded to give me the precautionary mini-lecture regarding the safety of her Josh Groban cds (I muttered something about my surprise that she didn't take out an insurance policy on them and having to teach her the value of ripping mp3 cds) before heading back into the office.

So, I came here, and opened up this case of cds that made it to the "can't do without them so they're in the car" list.

Inside: Now, That's What I Call Music! Volumes 1 to 234, said Josh Groban cds, Elton John's Greatest Hits 1970-2002, Garth Brooks, Martina McBride's Greatest Hits, and a bunch of soundtracks for animated movies. What the hell?

Somewhere in Jacksonville, DotOrg's head is exploding. Sigh.

I'm going to have to fish through these to find some archive-worthy stuff, but at least it won't take as long as I thought it would. I'm going to have to raid her place at some point to get the necessities. I have half a mind to sneak Debbie Gibson's Greatest Hits into her car when she isn't looking today. That'll teach her!

Here's something that's always amusing:

Can the man not get rid of his Black Bart 'Stache? Maybe he doesn't know how to shave. Maybe he'll do a guest spot on Alias this season! Ha!

Maybe I'll just start watching my Tru Calling dvds when I get home. Gah.

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I can't believe I'm about to quote Bender.

I never watch Futurama. I mean, never. Not ever. The only time I actually had the tele on for an entire episode was on vacay a couple of weeks ago, when Grant and I were playing (no lie) Phase 10 in my cousin's living room, and it was on as background noise. So, for me to quote it is rather phenomenal, since I never watch the damned show, and probably won't get into the habit of doing so, either.

But today, I find myself so compelled.

I DVR'ed a few episodes of SNL on E! this week, because there were some choice ones to view (I wanted to see the second Britney one again, and I never did catch that Jennifer Aniston one when it originally aired, and figured, what the hey, it was a couple of hours of my time). So, this evening, I decided I'd play that Jennifer Aniston episode, and got through the lead-off Donald Trump skit. At that point, I decided I'd fast-forward past the credits to get to the rest of the show.

Works in theory, right?

Well, I hit the fast forward button, and the screen freezes. Hit another button, nothing works. Tried turning the cable box off, and nothing. Well, shit. The last time something like this happened, the cable company "reset" my cable box and summarily deleted everything I had on there with it (the last five episodes of Angel ever, to give you an idea). Needless to say, as this started to happen, I became less and less amused.

The last time I had an issue with the cable box, it had to do with the sound being crappy for a few days at a time. The cable company told me I could reset the box myself in a way that would only reboot the system, and wouldn't erase any of my saved programs. Overjoyed, I did it at the time, and it fixed my sound. Since this was something I thought a safe reboot might be able to fix, I gave it a try.

I managed to reboot the cable box four times. And after every time, when I tried to fast forward, the fucker froze. This happened over the course of an hour and a half. And now, I'm tired. So, for now, as Bender would say, the cable box "can kiss my glorious, golden ass!" I'll just fall asleep watching infomercials or Cheaters or something.

Oh, and another thing:

Any guy whose last name is pronounced "brewski" is alright by me.

And before I forget...


Riley loves to contemplate serious subjects such as the meaning of life and why things that taste so good at the time always seem to make you chuck. She especially likes doing this while napping on my clothing.

Now, I'm going to fall asleep, thinking about how I can't do jack shit for entertainment anymore since my rebudgeting efforts have translated into negative money for hijinx. Crap. Good night.

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Charley Horse and the Banana Conundrum.

I'm so glad this week is almost over. I think stress is catching up with me. Every morning this week, I've driven to work, gotten two-thirds of the way there, and discovered that I was clenching my jaw like mad. I also woke up this morning to the unsettling feeling that I was about to get a full-blown charley horse. I lay there in bed for what seemed like forever, with my leg suspended in the air, waiting for the sharp pain to subside enough so that I could fully extend my leg, put it back down, and go back to sleep. Riley was all excited that I was awake, thinking it was play time, and I had to try to calm her down while temporarily disabled. Later on, ten minutes before my alarm was scheduled to go off, I awoke to the sound of her retching. Because my calf was still smarting, I couldn't quite get to her to pick her up in time, and she puked on the bed.

Poor thing felt so bad. She put her head on my lap to tell me she was sorry. I pulled the messy section of the sheets off the mattress, and lay there petting her head until my alarm went off. Wonderful start to my day. And although my charley horse wasn't full-blown, it still bothered me for the rest of the day. J.Co even called me "Gimpy McGimperson" when we went to lunch. It bugged me, because I haven't had one of those in over a year, and I've had a decent amount of potassium this week (all those bananas will do that to you). What a conundrum. Hence, the title of this post (See, I had a point to make, after all!).

I just think it would make a great album title, is all. Kind of in the way Grantasm feels that Hue of Danforth would be an awesome album title. We all have our things.

Or maybe it would be a great title for a children's mystery book. Yeah, that's it. A children's mystery novel that could be made into a movie adaptation... Starring Love and Bill Murray as the voice of our favorite fat cat! With soundtrack by BabyFace (or not)! No, soundtrack by Love herself! That's what we want!


Levi, prepare the vocal arrangements! We have to zussamen!

Having said that, I am now heading home to a sheetless bed and the paws of my loving pooch. Life is good.

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Heh heh. "Dope Show."

I'm watching my weekly dose of Alias right now, and I'm cracking up. They've got one of the guys that played one of Julia's ex-boyfriends on Party of Five playing some foreign dude. And this episode has something to do with Syd being exposed to some sort of drug, and they've got her walking through this club in Bucharest with "Dope Show" playing in the background. Fabulous.

As I watch this episode, I can't help but marvel at the fact that even in Season Four, most of these blokes have no idea how to shave. Except for Dixon, of course. That guy is fucking harsh!


This man could tear you apart. "And your friend, too."

I just recently saw the commercial for the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. It shows all these different dogs in profile and stuff, and Europe's "The Final Countdown" plays in the background. I'm going to piss myself; everything is damned hilarious tonight!

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Tossers!

These people are pissing me off:

Tossers.

Maybe you can't see them to well, but there's a guy and a girl hogging the couch with the coffee table at Panera Numero Uno. They've been sitting there for the last two hours, blathering sweet nothings to each other incessantly, all the while pretending to study. It wouldn't be so bad if they would have sat at a table or booth that was not next to the only easily accessible electrical outlet in the whole fucking restaurant. Earlier, I was forced to sit at a table and stretch the power cord to ridiculous, not to mention dangerous, lengths across the floor just to get some juice while the dude seemed put off by having to temporarily pick up his stupid coffee so it wouldn't get dumped on him while I tried to plug in. Later, after a busser almost ate it because he tripped on said power cord (in front of this fantastic couple, no less, who just looked at him dumbly), I managed to get to a table closer to the same outlet, and that is where I sit now. Also, this stupid girl is grossing me out because she is putting her BARE FEET on the coffee table in front of her (acceptable at home, but at Panera? Ooh, no, no, noooo.)

A few moments ago, both of them got up to talk to some people passing by. They left all their crap (cell phones, keys, JuCo syllabi and handouts) on the tables around them. I had half a mind to swipe them, or hide the phones in the couch cushions. Too bad I'm a nice person.

Am I becoming one of those bitter beings who snarls at any sort of PDA? No, I just hate these two. They're pissing me off. They've been loudly not studying and taking up valuable couch space. And they could've been nicer about things. They didn't need the outlet, yet gave me attitude when I asked them if I could use it. They almost laughed at the busser when he almost ate it. I don't know. They're just touching a nerve today.

Maybe I should go listen to Cutting Crew and The Cover Girls for a few moments and forget all about it. Maybe Marble Slab is in order (again). I so badly want to believe in a karmic juggernaut.

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"How can it hurt you when it looks so good?"

Here are some props and a little respect for Danhole, who correctly identified the song lyric posted in the last entry. He asked for a cookie, and since by the next time I see him, said cookie will have been either eaten or stale, I present the following as compensation instead:


I don't know quite what to say about this, other than I think you know who that little girl is. What a trooper!

Well, I guess if you can survive being on the L.A. Gear concert tour, as well as a coordinated stonewash denim outfit, you can pretty much take anything that comes your way. Spot on!

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If I don't stop, the next one is gonna be me.

Alright, somebody tell me what song that's a lyric from, and I'll respect you thismuch more. Really, I will.

So, the Super Bowl is this weekend, and for some reason, I don't really care. Actually, not some reason; I think the main reason is that there just doesn't seem to be a reason to give a shit. Could have something to do with me not being a particular fan of either team, or it could just be that I view the Super Bowl as nothing more than an opportunity for me to go to J.R.'s to eat copious amounts of bad things and sit on my ass. Sure, I could do that on my own on any given day, but it's the SUPER BOWL! What am I talking about again? Oh, never mind.

And now, for some randomness:

• Currently playing on the Juke: "Dance Like That," by Joe Mac. Hellz yeah. I said it. Hell, this is the same guy that told me to shower with a friend and piss in the sink because of the drought. He knows what he's talking about.
• And now, for the exact opposite of people who know what they're talking about:
  
  This is our serious picture.
• On this guy's copy of The Tampa Tribune, the headline reads "Bush Touts New Deal To Fix Social Security." From this distance, I thought I could read the words, "Bush Toots." I almost pissed myself.
• LoLo's hot. I mean, really hot. I'm almost uncomfortable saying it this fervently. I'm just glad I'm secure enough in my own sexuality to do so.
  
• I'm going to get this on a t-shirt:
  
  Simply classic. Marshall rules.
• I'm still trying to erase that whole "Australian Kiss" shit out of my memory.
• That Marble Slab is starting to sound really, really good right now.
• "Tulsa" spelled backwards is "A Slut." That was my favorite one in the eighth grade.
• Songs made up in the car about Amish people sung to the tune of Guns N' Roses songs = COMIC GENIUS!

Okay, off to the Slab. More later.

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Family dinner.

I'm sitting here, less-than-enjoying this stale chocolate croissant, and I'm witnessing a family having dinner without killing each other. It's a wonderful damned thing. By far, more wonderful than this damned croissant.

There are three boys, a girl, and a mom, all sitting around two small tables, eating soup and sandwiches, and most of them are drinking green tea, rather than soda. Interesting. I've been watching them adjust their meals to their liking, one kid picking the tomatoes out of his sandwich and proclaiming, "Tomatoes for sale!" while one of his brothers puts them on his plate. The interactions are interesting to watch, despite the fact that I've been around rugrats all day, and you'd think the last thing I'd want to see at this point in my week would be little springoffs. Oh, well.

Eww, this croissant is deeply unsatisfying. I just reached the end of it, and it had this weird metallic taste to it. Shit. I'm going to have to do something to cleanse my palate, like go to Marble Slab. Ooh, what a good idea. I should go just as a reward for thinking about it.

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A case of the Black Lung.

Ever since I've returned from the Great White North, I've been feeling under the weather. It could be that all that cold air is finally taking its toll, or my extreme fatigue from going balls-out all week, or it could be a strictly psychosomatic thing because I am dreading returning to work. Either way, I've called in sick for the past two days. Well, shit, I sure am sick. Don't get me started.

So yes, my mom's birthday, then my birthday, came and went. I went out with Perla to go see The Phantom of the Opera movie, because well, that's what Perla wanted to do on her birthday. I remember seeing Phantom back in college, but I really don't remember the details too much. Could've had something to do with being in college, but who knows. Anyway, the movie was good. It was just like the musical, but on film, and that allowed them to do a lot more with the visuals and the sound. And Patrick Wilson kinda sorta had some old-school French-style hockey hair going on. That was funny.


Ahoy, matey! I'm cute, but I look like a poofter in this shirt!

Right after my birthday, Grantasm and I headed up to Philadelphia, the day after a big-ass blizzard hit the region. Luckily enough, our flight wasn't cancelled, and we actually landed in Philly a few minutes early.

The rest of the week is a blur. We were in the car all the time, we were sitting around all the time, we were running all over the place all the time. It was crazy. We did everything and we did nothing, and it was freezing cold and I fucking loved it. So much to talk about, it's all running around in my head, can't get it organized. But I do know that I spent a whole week doing nothing but having fun and seeing people I love, and it was worth the money and the cold.

And now I'm back, I'm catching up on all the sleep I willingly gave up for a week, and work looms ahead of me. But it was all worth it and then some.

Perhaps I'll open up a new blog devoted simply to posting the pictures and comments from the trip. Yeah, I think I'll do that. Good idea. Wow, that was tiring.

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