Bowl of Oranges

First of all, Sam? Packing his knives and going? The level of aesthetic devastation is almost crippling, and to see him lose to a piddly little foamer like Marcel is crushing. And Ilan. Whatever, Ilan. I have to believe that on some level your frustration with Marcel is because you secretly WANT Marcel, and this isn’t the first time that crossed my mind, but truthfully, I always figured his crush was Sam. Hot Sam. Hot Sam with those damn tattoos. (Surely I’ve mentioned my tattoo fetish? No? Well, now you know. I love them on men. Well, anyone, really, but men. Sleeves. Yes.)

It was 65 tonight when I went for a swim, and when I walked into the pool in my hoodie and pants, there were people wearing puffy jackets and hooded sweatshirts and looking at me as though my mind was leaking out my ears, because this is winter! WINTER, you crazy swimmer! And yet, like any workout, when you get going, you’re not cold anymore.

However, part of me wonders if I shouldn’t have listened to them, because at least three times, for reasons unknown, I freaked myself out and thought there was an alligator in the pool with me. I hate that. I mean, dude, look, it’s irrational, because there’ s no way an alligator is going to just leap out of the filtration system and eat my feet off, but that has absolutely no bearing on how I behave in the water, particularly at night, which is usually when I’m swimming. I am also afraid of sharks at this time, and can often get myself into such a blind froth that I don’t breathe for too long and hyperventilate because great whites always hang out in small community pools.

Yes, this is lame, and I’m totally aware that this is lame. It’s been a busy week, and next week will be busier. I just couldn’t let that gynecologist post linger any longer. I’ll likely be answering some more questions from the way back machine (like last monthish? Right?) to make things easier for me without falling off the map completely, or leaving up old content about pap smears. No one should think about pap smears any more than is necessary. Tell that to the folks at Gardasil.

Have a great weekend.

*Bright Eyes. Man, oh man, I loathe him. But I do own the album, and what a giant mistake that was. Stuff it, Conor Oberst! STUFF IT.

17 comments January 25th, 2007