Girl Crushing on...

Diablo Cody!

I've always been not-so-secretly jealous of this Oscar-winning screenwriter. If I had actual talent, I would dare to dream to build the exact trajectory of her career in entertainment (minus the full-time stripping and Jennifer's Body). Her celebrity web talk show, Red Band Trailer, is arguably the 2nd-best perfect Sunday breakfast buddy after Joel McHale himself.

To Die By Your Side

Spike Jonze: Mourir Auprès de Toi on Nowness.com.

On peace.

Staycation.

In theory, it's a great idea. You generate a list of errands to do, stuff to see, cultural activities to experience, cocktails to drink. Instead you spend your time on the phone, on hold with Verizon, trying to combat two weeks of technical difficulty in connecting to you, yeah YOU...the internet. Most folks have always known me to be a pillar of calm.  Nothing normally rattles me and I tend to tackle problems (at work at least) with a clear and objective head. But there are three entities that have succeeded in sodomizing my inner peace this week: the MTA, the Antichrist f*cktard who lives below me, and Verizon. I am not a proponent of violence but if all three were humans, I'd hire someone to stab them in the carotid.

I'll spare you the harrowing details, but I am now the proud owner of legitimate interwebs and I'm posting from the comfort of my sectional. For the remainder of this staycation, I will watch Hulu, eat pie, and do online research on lawful ways to evict or psychologically traumatize said f*cktard.

Namaste.

drum roll please...

I got a new job! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I did it! Or rather, a few people practically did it for me. Y'all know who you are...and thank you.
For now, life does not bite so much. New job, new tan, new beginnings.

Hurricane Dreams

gif by Greg Leuch

What a lazy day I'm having. There was no need to get my ass up early enough to make my Pilates class because there would be no means to get back home. So I decided to sleep for about a hundred years (til 2pm). I'm glad I did that because I managed to dream the best dream I've had since 2008 when Tom Cruise gave me a shoulder massage during some kind of theatrical lucha libre event. (For the record, TC gives me the willies, like, in a gross way, which makes that dream fantastically cringe-worthy.) Anyway, this one involved another theatrical setting where my family and I were watching some sort of dance event featuring French children dressed in red and white. Josh Radnor came and sat next to me and we hit it off immediately. In fact, he liked me so much that he was too shy to ask for my number so I asked for his instead. There really is no climax here to speak of, apart from the strange elation I felt upon waking up. One problematic element here that distresses me was Josh's appearance...he really looked bad with unkempt, scraggly hair and a horrible complexion. I'm not a trained therapist but even I can have a field day deconstructing this one.
(Sidebar: I haven't watched television, including "How I Met Your Mother," in two months really. I did read a draft of Josh's screenplay "Happythankyoumoreplease" but that was last year. Yet he manages to live in the recesses of my mind...in ugly form.)

In other news, I'm prepping for big bad Irene by buying a bag of beef jerky and boiling my three remaining eggs. I have a mini-maglite, loads of votive candles from Ikea, and Netflix just sent me Kick-Ass. Thank God my sister bought wine.

Jedi Kittens

It's a little crazy at work today. Although I may harp about it sometimes, I welcome any distraction from my daily psychosis.

Speaking of distractions....

Where's Wall-E?

Can you find him?

by Richard Sargent