My Feet Hurt

As it turns out, the fact that I live in New York, don't own a car, and am no stranger to walking great distances, doesn't matter a goddamned bit when I'm wearing the most inappropriate vacation shoes ever (a pair of Rhino steel-toed boots, which have become my defacto footwear soley due to the fact that they're the only pair I own that are free of holes).

Seriously, my feet feel much the same way that those of Lt. John McLaine did about ten minutes after Hans Gruber ordered his men to, "Shoot the glass." We're talking big-time, action movie pain over here.

Anyway... just wanted to tell everyone that I'm, finally, blessedly, home. The trip was a good time and I'm sure you'll hear all about very soon, though I promise I won't be one of those bloggers that takes one trip and talks about it non-stop for three and a half months. Because nobody likes that guy. Or girl.

Right, well, regular posts resume now(ish).

After I lop off my feet, of course.