This is the first weekend in a long, long time that I have been home both Friday and Saturday night... without a damn thing to do. I can't stand it. I'm feeling restless. Why can't I sit stay in one place for long? I know why... but we're putting that on the back-burner right now. It's not something that I can focus on.
I watched a movie tonight... Love and Other Disasters, with Brittany Murphy, aka Emily "Jacks" Jackson. First - I love her. Second - Great movie. I love chick flicks & I refuse to believe you can't have a little Hollywood in every relationship. Third - Great soundtrack. And Fourth - Well... just read this...
Therapist: Relationships are best measured by farting.
Peter: Excuse me?
Therapist: The stages of a relationship can be defined by farting. Stage one is the conspiracy of silence. This is a fantasy period where both parties pretend that they have no bodily waste. This illusion is very quickly shattered by that first shy, "Ooh, did you fart," followed by the sheepish admission of truth. This heralds a period of deeper intimacy. A period I like to call the "Fart Honeymoon", where both parties find each others gas just the cutest thing in the world. But, of course, no honeymoon can last forever. And so we reach the critical fork in the fart. Either the fart loses its power to amuse and embarrass thereby signifying true love, or else it begins to annoy and disgust, thereby symbolizing all that is blocked and rancid in the formerly beloved. Do you see what I'm getting at?
You should see it... you won't hate yourself afterward.
In other news, I got to try on a pair of size 12 Seinfeld's... you know, those white sneakers Jerry used to wear? And you know what? I didn't like them. So... what now? I keep trying to put some distance here to figure myself out and get my shit together, but each time I do, something pops me right back to where I was and leaves me wondering if maybe I am just missing something else.
Sigh... obviously, I have no idea what I want... can't someone else just make up my mind for me? Jokes. Jokes. Oh that reminds me... I've never told you about Man Hands. haha Another day.
I watched a movie tonight... Love and Other Disasters, with Brittany Murphy, aka Emily "Jacks" Jackson. First - I love her. Second - Great movie. I love chick flicks & I refuse to believe you can't have a little Hollywood in every relationship. Third - Great soundtrack. And Fourth - Well... just read this...
Therapist: Relationships are best measured by farting.
Peter: Excuse me?
Therapist: The stages of a relationship can be defined by farting. Stage one is the conspiracy of silence. This is a fantasy period where both parties pretend that they have no bodily waste. This illusion is very quickly shattered by that first shy, "Ooh, did you fart," followed by the sheepish admission of truth. This heralds a period of deeper intimacy. A period I like to call the "Fart Honeymoon", where both parties find each others gas just the cutest thing in the world. But, of course, no honeymoon can last forever. And so we reach the critical fork in the fart. Either the fart loses its power to amuse and embarrass thereby signifying true love, or else it begins to annoy and disgust, thereby symbolizing all that is blocked and rancid in the formerly beloved. Do you see what I'm getting at?
You should see it... you won't hate yourself afterward.
In other news, I got to try on a pair of size 12 Seinfeld's... you know, those white sneakers Jerry used to wear? And you know what? I didn't like them. So... what now? I keep trying to put some distance here to figure myself out and get my shit together, but each time I do, something pops me right back to where I was and leaves me wondering if maybe I am just missing something else.
Sigh... obviously, I have no idea what I want... can't someone else just make up my mind for me? Jokes. Jokes. Oh that reminds me... I've never told you about Man Hands. haha Another day.
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