XLV choices

personally, I’m going for the Pack Attack.  NFC.

I really should get a Giants jersey.

B.O.L.O.*- grey, bi-lobal, wrinkled mass of tissue weighing about 3 lbs.

People.  I have had my mind blown.  Several times today, and in the last few weeks, but I think today I’ve really done it.

 

So, yesterday I bought a plane ticket to Cairo for a 2.5 week sojourn through Egypt at the end of Ramadan.  Picked up my lonely planet guide- saw two pictures, and freaked out.  So excited.  Can’t comprehend that I will be looking at the sphinx, or the location of the great library of Alexandria.  Cannot. comprehend.

 

This morning, I went to see Dr. Doom (AKA the E.N.T.).  I’d spare you the gory details, but then there wouldn’t be any.  He removed a copious amount of seriously the most disgusting, (mostly solid), foulest- smelling biological tissue I have ever seen (keep in mind I majored in Bio in college, saw a two week old dead body as a kid and have been to Louisiana).  So many colors- every earth tone and green you can imagine.  At one point, I thought he was pulling my eyeball out through my nostril.  Ears still not popped. 

 

Then, I headed uptown to hit MyIntimacy.  This is where it happened.  It’s that bra shop you’ve seen the commercials for- 90% of women are wearing the wrong bra size, blah, blah, blah.  I’ve been meaning to go for some time.  I go in, get a “fitter,” enter the booth and take off my shirt, as instructed.  I was wearing my best-fitting bra.  I was actually Tut-tutted.  “You need to take that thing and throw it in the garbage.”  Um, OK I said.  She told me to get real close to the mirror and turn my back to her.  A long pause was followed by a “mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.”  “back is so small, that’s the problem.” 

 

really?  not the two enormous bags of fat hanging from my chest?

 

“turn around.”  So, I do.  She sizes me up for a minute- all visual, no tape measures here, not for Mireille.  She’s been doing this for many, many years.  “I’ll be right back.”

does this make the gap cool now?

or is this what happens when actors have no lines to read?

pay the writers, dammit!

exploit the body, not the hands

American Apparel ads have the quality of child porn.  They’re supposed to make you feel good, because they don’t use sweatshop labor, but instead I just want to shower.