Friday, September 02, 2005

Remote Control

TV is a crazy thing. You don't watch it for a year and than you discover free cable and the next thing you know, you're watching The Price is Right in the nude. Everything on the Big 4 networks suck and yet, watching Melody do her lyrical stylings in So You Think You Can Dance? makes me want to dance. And listening to Lane speak really fast in Gilmore Girls makes me want to speak really fast (to no one in particular, but who can resist that sexy Korean creature?)


When do young, university-educated men begin to realize the phrase "don't shit where you eat" isn't a metaphor, but really sound advice? I was on my knees for hours yesterday, scrubbing away years of grime, growth and other vomit-looking (-inducing) substances. How do people go on living like this?! You don't bake brownies in a Porta-Potty, don't leave things stuck on its own grease trail!


5 3 girls coming for a visit. 1 studio apartment. Someone's sleeping in the dumpster.


M. Biologique told me he's coming back this Saturday and has a present for me. I told him if it's my Marx book, don't pee on my leg and tell me it's Evian. Alright, I didn't say that (maybe a little), but when the past comes a-knockin', you go a-flockin' no matter how much a-blockin' you do. I'll be too pre-occupied anyway, what with the hometown girls, CatCouver, and shooting myself.

No comments: