while i'm still working myself up to be an eensy-weensy bit irritated, remind me to start ranting and raving about the fucking footloose remake with britney "i'm-so-washed-up-i-have-to-hang-out-with-ashton-kucher-to-be-cool" spears... more on that later.

first allow me to rant and rave about how fucking jesus-tapdancing-goo-goo awesome this weekend turned out to be. last week was such a pain-in-my-ass workweek i thought i was going to end up in a crack den doing bumps of coke off some cheap, underage hooker's ass while the little devil on my right shoulder beat the living tobacco juice out of my sense of self-preservation... thankfully, my boss was engaged in some sort of epic acid binge, staring at her screen saver, glassy-eyed all day, while i fed her through a trache-tube and wiped the steady stream of lobotomy-drool from her quivering lips (i swear to god, ted williams's frozen fucking severed fucking head would be more use to me than my boss; that crap is about as useful as a goddamn vagina between my shoulderblades). tuesday i took the liberty of installing a neat little planetarium of glow-in-the-dark stars under my desk so i can hide during the day, and rock back and forth and murmur "all you need is love.... la la lalalaaa..."
she's improving, though, i will agree to that...
anyway, to make a long story short, just about every person needed me to do something for them that they could have goddamn well done themselves, or they thought they could do it and it took me twice as long to untangle their massive clusterfuck. it felt like the goddamn dawn of the dead out there; i was getting eaten alive. even personal shit got to be a hassle. i hate to sound like a whiny little beotch, but the last thing i want to do after working a 12 hour day with more fires to put out than chicago 1871 (well remembered), is spend 45 minutes cooking dinner and entertaining. it's a sad state of affairs when a man doesn't care to pursue his, shall i say "social agenda," but it fucking happens. nature has cursed me with this fantastic bone structure and boyish-but-badboyish good looks, and i can't do anything about it, but that's no reason to assume my produce is ripe for the harvesting. on days like that i like to come home, turn on SVU, cram a soda-straw up my nose and rail a half bottle of jameson right to the dome.
----by the way, "almost paradise/we're knocking on heaven's door/almost paradise/how could we ask for more" is a really fucking great lyric----
goddamn this ADHD....
so once in awhile i don't want to play boy-toy; fucking bill me. i apologize. but i'm not going to trip on it too hard. the fuck-all part was that i felt really, really guilty about the whole situation which, of course, added a new flavor of stress to the day...
enough. you get the point.
so you can imagine how unbelievably cool it was to have friday off to go skiing in maine with some of my best friends in the N.A.V. posse.
the only thing that tops "i'm taking two days off work to go skiing" is "20 inches of fresh powder by morning." skiing is good. skiing is also hard, which made the free massage i won so much better. and of course the binge drinking just makes everything better... man what a great weekend... i feel like chris penn at the end of footloose just before all those kids who've never danced before in their entire fucking lives all of a sudden start dancing in perfectly-choreographed harmony. very happy indeed.

which brings us back to footloose. here's my advice: don't fuck with footloose. britney, get you're no-talent ass away from my footloose... want to know something brit? we used to like you a lot, wanna know why? do ya? we liked you because, to us, pigtails = handlebars. they re-made dirty dancing and that was the worst, pathetic, miserable piece of emu shit there ever was. so right now, i'm watching amc's "extra" version of footloose (filmed in provo, utah!) to bone up on why movies like these work so well... plus lori singer is fucking hot. ...was watching the "extra" version of 16 candles earlier.... molly ringwald? also hot, but not as much....
holy crap, i'm out of steam. to bed with me. but first i want to point out how poignant footloose is. i'm really not fucking kidding, think about it. it's a story about how an isolated event can allow for the complete remission of civil liberty as a direct result of gross overcompensation by a "moral authority."
plus lori singer is a fox.
happy valentine's day everybody!

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