my bad

for a few days there, i thought the writer's strike applied to me, but alas it doesn't so here i am again.

my sister and i conned Tangerine Dream into buying the new Bourne movie and then lending it to us. he actually thinks he's getting it back. he's delusional in his old age. we'll have it worn out with repeated viewings and constant freeze framing of Matt Damon by next week.

Gold Digger's baby still hasn't come, and he's the size of a twelve year old now. his tentative birthday will be January 4th unless my sister's uterus finally decides to expel him on its own. highly unlikely, however. i mean, who wants to come into this crappy world when he's got it made in her belly?

i swear to God that i have a disease. i keep eating and eating like a freakin' football player, and i keep losing weight. my pants would not stay up today, and i almost had to buy suspenders.

i'm hard on socks because i work out so much so i'm trying these No Nonsense Hanes kind with some type of wick away breathable fabric. they're inexpensive and were recommended to me. i'll let you know how well they hold up after another week or so.

this post sucks booty. i'm exhausted from a hard day's work and can't think straight. i'm going to turn in.