Friday Morning Hodgepodge

So as not to break with tradition, let's start things off with a quick discussion of how my body is failing me this week: Okay, remember how I stepped in a pothole the other day and consequently hurt both my foot and my pride while falling over like a fat condominium in a humiliation hurricane? Well since then, my pride has healed up quite nicely (booze helps, as does staring intently at myself in the mirror and flexing while "Gods of War" by Def Leppard blasts on the stereo), however the same cannot be said for my foot. It feels like someone took one of those bronze Statue of Liberty replicas that tourists buy and... after first squaring it up and setting it with a few light taps... drove it straight into my heel until her feet touched my own. Seriously, I'm in agony over here! It's the worst pain anyone has ever felt in the history of the word, "Ouch!" Childbirth? Whatever, women... like ripping open as a living creature crawls it's way towards daylight can even compare to it hurting when I shift my weight wrong. This one guy I know who got shot in the face is like, "Dude, I'm so sorry... is there anything I can do?" And I'm like, "No... I'll try to carry on as best I can," but I'm saying it all clench-jawed and manly. And he's all, "Oh, okay cool... you're so brave." And I'm like, "I know it, dude... I know. Now get out of here; your gross, caved-in face is making my tummy hurt like I just ate too much spicy Indian food." And he's like, "I'm sorry, sir... forgive me!" And then I shot him in the face again because seriously... fuck that guy. Could have at least gotten me a beer without asking. Jerk. Oh, so anyway, my foot really hurts.

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If I were getting a tattoo... which I'm not, by the way, but if I were... I think I'd either go one of two routes: totally sentimental (like a picture of Girlfriend's face surrounded by hearts and thumbs-up) or totally random (Georgia O'Keefe playing touch-football with a llama during a snowstorm in the South of France on a Thursday). Either way is good, really... the first, obviously, because awwwwww... and the second because tattoos that mean anything beyond "I love this person so fucking much, I want to permanently scar my body all pretty" are kinda corny in a lame way. It's better to just be completely crazy-go-nuts about it and have people think you're an absurdest who drives a talking shoe made of playing cards to his job at the Whatthefuck Factory in ???-ville.

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I totally just pissed off all my readers who are currently sporting tats, didn't I? Well I was just kidding. Jealousy is an ugly emotion and it makes me say things that I don't mean.

Fat ass.

See... I didn't mean that. It's just that I'm jealous of your amazingly huge, fat ass. It looks sooooooo comfy. Like a beanbag chair that smells a little bit.

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We watched that blink-and-you-missed-it Hillary Swank movie The Reaping last night. It was... interesting, I guess. I don't want my time back or anything, but it was one of those movies where the concept is good and they're playing it out really well all X-Files-ish, but when it comes to the point where they have to lay all their cards on the table, it just kinda falls apart because they forgot to write an ending that makes any sort of sense. I mean, it did and it didn't. Instead of "wow," it was very, "oh... that's... huh." Not to mention the fact that Girlfriend and I had totally figured out the Big Twist like a quarter of the way into it. Which is probably not what they were going for. But yeah, The Reaping... very plague-y, pretty Jesus-y, the part with the cattle was scary. Watching it or not watching it will have absolutely no effect on the rest of your life, either way.

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This video is popping up on a lot of people's blogs right now and, while I tend to shy away from marching lock-step with the crowd, sometimes shit's just too awesome to be denied. This is the first I've ever heard of Sia and, thus far, me likey much much:



Seriously, could that video be more crackity cool? It's like a disco multiple-personality disorder with junkyard backpacks full of giggles in a costume warehouse called Happiness, My Friends. And it's about a relationship breaking up because of a cocaine addiction. That's just so much more than anything else, I can hardly stand it.