“I Ain’t No Quitter” by Shania Twain. Obviously, her giant “fuck you” to all the critics who still claim she’s not country, with the fiddles. And a subtle “fuck you” to everyone in town her called her a glorified pole dancer, with the boob squeeze. And it’s a catchy song. I give it five stars.
Mike Jones, rap artist. He gives out his cell phone number so that his fans can get a hold of him. His song, “Back Then” cracks me up. And I saw an interview with him on MTV where he made no sense when he was answering their questions, but then would answer his phone and be perfectly easy to understand, so points for playing them. I give him five stars, as well.
The weird dry patches on my right elbow and right eye lid. What the fuck? Are you trying to rebel? Go ahead and secede. I have the heart, a lung, an ovary, a kidney, and I’m left handed. What do you have? Most of the liver? So what? What are you going to do with a liver without a heart to get blood to it? 1/2 star.
The Professor’s Apartment Building. It used to be this dirty mustard color but now they’ve painted it gray. I don’t really like it, but maybe they’ll paint some big colorful shapes on it. 1 star.
In order to make it through my first day of work, I was forced to eat Fritos and a Snickers at lunch. Wouldn’t it be healthier for me to just start taking a two-martini lunch? I mean, if we have to pretend like the 50s were so great, can’t we bring back the actual, useful social habits?
The Super Genius just sent me an email in which she announces that she has discovered that God and Santa Claus are roommates. Are they perhaps “roommates” in the old fashioned sense of the word? Will Opus Dei or the Shriners be the first to find the Super Genius and erase all traces of her from history now that she dares speak the of love that dare not speak its name between these two white-beared old men?
I’m going back to work.
I used to think that, if I won the lottery, I’d still work, just for something to do. Bullshit. I might not immediately move, because lord do I hate moving, but I’d give notice and just sit around all day.
But, I did not win the lottery, so my vacation is at an end and the world is picking itself up, dusting itself off, and continuing about its business as normal. Dan Abrams is my TV boyfriend once again. I’ve put my bra back on. And soon I’ll return to grouching about the shitty dog owners in my neighborhood.
Ah, well, it was fun while it lasted.