Well, it's over. Jesusmas, that is. And it's nice. The Christmas season is a lot like taking a shit. You're sitting on the couch and you all of a sudden feel it. You just kinda know - it's coming. It builds and it builds and it builds and while it's fairly uncomfortable, you're anxious for when it's finally time. And then when it IS time it's sooo incredibly good, you're delirously happy, everything is right in the world. ... Then it's over, and you're relieved, satisfied, and only slightly disgusted.

And then it's back to work.


Now, I recently bought myself a pair of boots. A nice pair of boots, I thought. Reasonably fashionable; exceptionally functional. I wear them with pride. And then... at work yesterday, I found myself talking to this woman who comes in occasionally. She's mentally handicapped, and really sweet. She was asking me if I could hold this new book about a proffessional wrestler until Thursday, and while I was telling her that we can only hold books for three days, I glanced down and noticed that she was wearing my boots.

I have to tell you, I was discouraged. Keep in mind that I'm not discriminatory. I spent a lot of my childhood around people with mental disabilities, and in no way think them lesser. But still, it says something about one's own fashion sense if it's shared with someone who likes Eddie Geurerro.


Anyhow. Today is the day my Mum and I decided to quit smoking. The 27th of December. My grandmother's birthday. And it's before the end of 2005, thusly rendering it as NOT a new-year resolution. We're currently in possession of no-name Nicotine gum. It really doesn't taste that bad. The trick is to not chew it. BITE, BITE, PARK. BITE, BITE, PARK. Simple!

Heh, ask me if I want a cigarette, just ask me!!


You fuckin betcha.