the roof, the roof, the roof is on FIRE.

last night it was so fucking hot in my apartment that Lindsay and i literally took turns standing in a a pan full of ice cubes in front of the fan in the hallway. oh the humanity...

conjunction junction, what's your function

as i was browsing the obsolete yet absolutely necessary online community, myspace, i opened up a bulletin posted by a friend who shall for his/her own security remain nameless. i'm not going to lie, i was mildly excited at the prospect of this bulletin because written in the subject line it was disclosed that the post was a survey. well... i'm at work on a Friday afternoon with a pile upon pile cascaded across my desk. in two hours i'll be heading to Vegas - of course i'd fill out a freaking survey right now. duh...

disappointment can't even convey what i felt when i realized it was a "sex" survey. a would-you-do-this-or-would-you-do-that-with-me kind of deal. if i was a thirteen year old inbred slut from Kentucky, i'd probably be re-posting that shit right now. but instead i'm writing to all of you educated folk specifically to inform you that one of the questions read: Would you do foreplay with me?

WHAT?!!

let's fucking think about that one more time - would you DO foreplay with me? um... i don't know. would you do conversation with me? it's bad enough that people feel the need to casually toss "let's do lunch!" in every day normal conversation, but when did that become the norm when referring to sexual acts, too? what is this sick, sad world coming to? i'm distraught.

viva Las Vegas.

SARS blows.

Katie and i met for dinner at Kaya tonight after i managed to escape the evil clutches of work. we were eating, talking, minding our own merry business when we began to notice that every once in a while some one from across the restaurant (presumably a man who likely idolized Aresnio Hall circa 1996) would release a large, SARS infested cough. how do i know he had SARS? probably because Katie and i now have it. how do i know we contracted SARS? probably because i did the research.

according to Wikipedia, the world's greatest fountain of here say knowledge, symptoms for the disease include fever, myalgia, lethargy, gastrointestinal symptoms, cough, sore throat and other non-specific symptoms. i definitely have been coughing, and those non-specific symptoms are a bitch to endure. i can only imagine what Katie is feeling now, as it seemed to affect her more initially than it affected me.

why can't people carry their own disposable surgical masks like Jennie Cathcart used to back in the FS days? at least we're not in South Africa where one whole person has previously contracted the disease and that one whole person has since left this precious world. that's a death rate of 100% in South Africa... scary.

if you don't see me or hear from me in a couple of days, please send a search party to my house to recover my deceased corpse. and tell my family i loved them.

Saturdays are for lovers

due to my insatiable desire to never be bored or left out of any situation involving my wonderful friends, i haven't had a Saturday all to myself in a while. until today, that is. my love affair with lazy Saturdays has been reignited. lying in bed all morning has helped me realize that i've only been lying to myself for the past few months - i love doing nothing.

though i technically woke up around 9:00am, i have yet to actually get up other than to get a glass of water from the kitchen, and then again to brush my teeth and wash my face. poor Lindsay left for work about an hour ago, but i guess i had to work all week so i don't feel that guilty that i'm contemplating ordering a pizza or perhaps even El Tarasco to prolong my time spent in my bed. i love my bed.

maybe i'll get up at some point and head to the beach, but then again, maybe i won't... for now i'll continue to listen to Coltrane Motion and pretend that i didn't just watch the Enganged and Underaged episode that featured the union of two 19 year old lesbians. happy Saturday.

talk about your highs and lows...

picture this if you will:

yesterday morning, about 8:15am i pull into the Noah's Bagels parking lot on Washington. i've just gone to CVS to get sunscreen for Nikki's b-day spa excursion. i find decent parking, get out of the car and start walking toward the entrance when i feel something stuck to the bottom of my left flip flop. assuming i've stepped in gum, i begrudgingly look down only to find one of the most disgusting sights i have ever seen. so disgusting, in fact, that i instantly threw up. no joke, i puked in the middle of the parking lot in front of i don't know how many people, for there stuck to the bottom of my flop was a used tampon. what? you didn't catch that the first time. oh, let me repeat it for you, then. some nasty ass bitch felt that she no longer needed the tampon she had previously inserted so she chucked it in the middle of a fucking parking lot and then it was stuck to my damn shoe. thank God i wasn't hungover or i would have spewed Exorcist style...

Harry Potter and the YOU CAN GO FUCK YOURSELF

* DISCLAIMER *
please do not continue any further if you have not yet but fully intend to finish Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows.


with a nice big fat check safely deposited in her bank account, J.K. Rowling should have titled the 7th and final edition of the most successful children's book series of all time Harry Potter and the You Can Go Fuck Yourself; because that is basically what she told us, the reader, to do. "go fuck yourself," she said in her merry, British accent. sweet.

as a long time Potter fan, i naturally pre-ordered a copy months in advance and anxiously awaited the book's release. i was more than disappointed when my eyes couldn't stop scanning back and forth over the poorly written prose that haunts seven hundred and some odd pages of recyclable paper. the plot was slightly predictable in places (Harry ultimately ending up with Ginny, and Ron with Hermoine, Harry kills Voldemort, blah, blah, blah), yet completely preposterous in others (belittling Dumbledore's integrity, confirming that James Potter was not a respectable man, making Snape out to be the hero, and so on)

Rowling killed off lovable characters such as Fred (or was it George...), Lupin and Tonks without batting an eyelash. now i'm not saying that they should or shouldn't have been died - it was simply the lack of description and detail regarding their deaths that left me little time to actually understand what happened let alone mourn the loss. she might as well have written, "and then they were dead."

lack of imagination, loss of steam - i don't know what the real root problem was. and maybe i'm being harsh and didn't really have time to let things sink in due to the quick pace in which i finished the book, but for fuck's sake.

or maybe i just hate it when things come to an end. i wasn't a huge fan of how the Sopranos ended either, but i'll take a Journey tune and a fade to black any day over this waste of space on my bookshelf.

remember me?

holy shit, it's been a while, eh kids? i guess the past few months have been busy, to say the least, but that doesn't mean wacky things haven't been processing through my head for your enjoyment. a recap of recent events:

i moved. yes, it's true - i'm once again a resident of The Deuce. it's actually not that bad. i love my little house, and Lu is a great roommate. we have a red light in the bathroom. i painted my room a toxic shade of yellow so every morning when i wake up i feel all happy and sunshiney inside. well, either happy or sunshiney or i'm pissed that i live in a neon cube. i've yet to wake up hungover in said room, but i'll be sure to let you know how that goes.

and i work too much. there, that's the last six weeks in a nutshell... i moved, and i work too much. what an exciting life i lead.

on a completely different note, do you know any 30 year old virgins? i'm thinking about making a documentary about the life of 30 year old virgins. if you do know one, please pass along my contact info. what? he/she's a Mormon? even better...