It's Not the Size That Counts

The spam box of my g-mail account has now exclusively become a catalog of penis enlargement adverts. And while I don't have much need for any of these products, it doesn't diminish my enjoyment of their flowery prose.

This weeks top 5(in no particular order):

Be the King of Your Bedroom With Your New Sceptre
Fill Her Up Tight and Deep
Huge, Thick and Amazingly Long- All This Can be Yours
Those Locker Room Stares Will be For the Right Reason (eh, what?)
Can't Fill Up Your Girlfriends Mouth During a BJ?

Special Bonus:
Unleash the Watering Hose in Your Pants

I'm Mr. Cold Meiser....

Seriously, enough with winter already. It's not just that it's cold, it's bitterly cold. When the wind picks up, it's like the frigid hand of death has crawled into my bones and burrowed deep into the marrow. The constant snowing, thawing, raining, freezing combo has turned the sidewalk in front of my apartment into a mud colored Slurpee death trap. As I left for work this morning my high heel caught a rogue patch of ice and sent me, flailing limbs and all, face first into the curb. I can only hope that the school bus full of children driving by were laughing and pointing at someone else.

Only one thing could alleviate the melancholy of my seasonal affect disorder. I just got tickets for the Swell Season.

A Coke and a Smile

Lesson Learned Today............

If you leave and unopened bottle of Diet Coke in your car overnight, during an ice storm, it's best to just cut your losses and throw it away. Otherwise you might find yourself staring down the business end of a geyser eruption similar to the one I found myself in this morning.

To reward myself for completing an hours work at my computer without nodding off onto the keyboard, I decided to drink the slightly thawed soda that I had salvaged from my driver's side cup holder. Since I spent a great deal of time in my high school science class daydreaming about Luke Perry, I am unable to explain the exact molecular restructuring that occurred in the thawing process.

The events that followed are still somewhat of a chaotic blur of exploding carbonation, flashing lights, a stained skirt and lots and lots of panicked slurping. It was not unlike this:

I Wear My Caffiene Glasses at Night

3:45 pm, Saturday afternoon

I have now been editing this documentary for four days straight. Averaging about 3 hours of sleep a night has slowly begun to take it's toll. Last night in a Red Bull induced haze, I'm pretty sure Wilford Brimley came to serve me a bowl of Quaker Oatmeal. My shoulders are knotted up so bad from being hunched over the computer that I'm ready to start ringing the bells in Notre Dame. I smell like stale laundry and my hair is about ready to jump off my head, walk into the shower and wash itself.

This is the career path I have chosen for myself. I love every single moment of it. Sure I could use a Silkwood shower and my social life is somewhat non-existant, but I'm in the zone right now. A few more weeks, a case of Jolt cola, and another bowl of oatmeal from Mr. Brimley, and I should be all done. I will have officially finished the first documentary of my professional career; at which time I will drink a bucket sized martini and kiss everyone in my path.

Look out world, I just might make something of myself after all.