This Town's Not Big Enough

The fun never ends where I work.

These two adorable children come into my store almost every night, accompanied by Anna and Michael, while Anna, in a typical drugged-out haze, attempts to sell me back dozens of obviously stolen Nintendo DS and Wii games for cash. Of course none of us can prove that these items are stolen, but it can only be obvious when a couple who had just informed me that their trailer had burned down can continue to keep "buying" expensive games day after day, and not only that, but the exact same games each and every day. Everyone in our store knows her. And her husband/boyfriend/whatever. And those two little kids. But it was when one of our associates called us at work to tell us that she saw Anna's face on the local news wanted in a child abduction situation (as well as priors in drug charges), all of us were waiting for that moment when she'd actually dare walk back into the store that day to try and pawn off her usual haul of brand spankin' new games, regardless of having her drawn, sallow meth-face plastered all over local television last night. I was convinced that she wouldn't be in, that she and Michael would be long gone out of town with the children by then. But like Tracy at work said, never underestimate how desperate a person on drugs can be. Anna did show up, but she sent another man inside to do the buyback. I didn't recognize the guy, but someone inside the store saw Anna sitting outside in the car so another associate did the buyback, stalling as much as possible while Nate phoned the police. The guy left and he and Anna tore out of the parking lot, with the cops whizzing past on hot pursuit. According to the follow-up article, the stolen car engine they were driving exploded on the interstate and they were apprehended. The children have been returned to their legal guardian, their grandmother.

Last night I nearly hit a teenage boy in the face. It was the second time in two months that this roving gang of 15-year-olds came into our stores minutes before closing time and proceeded to mindlessly vandalize everything they laid their hands on. When one of them picked up a heavy fire extinguisher and began swinging it around I barked at them to leave the store immediately. I herded them towards the door, and they continued to vandalize every object they passed, and I knew calling the police would be futile since they wouldn't be able to get here in time, so I screamed -- and I mean screamed -- like a berserker for them to keep going, leave, NOW. And when one giggling, simpering brat tried to stand toe-to-toe with me, daring me to hit him... I swear I almost lost my control over the situation and gave him what he asked for. Instead I grabbed him, spin him around and shoved him out the door. He laughed nervously, made some comment about my large breasts suffocating him, and pedaled off on his bikes with the rest of his pussy posse.

Great. Watch me set a summons to court from his mother because I laid a hand on her little pumpkin. That's how it works these days.

I'm taking a week off in May. I think I need a break.

Weill I'll Be

I have never seen video footage of Dagmar Krause before, as much as I've been searching on youtube over the past year or whathaveya. Until tonight. And wow. Not to mention that this is the first time I have ever heard this classic song performed in English. Again, wow.



It's been a rough weekend day. I think I needed this.

Schedule

Sun 30: 2-cl
Tue 1: 9-5
Wed 2: 4-cl
Thur 3: 3-cl
Sat 5: 3-cl

Morality Play

Richard Widmark
1914-2008

One Size Fits All

First 20 tracks on my iTunes sitting here nonplussed, shaking my head over the lengths some people will go...

1. "You Haven't Done Nuthin'" - Stevie Wonder

2. "Super Good" - Myra Barnes

3. "Favor After Favor" - Khan

4. "Yogurt Koydom" - 3 Mustaphas 3

5. "Billy Boola" - Bono & Gavin Friday

6. "Kiss Them For Me" - Siouxsie & the Banshees

7. "101" - Sheena Easton

8. "I'm Confessin' (That I Love You)" - Thelonious Monk

9. "Letitgo" - Prince

10. "Jivaro" - Yma Sumac

11. "Dr. Love" - Bobby Sheen

12. "Touch Of Class" - Roy Ayers

13. "Black And White Town" - Doves

14. "Rune 'Em Off" - Merle Haggard

15. "S.U.S" - The Ruts

16. "A Japanese Dream" - The Cure

17. "Cursed Realms (Of The Winterdemons)" - Sunn o)))

18. "City Baby Attacked By Rats" - G.B.H.

19. "Rosamunde" - Heino

20. "Elvis Is Dead" - Living Colour

The Moving Finger Writes...

Somebody whom I had only known on the internet, someone whose work and writings in the realm of fanfiction passed away this past week. And I just thought I'd post a brief tribute to her. Brief not from lacking in content. But from lacking the words to say just how important her work was to me during a particular era in my life.

Back in 1996, I had never heard of the word "fanfiction". Of course it had existed in other formats for at least 3 decades previous, before there ever was such a thing as the internet. But during the apogee of my Star Trek phase, especially during my obsession with the character of Q, I stumbled purely by accident upon the story "Q-Struck" by Atara Stein. And things changed. I changed. The internet went from a machine with limited appeal to a place where I suddenly, surprising found myself wanting to be.

And I know what most people think: Fanfiction, really? Really? The secret world of bored housewives who write softcore porn about their favorite male television characters? Nah, folks. That's too easy. It doesn't take much effort to lump in everyone in the fanfic community into what might make up a mere auxiliary of the genre. Dr. Stein was a professor of English literature in southern California, a mother of two, and an open homosexual who also unlocked the first doors to the concepts behind sadism, bondage sex and dominant/submissive roles and opened my eyes to the mechanics behind the lifestyle even years after picking up my first de Sade book with puzzlement. Les 120 Journées de Sodome may have introduced me to the world of whippings and humiliation. But "His Beloved Pet" spelled it out for me with the simplicity of the kind of hand puppets that I could more easily relate to.

Once I finally got over my star-struck nervous jitters and reached out to make contact with her (many years later, I might add) Atara and I would speak occasionally, often about gender roles in modern television, and our conversations were often debates back and forth on the issues that I discussed in my article for The High Hat (actually an old blog post that they asked if they could publish) and her charm and wit and brilliance was always an inspiration to be on the receiving end. I also bought her book, The Byronic Hero In Film, Fiction, and Television, a subject matter that has always appealed to me as well as providing insight on some of my all-time favorite characters from those three genres that I hadn't even recognized myself.

A few years ago Atara became afflicted with multiple sclerosis and had to retire from teaching, and her writing became more sporadic, concentrating more on graphic art for her creative outlets. I still checked her blog at least once a week, and in her last post appeared to be in relative good spirits, considering. This morning after learning of her death I sat in the living room by the bookshelf, where the bottom row is lined with several thick, three-ring binder books filled with printed-out copies of "Q-Struck", "His Beloved Pet", and many of her other literate endeavors. I can still remember that 1996 winter's day at my parents house, using the only computer our family had at the time, printing all one hundred and some pages of "Q-Struck" out on the computer printer, still too much of a mental Luddite to know how to save anything to disk yet. I left the room for a bit and came back to discover my rather conservative, deeply religious father, a man with more of a periphery knowledge of Star Trek rather than being any sort of fan, standing over the printer with a single sheet from the printing fanfic in his hand, quietly skimming it over with his eyes.

I was alarmed at first, as to the reaction I'd receive about downloading gay smut off the internet, but I remember how my dad turned to me, eyes wide with emotion, and exclaimed, "Wow, Melissa, this.... this is really, really good."

I never forgot that.

And I'll never forget you, Atara.

Thank you for many, many years of your talents. And all the great things to read on all those long plane trips to Vegas.

Uh, was that brief enough?

Well What Do They Know...

Random facts from porn stars.

Cannot. Stop. Refreshing. Page.

Forget What I Said Earlier...

I found out at work that my car was fixed at 3pm (a fubar with a voice mail message left yesterday), although due to the holiday weekend they told me I had until 4pm to pick it up. I bolted out of work and headed home to fetch Joe to drive me down to Beach Ford, but not even halfway down Lynnhaven Parkway... yep, Joe's car dies.

I seriously cannot emphasize how extraordinarily lucky I am to have signed up for AAA a few weeks ago, seeing as this is the third time this week I've had to use them. Not to mention how lucky I was to get the nicest tow truck fellow in the world who didn't make me come with him all the way out to the beach to abandon me at some deserted station (like Thursday night) and even drove us home before dropping off Joe's car at the shop.

My car however, will not be available to be picked up until Tuesday, since Beach Ford is taking Monday off for Easter. And the same will be likely for Joe's car whatever the heck is wrong with it. Enterprise rental is closed until Monday, which is my mother's birthday and I'm supposed to meet the family in Kempsville for dinner. And Joe has a big job interview that same afternoon.

I still don't know how much my new car repairs amount to, either.

Feh. I'm going to bed early tonight, before I destroy anything else I touch.

Phooey.

There's Joy In Repetition

It's been a suck week for my car situation. Last Sunday night after late night inventory was over my car would not steer out of the parking space, so I left it there and hitched a ride home with a girl from work who was just leaving. Luckily I had just signed up for AAA last month so the tow to the shop was free... but the cost of the new drive belt and a.c. compressor plus labor and the usual gouging fees came to $1,165, which is $1,165 more than what I have but it was either pay it or not drive for the rest of my life, which would suck since it looks promising that Joe might be getting a new job in the upcoming weeks (crossing fingers, toes, tits, etc). They did tell me, however, that my rear breaks had been "improperly installed" and one of them was broken in half and the other was pretty much dragging the ground. But what could I do? I was already taking it in the butt for the drive belt. First things first, I suppose, and if I wind up dying on the side of the road because I couldn't break in time to dodge that flippin' flyin' squirrel or so shit when then hey, it was a nice ride while it lasted. As long as Sade isn't playing on the radio this time (ugh, another story).

Then the day after I get it out of the shop I have to go pick up my new general manager, Nate, who just moved to town from Salt Lake City to be our new boss less than a month ago, and it turns out he lived in the apartment directly above the crazy man that shot up all those people two nights ago in the Thalia Gardens apartment complex. The place was a madhouse of local news reporters and crime units, and Nate (who had just left his apartment to go to the store minutes before the shooting took place, or else he would likely be a goner as well) was waiting for me at the corner of his parking lot because he didn't want me to come in and see the disaster inside, with all the bullet holes and bloody walls -- and the SWAT team had knocked down his door and tore his place apart, with clothes everywhere, and he was afraid that his cat ran off but it turns out it was just hiding really good in the apartment, no doubt traumatized by the invasive SWAT presence (I'd probably be clinging to the ceiling myself). But on the way to work with Nate in the car we felt a hard BANG! under my car and then suddenly I was like I was hearing "Hang On To Your Love" again and my life flashed before my eyes as I tried slamming on the breaks at the stoplight and ended up coming to a slightly coasting stop. So, I'm guessing one of the shoddy breaks snapped off, since I still managed to break to some degree. But this time AAA made me have to come with them since the shop was closed at that hour, and he had to drop me off there and leave me. So basically, if I didn't have a cell phone on me, I was to be abandoned at a closed auto repair shop at nine o'clock at night with no ride and no way to call someone. But thank goodness for these hated mechanisms, because I was able to ring Joseph who came and got me and took me back to work. Yes, I was still on the clock as this all happened. Sheesh.

So yeah, car be suckin', and I'm one broke bitch. And I hate bumming funds from my parents for these kind of things. Pretty much the story of my life the days.

Things are due for an upswing. They just gotta be.

Schedule

Sat 22: 9-5
Tue 25: 9-5
Wed 26: 9-5
Thur 27: 3-cl
Fri 28: 3-cl
Sat 29: 9-5

An Alarming New Trend

Can someone please explain to me why for the past week and a half my left foot has been continuously reverberating like my cell phone set on vibrate?

Uh, should I answer it?

Blame It On The Spoon

Every girl dreams of a lovingly made Bollywood musical tribute to her breasts. And her dreams of getting to spoon with former porn star Tricia Devereaux.



C'mon, Tricia mah homie. We already use the same shower gel! We can lay there and smell like Body Works Japanese Cherry Blossom together. <3

Thank you, Stinky. ;)

Simply Thrilled Honey

I received a brief, yet seductively withholding email from an old childhood friend today. Color me nonplussed. But oddly pleased.

One of the three sisters that were best friends of mine 20 years ago has come back into contact with a boy that I grew up with, whom I went to school with and lived right behind my house pretty much from kindergarten on up. As kids, the oldest sister and the boy had these strangely sweet yet tempestuous summer romances (the sisters would come stay with their grandparents here in Virginia every summer, which was the only times I ever got to see them) where as kids, being too young to have sex, sublimated our nascent adolescent desires by watching these two flirt, fight, make up, and sometimes, make out (when they didn't catch us hiding in the tree spying on them when they were lying in the hammock below). Somewhere in this yodforsaken mess I have an ancient audio tape that I made around the summer of 1983, with the sisters and I sitting in their grandparents yard on a hot summer day, picking the tar from the hot street off the soles of our bare feet, singing acapella to "Billie Jean" and "Atomic Dog", talking about cutting our hair to look more like Annabella Lwin, and particularly, the oldest sister, who was probably about 14 at the time, chatting away with this boy (who was about her age or older) in that familiar young, frustrated loverspeak that kids on the cusp of their sexual awakening know from every far corner of the universe. But around the late 80's, when the girls stopped visiting every summer, the older sister and the boy lost contact with each other. The same way I lost contact with them.

Now, 20 years later, the youngest sister found the boy on Myspace. He's of course no longer a boy, but an unwed gentleman still living somewhere in my town. The older sister, herself divorced and rather despondent, has been having regular conversations with him over the phone. And suddenly it's like 1983 all over again. The older sister is coming down to visit him soon. Apparently, neither has ever stopped thinking about each other. And maybe, just maybe... they need each other now more than they ever did before.

I don't know why I am suddenly flushed with the sweetness of it all. This is a girl -- a woman now, that I have always loved dearly and want nothing but happiness to make the right positive turns in what was a rather rough and unpleasant childhood and life for her up until now. I know these things don't always work out. And I know it's a stab in the dark. But I know my habitual optimistic outlook can't keep me from spinning around in my computer swivel chair with childish glee. If this works out I declare my noggin will simply explode from the sheer Hallmark Channel squooshiness of it all.

Oh, heck. Can't I just be back in junior high school again? Just this once?

*putting on "Billie Jean" and doing the moonwalk*

Perchance To Scream...

One of the many weird dreams I had last night involved a dozen beautiful young women, the movie Bladerunner, and Wilhelm Reich trying to stuff me into something that I assume was some kind of orgone accumulator but resembled the small black pyramid shaped one that my father's old friend Bobby had in his backyard when I was a kid, that was just big enough to squat in. But the one in the dream was huge inside. Like, Tardis huge -- but looked like the old catholic church down the road from my parents house that used to decorate the chapel with disco balls and glitter streamers when we'd have school dances held there. Now I can't get "Egypt Egypt" by Egyptian Lover out of my head.



Speaking of orgones, this dream brings back memories of this Kate Bush video that I used to love, with Donald Sutherland playing Wilhelm Reich and Kate playing Reich's young son Peter. And the cloudbuster in the video, by the way, was designed by Terry Gilliam (definitely appeals to my steampunk sensibilities). What more do you need to make a terrific video out of a magnificent song. God, this song makes me think of college, and that summer working on campus and living up on the hillside apartments, and it was so hot in there I went about nude about 99.9% of the time. I remember that guy standing at my screen door just observing me while I was sitting in the easy chair reading the paper totally starkers. Heck, for all I remember, this song was probably playing at the time, considering how much I listened to this album during that hottest of hot summers. Ah, good, hot, sweaty times.

Nnrrrahhh... Kraut Rawk!

I'm completely torn between the Herzog and the Fassbinder. Pretty much defines the daily struggles I have to deal with in my overwhelming, complex life.

Do I want to go see Lou Reed next month or not. Oh cripes, more decisions.

Schedule

Sun 16: 8pm -INV
Mon 17: 3-cl
Wed 19: 9-5
Thur 20: 3-cl
Sat 22: 9-5

Doctor Mad Love

First 20 tracks on my iTunes shuffle this morning wishing that Steve Holmes wore glasses more often in his, ah, art films...

1. "Viet Nam" - The Minutemen

2. "Shadows" - Midnight Juggernauts

3. "Far From Over" - Frank Stallone

4. "Trigger Cut/Wounded Kite At :17" - Pavement

5. "Cops On Our Tail" - The Raveonettes

6. "In My Hour Of Darkness" - Gram Parsons

7. "Get Up And Have A Good Time" - Rob Base & DJ EZ Rock

8. "Nauch Dance" - Howard Shore

9. "You Make Me Happy" - Alton Ellis

10. "Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens" - Louis Jordan

11. "Do Yourself A Favor" - Jesse Johnson

12. "Walking On Sunshine" - Katrina & The Waves

13. "Don't Fear The Reaper" - Lydia Lunch & Clint Ruin

14. "Back On Me" - Urge Overkill

15. "Warning" - Paris

16. "Canción Del Mariachi (Morena De Mi Corazón)" - Los Lobos

17. "Winchester Cathedral" - New Vaudville Band

18. "You Really Got Me" - Van Halen

19. "Adonais" - The Cure

20. "I Love You Madly" - Gruppo Sportivo

What Will This Evening (Bring Me This Morning)

Dave and Hunter, natural born killahz

Just got back from a birthday party for Dave, a friend from my breakfast club and Hunter's boyfriend, which she planned as a surprise and turned out to be close to 50 people. 50 people crammed upstairs into the wee little Pagoda & Garden Tea Room in downtown Norfolk, which, if you have ever been there, doesn't easily hold 50 people, let alone seat them, and the more people that came in off the elevator the more we were starting to resemble the stateroom scene from that Marx Brothers movie -- but it was a pleasant enough time surprising the bejeezus out of Dave and managing to get a table downstairs away from the shenanigans and have dinner with Joe, Mike, his dad, Mike C. and Donna and chat and laff and throw things at each other. You know I have never been inside the Pagoda before, but I remember shortly after it was erected just dave and S. and I discovered it and we used to hang around outside the building trying to figure out what it was, because back then it wasn't a restaurant as far as we could tell, and it was never, ever open. Well, the food was okay. And it was so small it was almost claustrophobic. But the koi pond was nice. Just wish my stomach didn't hurt so much.

Yeah, that pain again. The one on my left side that the doctors can't seem to pin down. It's nowhere near as screamingly intense as those two days back in October, but my gut was in knots all day today, and although it calmed a bit during dinner, it's kickin' my ass righteously tonight. Well, not my ass, but you know what I mean. Argh, I hate breaking down like shoddy goods. Somebody, fix me. Fix all of me.

Things That Make Me Smile

The Goonies, today.

Dude! Chunk's lookin' fit as a fiddle these days. And we actually sell action figures of Mouth in our store. Alas, he's not sportin' the Prince Purple Rain t-shirt from the film. Dang you, Prince, and your annoying tendency to not let anybody steal your image. Which, given how young he still looks, is probably horded away on a painting in his attic back at the purple manse. I guess that's why nobody's been able to capture his sooooullllll......

Man Alive!

So my latest obsession these days has been catching up on the back issues of Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra's Y: The Last Man. And I know, I'm kinda late in the game since the series just ended this month, but that's how this kid rolls sometimes. Plus I'm still recovering from Strangers In Paradise lag and need a fresh start, and I am notoriously hard at starting things. But Y has seduced me. Maybe Guerra's line work and Pamela Rambo's color remind me distinctly of Steve Dillon's style from The Preacher (Y's protagonist Yorick even carries a lighter with the words "Fuck Communism" engraved on the side, as a tribute (perhaps from Vaughan himself) to Preacher's Jesse Custer), and as a big Preacher fan myself it certainly takes me back, but I have found myself really and most indelibly drawn in.

And why? Because I have always been a fan of the "last man on earth" scenarios. But in the case of Y: The Last Man the twist is literally, what if you were the last man on earth? What if a mysterious plague wiped out every single Y chromosome on the planet, except for one young man and his male pet monkey? And even worse, what if you were the last chance of ensuring the survival of the human species and yet you were still trying to remain faithful to your girlfriend who lives halfway around the world? Y: The Last Man paints a fascinating and potentially realistic portrait of what the world could be like when governments and infrastructures collapse, and chaos reigns as the women of the world struggle to regain control and sus out life without their fathers, their husbands, their brothers and sons, and cope with their own survival as well as their own survivor's guilt. Female factions break out, and Yorick -- the last man -- is subjected to the ulterior motives of radical feminists, lonely women, and even his own politician mother and bitterly angry older sister as well as learn what could potentially be the very price of a healthy young man alone in a world of desperate X chromosomes. Yorick's chance for survival rests on his body guard, Agent 355, a young woman from the secret government agency known as the Culper Ring, and Dr. Allison Mann, a biogeneticist seeking to discover the cause of the plague and why Yorick and his monkey survived. Her research in human cloning is possibly their last chance at saving the human race. Yet all Yorick wants more than anything in the world is to be reunited with Beth, his girlfriend in Australia -- although that doesn't mean that there are other obstacles, and even temptations, along the way.

It's been a truly engaging story so far. The serious subject matter is perfectly balanced with Yorick's witty wiseacre attitude, his one liners bringing levity to Agent 355's rather stoic demeanor. Not to mention the way the writing as well as the art draws you into this reality, the way the little details flesh things out. Cans of food become national currency as women take whatever job they can to survive. Little things we take for granted like air travel and electricity are gone due to the proportional lack of female pilots and electricians in the world. And yet, women are surviving. Communities of females pulling together and trying to go on with their lives. Some to great success. Some, not so much. And some, like even the most warmongering of men, have their own plans for the future of the world. And for Yorick as well.

Don't tell me how it ends! The last issue is out in stores right now and I have been steadily resisting buying it, and even flipping through it, even though I have some vague idea how it might all go down. I just finished book five and ahhhhhhgggghghghh I have no more money to buy the rest of the books until Yod knows when! Okay, just tell me one thing... does that damn monkey die? NOW WAIT! NOOOO! LALALALALACAN'THEARYOUUUU pffffffttttttt.... (no, tell me?)

Mmmmm, Belllly Faaaaat........

I have been looking for this Pixies video forever.

I remember back when the show 120 Minutes used to air on regular MTV and sometime back in 1990 or 1991 just dave told me that they showed this video once on an all-request episode (the one night I wasn't taping the show, naturally) and how the host (I forgot his name, some hipster Brit that I always heard was a raging twit) said that he was only going to show this once and then never, ever again because he absolutely HATED this video or so-and-so sumthin'-or-other. Who knows. But just dave regretted not taping it as well because he said he and S. were laughing their ass off during the whole thing, especially when Black Frances' stomach gets really close to the screen and you can see his belly fat.

I guess I can finally die now. G'bye, y'all!

Schedule

Sun 9: 10-6
Mon 10: 3-cl
Wed 12: 9-5
Thur 13: 9-5
Sat 15: 3-cl

Springtime With Benefits

I know, it's been awhile since I posted anything, hasn't it (not like anyone really reads this, do they?). Things have been kinda busy lately, with just dave coming to visit and us getting a new GM at work (Nate, a 35-year-old former GM from Salt Lake City) and on top of all that, my sleep issue got really, really out of control there for awhile. It had gotten as bad as it used to be, years ago before I had lost all that weight and my blood sugar had plummeted to where I wasn't able to keep myself awake for any reason. It used to be that on a regular day off I'd sleep until 9:30am, go back to sleep around 11am until about 1pm. Take another nap from 3pm to 6pm, and then crash exhausted into bed at 10pm every single night. My birthday was the worst it had been in years, with me sleeping away nearly the entire day, which I hate hate hate doing. I hate feeling so out of it when I'm like that, so incapably of simple thought or speech or hardly aware of my surroundings because I'm half nodding off every few minutes. And even the double dose of metforim wasn't doing its usual trick in keeping me lucid during this past week. But for the last two or three days I've been remarkably alert and awake and feeling resting and clear. It's an amazingly good, almost miraculous feeling, being able to blog again because I can actually form words in my head to type out onto the blank screen-y thing here. I just had a full 8 hour night at work and I'm not ravished by exhaustion. Of course I did have a venti sized coffeesque thingy at Barnes & Noble around 3pm today, but usually I'd be grinding down to a sludgy halt on that caffeine crash that hits right about now, and so far I think I'm doing pretty okay. I could almost go for a late night walk if it weren't raining so hard, and if I didn't want to get raped or murdered in the rain either. One could seriously get used to this.

I am still going to head off to bed here in a minute, as I want to get back on some semblance of a regular sleeping schedule again. Poor Joe, he's sick with the cold again, which means another week of quarantine while I try and dodge the Death Cough a second time in 2008 (that slight tinge 'o DC came about shortly after the last cold but I've been able to reign it in with a cough drop or two every other day or so). If it does intend to pour all day tomorrow I plan on spending some much needed day-off time catching up on the massive load 'o books I've acquired this last week, which is sinful for a broke-ass bitch like I am but God bless it, I'm utterly bonky after re-reading the same five books for the last few weeks. Not that I couldn't keep laughing my ass off to A Confederacy Of Dunces over and over again for the rest of my natural life, but a gal's gotta broaden her horizons and all that. Oh, who am I kidding. See you in the funny papers! Yeah, I got a lot of graphic novels. Dems sum purdy pichures, dey is.

I need to up my exercise regime tomorrow. Maybe a long walk, and try to do some time on the new recumbent bike Joe just bought. The pedals are too far away from the seat, though, and I haven't been able to successfully slide the seat further in get my legs in closer, so I am quite literally recumbent in every way as I'm practically on my freakin' back in the seat trying to stretch my legs down to the pedals, and I have fairly long legs so you imagine how far back I'm reclining. I guess I'm working more muscles than I ever intended. Talk about feeling the burn.

Time for bed. Night, all.

Schedule

Sun 2: 11-6
Tue 4: 3-cl
Wed 5: 9-4
Thur 6: 3-cl
Fri 7: 3-cl