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Archives from 2002-2006

I don’t know if I’m allergic to mosquitos or what but every time I get bitten the area of attack gets enormous and puffy and red and sort of . . . well, boil-y, if I’m going to be honest, all brain-searingly itchy (ohmigod) and throbbing and basically less of an insect bite and more of a TORTUOUS PUSTULE OF HORROR, and this would be why I flail around batting wildly at myself whenever there are flying bugs nearby, or even when I think there might be bugs, and did you just hear something? Just now? A tiny eeeeeeeeee sound? Goddamned bloodsuckers, I’ll . . . I’ll burn down your pupae. I’ll tear off your proboscis and crap down your thorax.

MUST. NOT. SCRATCH.

Anyway! How’s your week going? Mine is going swimmingly, aside from the Pustules of Horror (PoH) I acquired during an otherwise lovely walk through some gardens last weekend. Oh, and there’s the matter of Dylan having cut his first tooth and morphed into a drooling, hand-gnawing (and finger-gagging), snot-tacular mess as a result. Also, Dog has a lump on her side and it seems likely that it’s just a fatty benign tumor thing since she’s an Elderly Labradork but I’m worried the vet will tell us otherwise and now I feel guilty for yelling at her yesterday when she joyously dragged her ass along the carpet like hey, look at this great way I found to buff my rectum!

In happier news, my hardware budget at Workplace had accrued enough funds to buy a new computer, and I got myself a spanky-fast MacBook Pro. I love it very very much, especially since it doesn’t sear the flesh from my thighs like my old laptop. JB, after months of crabbing about how Macs are mold-covered pieces of wet shit compared to PCs — suitable only for creating cute little scrapbooky photo albums, not for legitimate business activities — has already started angling for ownership of my previous MacBook, and I’m thinking of letting him have it, as long as he promises to wear a special shirt whenever he’s using it which will read I NEED TO KEEP MY BIG FLAPPING IGNORAMUS SHUT.

JB would like you to know that there has been a cease and desist with the clunky brown shoe/geeky white sock combo, and he has himself a new pair of Keen sandals, which he is manfully wearing here as he hoses down his dive gear, macho-style. Sandals and Socks Guy, JB is no longer a lot like you.

Now, I don’t want to flood the internet with too much raw, unadulterated JB all at once, but . . .

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but JB’s got a nearly freakish ability to recognize voices, and is constantly pointing out actors doing voiceovers on commercials and in music and so on. So there’s that, and there’s the jumping thing. I think he should compete in some sort of talent show where the two skills are combined: leaping over successively taller and taller items, shouting out celebrity names while animated movies play on a giant screen nearby. Mark Burnett? HELLO.

Also:

Seriously, if only this guy could put his cereal bowl in the goddamned dishwasher instead of leaving it on the counter for the Cleaning Fairy to whisk away, he’d be a hell of a catch. I’m just saying.

Other photos from the weekend:

We didn’t do much, and yet I feel entirely wiped out. I used to dread the end of the weekend, and now I’m like, OH THANK GOD FOR MONDAYS.

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