Because c'mon! Shame on Invasion's slowburn peril for not providing them a more frequent showcase.

He's my boyfriend. He is. No, he just is. He's all green-eyed, widow's-peaked, melting-pot hotness and oiled-massage voice. He's it.

My 40-Year-Old Virgin Story

I got totally perved on AGAIN tonight and had to elbow ANOTHER fucking guy in his DICKHEAD face.

What the FUCK?

WHAT about a girl going to the movies on a Sunday night by herself makes a guy think it's A-FUCKING-OK to sexually assault her?! In a public place! At a movie about virgins!

If I was not so INSANELY angry, I'd have to fucking laugh at it, right?

But I can't. Because all I can think about is that if I have to throw ONE MORE fucking elbow there's going to be fucking MURDER.

Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

On Wednesday, I totally fell over for no apparent reason right in my own apartment.

I was weaving my way between Den Eyckenboom (my bike) and stuff piled on my floor due to the moving process when I suddenly realized in a strangely calm and introspective moment that I had lost my balance and was well on my way to falling down.

And then I fell down.

Falling down as an adult, I found, is shocking and hilarious. Especially when it happens as you're just sort of dicking around in your own home. I'm tempted to blame my intermittent, House-style thigh pain but I don't think that actually had anything to do with it. So...did my inner ear equilibrium take a momentary holiday or something? Maybe a nap? Or did a solar flare suddenly increase the gravitational pull of my end table just as I passed? That can happen, right?

In any case, R.I.P., newly-crushed Tomato Nation lunchbox. Ditto, cardboard-box cat fort that The Boy dearly loves. And thanks to all and sundry of my possessions in the vicinity for gifting me with myriad contusions in return. There is a large, purple reservoir of blood pooling beneath the skin of my House-ified left thigh, another on my forearm and a substantial goose egg dead-center of my shin that I found today whilst shaving. Apparently it's possible to simultaneously land on both the front and the side of your leg. Plus, I think I pulled all the muscles covering my ribcage...trying to catch myself? I don't know.

Alas, my face didn't smash into the edge of the end table or anything so I can't field concerned questions from people on the street and claim I walked into a door while furtively avoiding eye contact.

In other news, I seem to have chosen the right time to leave this place as my bedroom is suddenly and mysteriously infested with ants. I don't know where they came from or what they're doing in there -- it's not like that's where the food hangs out -- but if you look at the carpet very, very closely it ripples with life! It's hard to fall asleep because I spend an hour "feeling" ants crawling all over me in bed.

I wish the large spider in my bathroom would come out and eat them instead of spending all its time staring at me from various locations while I shower or futz with my contacts. I don't kill (or yell for my mom to come and kill) spiders on sight anymore -- because they eat many mozzies and my enemy of my enemy, etc. -- but I don't particularly want them looking at me or hovering above me or crawling toward me either. So it's Vigilant Spider Watch 2005 in my bathroom every time I go in there. I even lift up the toilet seat before I sit down just in case.

Finally, in the midst of my relocation preparation, I am now obsessed with Phil Morrison's Junebug. It is so good I cannot tell you. In fact, I could tell you because I have the shamefully nerd-tastic desire to write an analytical paper about it -- but I've decided to save that for when the DVD comes out and I can go scene by glorious scene and illuminate its many virtues for you here. Stay tuned for that! It will be Film Class Fun for all.

Pale & Hairy in CA
My Grey Area

Tomato Nation
mimi smartypants
tinyluckygenius
Chicagoist

Television Without Pity
Go Fug Yourself
Hacking Netflix
BookCrossing

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