Dec. 3rd, 2009

opera142: (this shit is bananas)
Well, I figured out my meltdown yesterday--- other than I have my moments of dipshittery. At 8:15 last night, I opened Driftless and less than a paragraph in, I zonked completely out, and slept until Moe nudged me at 5:45, and was like, are you getting up or what? All morning, I felt amazing. I felt taller. The plague must have taken more out of me than I realized.

Moe has been playing (and playing and playing) Age of Dragons, which means the TV has been hogged night after night. He's pokering now, so I went on a TiVo binge. Steph's really trying to get back on my good side--- the Precious is getting beatdown upon beatdown, including one particularily missionary-positioned one from Festus. With bonus!Punk lording over both while patting Festus on the head. Jericho faces DX in a handicapped match, yesyes. TNA does not have any endangered preciouii, however Super Dave Osbourne sorta-kinda makes up for it.

I joined the bookclub at work, despite fears of having to read dopey books when I don't even have enough free time to read all the books I found on my own. My fears were realized! Driftless. UGH. Ugh, I say. I'm 200 pages in, and honestly, I'd rather listen to Shannon Moore sound out the big words in Bread and Jam For Frances.

The book is so grody and 60's. The female characters are either sexy baby-makers or harpy rooners of splendid male dreams. The lead dude, July, is such a Mary Sue. Seriously, it's hilarious. He knows rock stars! He helps a pastor find God! He introduces lonely widower Jacob to the hot chick who likes to be naked. Still have 200 pages to go.


ETA: This probably violates the idea of F!S, but Twig did you write that secret?

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